The D Spot

I dreamed of a friend that died while I was still in high school. I was my age I am now and he was young…he was about 20 when he died, I was probably 17. I was slow dancing with him in a reality where he was still alive but I knew he would die. I asked him if he loved his life and he said yes. I asked him if he had any inkling of his future and he said “I think I know what you are leading up to and I know it.” I told him he was a fine young man, and that when I was teen, I had a crush on him (true). He smiled and kissed me and said “Just because God gives you one person to love and stay with, it doesn’t mean that you can’t love more than that one person.”
I hugged him and the dream ended.

So today I took my 14 year old daughter to see Twilight. She has read all the books at least 3 times and this is the 3rd time she has seen the movie in as many days.
I tried to be objective. Really I did.
I have a hard time with suspension of disbelief when it comes to movies. Part of that is a defense mechanism I learned as a child–scary movies aren’t too scary if you can spot the cinematographic (is that a word?) inaccuracies. The microphone in the top of the shot, the subtle change in a character’s hair or makeup..little things.
And Twilight wasn’t scary in the least, but as with all movies, I look for the mistakes in order to find a certain level of reality.
So yes, when Bella’s nasal cannula for oxygen was on wrong, I couldn’t help but notice. And when one actor’s pupils were pinpoint, I couldn’t help but begin to worry that yet another young Hollywood star was starting on the long path of narcotic addiction.
But after a while, I was able to sit back, watch the show, and attempt to be objective.
Angst. Longing. Unbearable love that haunts your dreams.
Oh yeah, I can see why all these teenage girls have their Twilight obsessions running full bore.
What teenage girl doesn’t dream of a handsome, strong, protective, loving and tortured boyfriend? Who can carry her to (literal) great heights and who likes to watch her sleep.
Shit, I bet there are a lot of mothers of teenage girls looking for the same thing.
The bad boy who has a heart of gold. (And in this case…eyes of gold as well).
The anticipation for that first kiss…and when it happens, the risk of losing it all…
I get it, I see it.
But what does it bode for our kids? Boys and girls…
Our girls are looking for a James Dean with a heart of gold, and superhuman strength. A boy who loves with his whole heart (”You are my heroin” is a HUGE thing to live up to)
Our boys are going to be expected to live up to that image.
I pity them all. The girls will be disappointed by the boys who don’t live up to their literary and fantasy expectations. And the boys, well, they will be confused. (I can say that. I have a son too)
Where will it end? The next Harry Potter will be out early this coming summer and it will be the same thing. Harry growing up, making his magic spells and looking every bit the man/boy in his oversize glasses. I can hear the teenage hearts fluttering already.
Twilight was good. Not great, but good enough. The effects were good..and I suspect they will be much better in the sequel. The tension was almost palpable..although I am not sure whether it was the on-screen chemistry of the players, or just the buildup of teen hormones and angst surrounding me in the theater.
I won’t dream of Robert Pattinson’s Edward tonight.
Maybe though, I will dream again of my long-ago James Dean. The one who set my own teenage heart atwitter, back in the day.
Ok Twilight Fan-girls. I get it.

Last night I dreamed that I had plant cuttings that I knew would flourish in my garden. I went out to plant them and you said that they wouldn’t grow. I told you I felt they would and planted them anyway, and then spent the rest of the dream trying to get them to grow to prove you wrong because you kept telling me that I wouldn’t be able to get them to grow. I woke up before I found out if they were rooted or not.

The slip of elusive words
the stumble over what should be even ground.
I feel myself tilt with the
question unasked
and my words hit the floor
like the thud of cement.
An echo of silence that
chases me through my dream-corridors
and leaves me ultimately stranded.
Alone,
with nothing to wrap around my freezing shoulders
but the threadbare memory of touch
and a whisper of tears.