A Silly Little Dream

So, it's 10:35 pm on Tuesday night and Neda, yes I often address myself in the third person, is doing what she was born to do, procrastinating.
Before I start on my paper, you know the one that was due yesterday, I wanted to speak of this dream I had.

Nadia, it was very surreal.
I, of course, have forgotten part of it, but it's worth conjuring up the rest.
I do not know how or why, but my mother, you, my pops, and my Israeli family were all transported back into 10037 Sunnybrae Avenue, yes I include addresses Nadia and who cares if someone harrasses those who live behind its doors nowadays...I'm thinking Nostalgia dammit, so stay with me here.

I relished in all it's beauty and I truly was awake doing so in the rapid eye movement part of my deep slumber. It was unlike any other dream. We were really there Nadia, all of us...No joke.

Nothing had changed. No one had lived there, though subtle ques would explain otherwise, but when do I ever accept the truths behind any matter? exactly.

My chalkboard covered walls were still intact, and my wooden bedframe/shelf from home depot had been employed to keep some guys books off the floor. My bedroom belonged to someone who was a lover of stories, as I am of words. That notion blew my mind. I was awake Nadia, not dreaming.

He had a corkboard placed on the wall besides my cheap golden-rimmed closet, yes I am a jew as is my carpenter of a father, fake gold is what we do. A diploma, from a Florida based graduate school, dated 1981 or 1979, see here is where I will conjure up some element of the beautiful life that I was handed in my moment of true consciousness, I had not been asleep, hung for dear life by my hello kitty thumb tack. A stamp upon it wore the motto "From the State that brought you Nsync" in a pensive shade of navy blue. Nsync...one subtle que that I was not living in 1990 anymore, and perhaps this house was occupied by someone other than the family that left because of some awful decisions on the father's part and the tumultuous reign of chapter 11 having displaced them from beautiful Porcelianville to down right disgusting MiddleEasternville, in a one bedroom shack on Newcastle Avenue in Encino.

My parents room seemed to not be afflicted by the new couple rumored to be residing in this master bedroom. The ugly silver wallpaper and the strategically placed golden leaves upon it had a few tears. I asked my pop why, and he rambled on using carpenter terminology that of course sparked nothing but foreign confusion within me. He made it seem as though someone had lived in it and tore the wallpaper off before they moved out...I refused to believe this nonsense.
My mother open the closet, and a shit load of my toys were concealed in a big white hefty trash bag; my porcelain doll, whose foot broke off and was duck taped by my pops, The Ceramic Surgeon, on the Eve of Easter in 1992 begged desperately to be freed, along with Kelly, Brandon, Donna, Zack, Slater, Jessie, Kapowski not Taylor, Blossom, Joey and Six...the sole inheritors of perfect popularity whose combined plastic limbs, 40 in total, helped allow you and I to escape into this grown up world, imitating everything we had hoped to become.
No one was living there. My belongings moved out with us, I would have never left them behind.

Of course now the rest of my glorious depiction of the past resurfacing, as I have forever...19 years worth of forever, wished for it to do so, has faded into the land of nostalgic obscurity.

I have no idea what prompted me to write this stream of consciousness, but I am glad I did.

I was never the cheerleader that my plastic Kapowski inspired me to be.

I never had a Zack of my own, and the ones I had are only a figment of my imagination now, never to be seen again.

I would give anything to have been able to say goodbye to that place. The place that encompassed all my joy, all my dreams, and especially, all my family.

A silly little dream, though it brought me much pleasure and undeniable closure.

I pray that whoever must live there has taken care of her walls, her secrets and her eternal youth.
What an exquisite sanctuary she offered me during those tempestuous winters between my folks.

An exquisite sanctuary never to be duplicated again; not in death, not in life, nor in a silly little dream.