Glyndel
Every now and then, I come across a person who wakes up later than I do. When I'm going downstairs to prepare my breakfast, they're in the middle of a dream. Floating through outer space, their body weightless, their mind asleep. And so when she called me that morning, it took me a minute to answer.
Usually within a few seconds of seeing the caller ID, which in this case was an unknown number, and holding the phone in my hand for another moment, I'd decide whether to answer or just simply wait. Maybe they'll think I'm busy, and try again later. Better yet, maybe they had called the wrong number, and never call me again. I hoped for the latter. Still while I was waiting for my bacon to heat up in the microwave, I held the phone for a moment longer. This was usually when I'd made the thought of what the hell, why not? So I answered.
"Hello?" I asked.
Nothing for a second. "Good morning." A woman's voice on the other end. She sounded awake. I was pleasantly surprised. I didn't receive many calls. Usually they were texts or emails. But a phone call was never a nuisance. They were invited, though rarely attended to.
"Who's this?"
"It's Glyn, the girl in your dreams."
I laughed. "Am I dreaming right now?"
"Are you? Don't ask me," she teased.
"Well Glyn, the girl of my dreams—"
"The girl in your dreams: in."
"Okay, Glyn, the girl in my dreams. What are you doing—you know, calling me when I'm not dreaming?"
"Just checking up."
"Uh-huh. Okay well, I'm about to have myself a wonderful plate of bacon strips with a side of sunny-side up egg, and a mug of freshly-made dark roast coffee."
"Sounds good. Enjoy."
"I will, I will." There was no response on her end of the line. "Did you want to come join me? I'm assuming you know where I live, given you stalking me in my dreams and completely invading any sense of my personal privacy when my eyes are closed but please by all means, join me while I'm awake." Silence. "That is, if you want to, you know, you don't have to but I'm just asking.."
"I'm the girl in your dreams, not the girl in your life."
"Well aren't my dreams a part of my life?"
"You can't control your dreams."
"And I can control my life?"
"The way you live affects the way you dream."
"So you're saying my dreams are a reflection of my life?"
"They're a reflection of your heart."
"Right, of course."
"Look at your heart, and look at your dreams. You'll find me there, whether you like it or not," she concluded. A heavy sigh followed her words. She seemed tired.
"Anyways I can't stay on call for too long. In fact, I shouldn't stay here for too long. I have to hang up."
Weird. People usually hung up without saying they were going to hang up. She seemed to be the exception. "Okay..?"
"One more thing," she said. "You have to let me go. I can't do that for you. After all, I've already forgotten you. It's up to you now, and no one else. It's your heart, your dreams, I'm sorry."
"Hey, you can't just leave like that—"
"I've already left." A pause of silence. "Now it's your turn." She hung up.
--
That night I dreamt I was in a park. The trees lined a pathway that circled an expansive green field. They were tall, shading the ground from an afternoon sun that warmed my skin but kept my body cool. A soft breeze played through the leaves. Children on a nearby playground laughed as they ran around. Pairs of strangers passed me by, their arms interlocked and steps in sync.
I sat down on a bench. She was beside me. Glyn. I tried to make out the features of her face but the details escaped me. Instead she wore a blank mask, indistinct, strange and unfamiliar. She was wearing a sleeveless white sun dress, her curly black hair spinning down below her shoulders before stopping at her midsection. Her sandals were soil brown, a few shades darker than her skin. In the drifting sunlight, she looked like an island princess. I spent the rest of my dream on that bench, looking at her.
Every other night, I dreamt of Glyn. Some nights the trees were vivid green, abundant of leaves and an accompanying breeze that moved among them. Other nights they were sunset pink, as if they'd been drenched in the flickering light of an April evening, just as twilight touched the sky as it became a portrait of heaven: hues of pastel blue softening into lighter shades of purple and pink. When I fell asleep cold, the trees were barren. A fresh coat of snow glistened on the pathway. She wore a grey winter jacket, a mustard beanie with her long hair tucked inside the hood of her coat. Though the colours changed with the seasons, the scene always remained the same. Glyn remained the same.
She called me in the morning often. Every other day, to be precise. We talked about our dreams. She dreamt of space, landing on Mars, being the first human ever to live there. I told her to watch Matt Damon. She laughed, I laughed, and we kept talking. She never seemed surprised when I told her my dreams. She never got bored, either. But I sensed that I was wasting time. Not because I didn't care for her, my dreams proved that otherwise. but I cared too little of myself. Whenever she'd call, I'd spent a little longer than I usually would to finish my breakfast. Whenever she'd appear in my dreams, I'd always stay in bed a little longer the morning after. Eventually, I got tired. Glyn continued to call. And on most mornings, I answered.
"How are you?"
"Doing well."
"Good."
"Take care, Glyn."
"Bye."
Our conversations were becoming shorter. Rather than novels, they were paragraphs. Prose, not poetry. Short and sweet. After all, she knew what she meant to me. And I knew what I meant to her, too. Still she continued to call. But when she did, I'd still be in my bed, sleeping. When she did, I'd be outside, taking a walk. When she did, I'd be at my desk, reading a book, trying not to write about her though every word lent a thought of her memory. A soft breeze, a violet sunset, a snowflake. They were there, no doubt. But ultimately, she wasn't. I kept my distance and distance did its part.
Space kept our lives in separated pockets. A phone line connected the two for a time. Though she continued to call every other morning, I seldom answered. Galaxies held us apart now. Fabric was breaking, and soon it would tear.
Eventually I stopped answering altogether. I was an astronaut in my spaceship, travelling back home. Though space stretched my path, time kept me together. That and the memories I carried from another world, another reality.
She stopped calling me two years later. My ship crashed into the ocean of my being. A piece not salvaged, but saved. Kept for something not yet near, but on its way nonetheless.
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| Whisper of the Heart, 1995, Studio Ghibli |
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