You know what, I give up-- on the headline thing. It's a pain to keep hunting down funny headlines that aren't stupid or obvious or anything. And they never apply to the content of the entries anywhere, and what else is a subject for?
Today in Econ Slava, Kripa and I were just reminiscing about our younger years. It feels pretty strange to be thinking of elementary and middle school, when here we are, about to graduate. Wow. It's really been that long. They remembered all these people I haven't a clue who they're talking about... I guess they've been in classes together much longer than I have with them. But I remember Kripa and Slava... along with a hoarde of other people, regardless of whether they ended up at Washington or not. I'm half-tempted to go back, but then... I dunno. It's nice just remembering, I suppose-- the good memories.
Okay, that dream I had. To save myself the hassle of recalling it perfectly, here's what I wrote down in my 'Elemental' book the day I had the dream:
(4/30/03)
I had the strangest dream not too long ago. I can't say 'last night,' because I had it in that half-asleep state when you wish for 10 more minutes of sleep, but accidentally end up getting 45. I set the alarm for 7:15 but ignored it, and woke up at 8:10, right when I had to leave.
Onto the dream: I saw Chris Garcia, of all people. Why dream of HIM!? If anything, certain other people have been on my mind a lot more than him... So...? Are the Powers That Be trying to send me some sort of cosmic message about love and relationships? Is there something I'm not doing, but I should be, or something that I'm doing wrong?
I'm standing on a hill overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. Funny thing is, the view is like that of someone on a boat in the Bay, because I can see the bridge cutting perfectly horizontal across the horizon. And something's gone terribly wrong, because the middle section of the bridge, just after the two towers, has been sliced through by something, and the left side is up in the air-- almost like those bridges that separate when a boat goes under them. But the other side, the right side, it's uneven, and cars are falling off, toppling into the ocean. I see a steamroller just keep going, right off the bridge, and it twists and turns in midair before landing in the ocean with a huge splash.
In my mind, this is terrorism. I call my mom up on the cell phone and ask her if she's seen this, if she knows that something's wrong. She sounds frightened, but not like screaming or anything... just sort of freaked out. The reception is going or something, and behind me, I hear the break-stop of a big vehicle, like a bus or something. I turn around distractedly and tell Mom I have to go, hanging up before she has the chance to protest. It's a bus or something... I remember seeing silver sides with those huge indentations on them. And who steps out of the bus but... Chris.
The way I imagined him wasn't that far off from how I last saw him, at middle school graduation. Tall, curly ringlets of dark brown hair, brownish-green eyes, lighter freckles on pale skin, fuzzy facial hair, and... glasses!? But he looked pretty good, and it sort of made my chest hurt, in the here and now, thinking about it.
See, Chris and I always had this special, sometimes even weird, dynamic back in the day. We met, oh, probably in 2nd or 3rd grade, at Claire Lilienthal afterschool. It used to be at the place where Argonne moved to, over on Washington or Clay and something, on Arguello. And we were both sort of outcasts (what else is new?) so we found a connection in each other. We sort of looked like each other too, to tell the truth, but I was quickly getting through school and the program, finding entertainment in reading, watching movies, making other friends, and performing in the plays. I left Claire Lilienthal in 5th grade; Chris left a few months before me. When my sister died in the summer of 1996, he was the only one there FOR ME, just ME, at the funeral. I needed him so much, more than I ever thought I would. In the elementary school years, he would spoil me rotten with beautiful gifts... a crystal in a glass box with a pressed flower inside the lid; his own personal artwork; posters and calendars with gorgeous work... it all meant so much to me, and amazingly enough, I still have a lot of it.
But, come middle school, we drifted. We were never in the same classes, and he transferred out of C.L. because he had education problems or something-- reading, I believe. That was always my strong suit, and I wished so badly I could have helped him... but maybe I was too naive back then to think of others. I had other friends, like Halley and Anna. Chris came to my birthday parties (but it was always awkward, since he was usually the only guy, not to mention he has/had diabetes, so sugar was always a no-no) and was there for me when I needed him... but in middle school, the gap just turned into the Grand Canyon. 6th grade, we drifted. 7th grade, he made friends with some of the people in the school that hated me. Come 8th grade, when I asked one of my friends to ask him, straight up, how he felt about me, she returned with the reply that he hated me, and never wanted me to ask him again. I broke down crying, and I've never been able to forgive him since.
Until now. Dreaming of him really threw me for a run, and I'm not sure what to do or think. Call me crazy, but I think it means something more than just a jumble of memories or emotions. There's significance, a message, a means to an end in there. And there's more, too.
The weird part starts as I walk towards him-- the bus vanishes, and so does the hill and the bridge... and suddenly we're in Moscow, Russia. The streets are being deserted, because it's starting to snow heavily, and I'm no longer in SF clothing; I'm all bundled up in a fur coat and hat, complete with those Russian-style "muff" hats. Once again, I'm on my cell phone (presumably with my mother) but when Chris and I see each other, there's this moment of connection, and I drop the phone into the snow and we reach out to hug each other. And it's like that for a moment, until he puts his arm around my shoulders, and we walk off down the street... which melts into the pier's end, near the Carousel and that toy store... into RTA, because "it's been a while since he's been to SF."
END DREAM
So what does all this mean? The bridge, and the snow in Russia...? CHRIS, in general?! I've taken sort of baby steps in the matter-- thinking about him has made me recall somewhat fond memories. Talking about all this in Econ today (not so much the dream as Those Days) really struck a cord in me. I feel like I've lost a lot since then, but I've gained so much too. I miss a lot of the great friendships and dynamics I had... and I do want to repair them before everyone just parts ways and journeys into Adultland. Chris is another story entirely. After graduation, rumors flew that he was moving to Santa Cruz, and I didn't believe it. But then I took the bus past his house, and there was a sign in his room reading 'for rent.' It broke my heart. I wished so badly I could have gone back to graduation and asked Ms. Garcia for their address... or even when Chris came up to us, and kept silent, *I* had had the courage to say something, give him a hug, and... say goodbye properly. There's no conclusion to this, so I have to find a way to end it myself.
I'm going to find him. As ridiculous as it sounds, I started with AIM, and I actually found some results for Chris Garcias in CA. I eliminated the ones in weird cities like Fresno, the ones whose names weren't really Chris Garcia, and the AZN ones, since Chris isn't 'AZN' at all. There's one name left that's a possibility, so if I see him online, I'll IM him. I don't know what I'll say yet, but it's a start. Half of me is terrified, and the other half just wants to say 'the hell with it, a try is a try!' So... I guess we'll wait and see.
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