Eleven Confessions

Confession #7: My dad used to always say that dreams were our minds way of telling us the truth. Every time I have a dream, I always try and figure out what it is that my brain is trying to tell me.

The sky was blue.

Not really like the kind of blue that you would imagine that you think of when you think of a blue sky, but an off blue, like when you look into water, and see the reflection of the sky.

I looked down, and saw grass. It looked soft, like a stuffed animal that seems to scream at you to pet it. Not able to help myself, I reached down, and ran my hand across a few blades, thinking that there was no way that that could be grass.

Grass just didn’t feel like that.

I got down on my knees, and buried my face into it, inhaling its earthy scent. Then falling face first into it, being astounded when it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it felt good.

I looked back up to the sky, realizing that it wasn’t the sky. It was Tate’s eyes.

I giggled, “You look cute!”

He looked at me, caught off guard, “Excuse me?”

Then the scene changed, and it was no longer Tate that I was looking at.

“Dad? Is that really you?”

He nodded, and I ran and grabbed him in the biggest hug, squeezing him with all my might.

But he didn’t hug back. When I looked up, questioning him with my eyes, he wasn’t there anymore. Well, he was, but he was gone.

His hands were crossed across his chest, and his eyes were hollow, almost as if they weren’t there at all.

I fell to the ground, pounding my fist on the ground, which was no longer lush grass. It was hard, rough concrete, that seemed to have had a very unforgiving creation.

It hurt.

And then everything was gone, and I was left screaming into my pillow.

When I finally calmed down enough to try and figure out the dream’s meaning, the answer seemed pretty obvious.

#1: It was impossible to go on without my Dad.
#2: Number one was completely absurd. I had Tate. I could go on.