another dream of my hometown. i was in a one-room restaurant with one long table. i was at the end of the table. no one knew what to do so someone suggested we all put our heads down to nap so we did.
a little girl next to me said "ow you hurt me!" i said 'that's impossible, i was laying completely still on top of my arms.' she started to hit me, so i said "ok, hit me," and stood up with my arms outstretched while getting my ass kicked by a little girl. i laughed and then she laughed. after that we were friends.
the restaurant was closing and everyone was leaving. "where's R?" i said aloud. a stranger nodded sympathetically. i followed a group of people out and we congregated in a new room, around a different long table. this time i did not sit, but paced and started to cry. "i miss R," i said before launching into a rant about how he'd been giving away belongings since we met, as if knowing he was going to die from the start. a girl claiming to be a former lover came forward in agreement. a younger boy leaned toward my face to kiss me. he said he'd walk with me in the dark so i wouldn't have to go alone.
~
the best thing about my hometown is community. we've always healed from tragedies together. we've held each other in crying circles more than once. but now it's tricky. R attended a covid funeral every two weeks up until his own death this fall. everyone is dying, yet they never wear masks. in a small town we live together and die together, and no one questions anything. i am the outlier.
i also worry about the mental health of his friends, so i'm scared to talk with them. the economy has been battered. i have fantasies of going back as a hero, starting a non profit, giving back to the town that gave me so much. naming it after him. buying a little victorian on a tree-lined street with a garden and some chickens.
i know there's empathy still available in my hometown if i want it. his aunt told me not to hesitate if i need someone to talk to. i've thought of sending her flowers to put beside his urn. but then i cry and do nothing. i'll be patient with myself. when it's time to return home again, i'll know. i have several city friends who've offered to drive me there, who are willing to watch me cry as the train rolls by his empty house. that is love.
i am grateful i still have people. i am grateful i am alive, that i can still go home and hear the frogs and the ghostly train under the bright stars and old oaks i grew up under. i love you R. i love you hometown. i love you lakes and weeds and hometown hugs. i love you. please still be there when i come home. i wanna hear cows grazing to banda echoing from ranches. i bet all the hills are green right now. soon purple lupens will take over. the miracle of spring is coming. i am almost ready to resurrect to meet her.
- 2023-02-22