Melroberts.net

Kid's Dream 01/03/23

The dream was blurring, The more I replayed it, the more it wore away, the more I replaced what was gone with something that could have happened. A loud sound -

“Come back, come back!” It was my throat, my head, my voice.

The words shrunk up to the ceiling and vanished into silence. Blank chip wood. I rubbed my face and picked the sleepy dirt - I'd forgotten. Everything had changed somehow. What was it? Not a story I could remember.

…................................................................................................................

I peeled my Cindy doll from my skin and sat up. The pink and yellow echo of her on my ribs was fading. I think that something bad has happened. It is very quiet in my bedroom. I stare without blinking until I really need the toilet.

Downstairs Mum, Dad and my brother are having a clattery breakfast. Bare feet on the lino, bare feet on the rug. Do they know something about my dream? No - thats stupid. It feels really strange but strangely normal to have invisible thoughts in my head. But you can't talk about things like that at school, you have to;

“Listen with your ears, not your mouth,” do playtime families, playtime horses or whatever Alison (the cock of the school) decides, it's boring.

I can smell toast so I stop thinking about it - good.

I can't hold most thoughts in my head, and if I tell someone at school then they don't join in with what I'm thinking. I haven't figured it out yet. I haven't found anyone. I'll have to tell someone or write it down. I put the crusts in the bin, say churr-ah and get over the back wall to school. Maybe my reality is like yours. How do we know? Maybe I'm adopted.

Every Tuesday it's swimming. We all get on the coach and go to Staly baths. I play with the ashtray on the back of the chair, its hard to open and it stinks. Little Debbie is asleep next to me. I see tiny sweat bubbles on the flat of her nose and carefully pop a few with my little finger.

“Oi!” She says and eyes me. Then she settles back. I have to really, really stop myself from doing it again so I turn to the fuzzy fabric on the seat and dig tram lines in it with my nail.

Years later at the Blazing Rag Alison, the school bully served me a pint and told me that Debbie had dropped dead suddenly, a blood clot in her brain. Only 42.

“You never know when your time's up do you?”

“Well Debbie didn't.” I said. Looking at Alison's sallow face I'd say she was an alcoholic. Her eyes used to be a fierce blue, but now rheumy and coarsened. She wanted to share the bad news and study my reaction. She'll be dead soon too – good.

But back to school -

At Staly baths we all have to swim lengths and then sit on the freezing tiles, dripping, waiting for our next turn. You do a sitting dive, then do doggy paddle. Miss pokes you away from the side with her massive spoon for half a length, then she shouts

“Go!” to the next next kid and stalks back up to the deep end. Thank God. It feels dangerous. We all hate her, but we can't do anything. She is a cow. She enjoys it.

On the news at 6 an old man in a tie is talking at us. He looks like tired pastry and only gives a porridgy smile at the end. People on the news are angry or starved, or get killed and blown up in wars. Or there is going to be a nuclear holocaust because of the cold war. But my Dad says we're 12 miles away from Manchester, outside the bast ring.

I imagine having special mind powers that would take us to the top of Scotland in 1 split second. But only if we all linked hands. Then I would woosh them up to the sky. The rule was not to let go. The weather came on the telly. But it was only a black cloud with three raindrops.

Nothing seems fair and we might all die in 3 minutes.

If I described my dream to you it might not seem that bad. It's just things happening, like on the telly. But it felt like I wanted to scratch my skin off. The dream wouldn't change, but I couldn't remember it. If I described it to you you'd pay a bit of attention, you'd look away, or something else. But you wouldn't feel like I do about it. But then I don't know who you are or what you feel.

I'm remembering.

I'm remembering now that I didn't like that Andrea much, mainly because she kept her mouth open all the time, stupid idiot. She did it to herself really, for the attention.

It started by the reservoir. The gang had left and it was just me and her. She was balancing foxglove flowers on her fingers and I said ,

“I bet you can't get all ten of them in your mouth without dropping any.”

“I can too, anyway what you going to give me if I do?”

“Half my black jack. Eat them” I said. So she smiled and got them all in her gob.

“Swallow or no black jack.” I eyed her steadily.

“Close your bloody mouth while your doing it.” She actually did it! I can make her do daft things.

“What do they taste like?”

“Not mush” she said.

“You know why they call them fox - gloves don't you? Because they make your hands really smooth if you wear them every day.” She put more on her fingers and wobbled them about. Good, I hope she's really sick. I pretended to forget that I new they were poisonous. Adults would believe me if I cried about it.

“I'm starving.” I lied and put some in my mouth, spiting them out later when she couldn't see.

Through the sunshine we could see all the little lines on the flowers. And there were other colours too, at the edge of the purple and in the purple. Then we got bored, her stomach started to hurt and we set off. Nothing exiting happened for a while.

We got to the overgrown railway bridge. She didn't want to do it but that's what we did, we always balanced along the wall. Her stomach was hurting a lot now. You had do it or else get called a cowardy cowardy custard for ever. And she new I was in charge. She was very slow and careful. Annoying. It would be easy to just push her off.

Last week Andrea stabbed a ruler between my leg and the chair. I cried and the class laughed. Miss can't control us. See how you like this then Andrea.

My face was red hot and my throat was thumping. A dog barked from down below the bridge She wobbled a bit and looked down. I had to reach out. I pretended to steady her, but she shouldn't trust me.

The people under the bridge saw a girl wobbling and me reaching out to her. I kicked her sneakily in the back of the knee. She buckled and twisted down. Her eyes. I remember. I knew they couldn't see from their angle down below. I shook with power. Then she was falling and I wanted to save her. A stone smack. She was flat on her back and one leg looked weird. I could land on her, jump off and give her mouth to mouth. Like you can fly and jump for miles in a dream. I aimed carefully and landed with my feet flat on her stomach. It hurt and I rolled off. Blood and foxgloves were a fan on her head. I wiped the blood and black jack juice with my sleeve and tried to blow her up again, like a balloon. She was just staring though, with her silly mouth open. I didn't mean it.

A stupid stare with no thoughts at all.