Tuesday, October 1, 2013


Carolyn, Jake, and I had been sharing our dreams almost as soon as we could speak. We would spend hours during the summer, our backs on a blanket in the backyard of our homes, watching the stars turn in the sky and whispering our dreams, our hopes, our prayers.  Mostly it was just the three of us and our dreams.

Carolyn's dreams of a storybook marriage were shattered by an abusive husband with a gun.  We lost track of Jake. And my dreams died silently inside my womb on a beautiful winter morning.  My despair annihilated what dreams I might have had left, turning my consciousness into a silent, dense bleakness.  I stopped dreaming, grateful for the oblivion of sleep.

I had come back to the summer house because I wanted to be alone with my grief.  I wanted to wrap myself in a shroud, suffocate my anger, and quietly fade into the background.

It was sheer bad luck that Jake was renovating his parent's house next door.  Once a shy boy who never said a word, Jake was now outspoken in his insistence that I rejoin the world. He invited himself over. He brought me dinners, and fussed until I ate.  When I finally hollered that he should leave me alone, Jake had grabbed a blanket from the couch and dragged me into the backyard, where we now lay.

"Do you ever dream anymore?"  Jake asked.

"No," I finally answered.  "I don't dream anymore."

Jake wasn't looking at me, he was looking up at the night sky.  He pointed at some distant constellation, and my eyes followed.

"Some of the stars up there died a long time ago. They're nothing but cold, dead rocks now.  But the light they once gave keeps shining, night after night. There's comfort in that, I think."


"So, Lisa," Jake squeezed my hand, a lifeline in the darkness. "Maybe you should start dreaming again."

Photo courtesy of http://writeonedge.com/

I am trying some rearranging out for size, well, just because.  One of those things is making sure that I remember to link up with Write At the Merge. 


  1. Tina,
    first: I love seeing you at Write on Edge. It makes me so happy to share that space with you.

    second: this made my hopelessly romantic heart pound and squeeze. It was really wonderful. I know I say that about a lot of things you write, but this time, this piece, this dream...was very well written and touched me.

    Infertility, miscarriage domestic violence, lost dreams..and yet you give us HOPE at the end in the form of someone taking someone else's hand. I just love that.

  2. This is utterly stunning. So, so much in such a few short words. Fantastic!

  3. This is a great story, "there is comfort in that" is so reassuring!

  4. It's the height of comment laziness to say - ditto what Kir said - but I can't help it in this case. It's that hope at the end that brings us around. Nice.

  5. I agree-there is comfort in the stars!

    Gorgeous piece!

  6. I loved how you told so much in such a short time, but didn't feel the need to over explain everything. It drew me in and I didn't want it to end.

    Concrit: The only thing that bothered me (as parent who knows a lot about space thanks to my child being obsessed with it), is stars aren't "cold, dead rocks" when they die. The largest ones often go supernova and turn into blackholes, while smaller ones become neutron stars, which are still very hot. I like the imagery of the cold, dead star, but the fact it isn't true, jarred me from the story.

    Other than that one line, I can't think of a thing I'd change. My favorite line was "And my dreams died silently inside my womb on a beautiful winter morning." - because it said so much in one simple sentence.

  7. This is beautiful. There is sadness, and pain. And then, there is the glimmer of a new dream.

  8. My favorite line was the dreams shattered by the abusive husband with a gun. I caught my breath and went, Whoa! Is she dead, or wounded, or...? Very evocative.


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