A dream came to me last night. This is my dream.
You held my hand, such firm grip, I felt that you claimed me, at that moment. I was, indeed, yours.
“They started saying that I’m your girlfriend.” I looked at him. Feeling uncertain.
“So I shall be your boyfriend.” You nodded.
“It’s the end of era.” You added.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because one shall never go back, to being single, to being free.” You answered, still holding my hand.
“I don’t want anything to change. You and I. I want everything to stay the same.” I replied, trying to assure you.
“It won’t. It never does.” You answered.
I had nothing to add. I knew better not to argue with you. When you disagreed, you just simply did not reply to me. I was trained. It had always been a dichotomy, one puzzle I failed to solve. I was always the commanding one. I had a habit of ordering people around, and made decisions for everything, but not with you. I had always been the submissive one in this relationship. I had let you take charge, willingly, never with others.
“Let’s bike.” You got on yours.
“Cross straight over the bridge, follow the water.” Then you were gone.
I walked my bike slowly, and then I discovered a large catamaran waiting to board. I locked the bike and boarded the boat, with his son. Boy held my hand and I held him back, with a tight grip, like the way he held me.
It was a packed boat. It set to sail shortly I boarded. The water was calm, glassy water at the beginning but then the waves came in, carrying strong current. The catamaran fought to stay on course. The water was seeping into the cabin. The boy held my hand, tighter, appeared to be intimidated by the boat and the water.
“It’s alright. Look at these people. They are my friends. Look at those lights far away.” I assured the little boy.
“My dad is training for a race. He bikes a lot.” The boy told me.
“Yes, he does.” I answered.
Boy was curious.
“Do you bike too?” He asked me.
“I do, sometimes. I like to run.” I told him.
“I like to run too. I like when you lift me up with my father.” He smiled.
I had lifted him up once, with his father, and swung him forward, like I used to do with my son.
He was becoming less frightened. I was always maternal towards little boys. I had a little boy once myself. He was always sick when he was young. When he was six weeks old, I thought I had lost him forever. I fought hard to keep him alive; lived in the hospital for two years. He got better. I aged. Wrinkles everywhere, I had no regrets. He was my life. I would have done everything and anything for him. I did not know what love was until the day I held him, watching him helplessly as he fought for his own life.
“Have you ever cried?” You had asked me once.
“I have cried twice. Once for my little boy and once for you, my dear.”
You did not say anything. I did not know where you were at that moment, you seemed far away and you were lost in thought. I wondered if I had made you feeling guilty. I didn’t like to make anyone feel obligated.
I didn’t want to be made into an honest woman. I didn’t care for definition or have any expectations. I had lived long enough to know nothing in life was for certain. Nothing would stay the same, yet I expected you and I would, stay exactly the same.
I loved little boys. They could so easily break my heart. It was the one weakness I had. My boy had left home. He was no longer mine.
“Look at the lights.” I pointed at the far away land.
They were blue, purple, pink and red. They were blinking. The sky had turned purple, reflective of the lights. There were millions of stars, and mysterious floating objects in the sky, shining and blinking. I wondered aloud what they were - Alien objects? Decorations? Airplanes? The lights changed color, they had become yellow, and then blue, and then they stayed light blue, blending into the darkened sky, they were just blazing lights, blinking rapidly, forming shapes in the sky like they were dancing, as if it was the end of the world, and we had entered heaven.
The waves continued to rock the boat. I saw something ascending from water and I exclaimed as it became clear to me it was no ordinary object, it, no, I should say, she, was a mermaid. She was beautiful like the ones my daughter drew for me. She wore beautiful gown draped with seashells and she sang, and danced as she continued to ascend, she waved at me as I waved at her back. The hostess of the catamaran, who I must have known before this trip, came up to me from the back cabin, interrupting my exchange with the mermaid, “You doing alright?” She asked.
I remembered who she was. She owned a fancy restaurant on Embarcadero. I used to go to her private tasting evenings. She was half Japanese and half Chilean, an exotic combination, smart and classy lady in her late 50s.
“I’m great. Did you see the dancing mermaid?” I asked.
“Yes, she comes out to play in this stormy weather. You will see, she’ll protect us, as she always does.” She smiled and padded my shoulder and walked away.
It was mesmerizing, the lights continued to change color again, this time from blue to red, and the clouds were forming and one could see the rays just behind the cloud shadows. I had never seen anything like this before. I took out my camera and started to snap photos. Mermaid started to cross over to the other side of the shore, I could only see her red hair, disappearing into the deep blue water.
Then I heard the boy calling me. “Come back.” I looked back, and he was standing now, holding the seat and waving at me frantically with his little hands.
So I returned to the back cabin. The seats were getting wet, so I stood next to the boy, holding his hand, and his hand was trembling. I felt a tuck in my heart. I lifted him up.
“Did you see what I see? I saw a mermaid!” I asked him as I lifted him high above me.
“No. I didn’t. My dad is a really good at biker.”
Instead of cyclist, he used the word “biker” like my son used to say about his sister, who was an avid bicyclist.
“I have been on many rides with my dad.”
I know little children like to repeat things that were on their minds, things that were familiar to them and things which made them calm.
So I followed the cue.
“Yeah? Tell me about those rides.”
The boy proceeded to tell me stories of his many bike rides with his father.
A man whom I recognized to be my girlfriend’s ex boyfriend passed me by. He was with three younger women. I pretended not to recognize him.
Another woman, whom I was friend with, who dated another male friend of mine once before fifteen years ago in New York, came passing me with a wet suit, and jumped into the water. She got into the water and waved at me and said, “It’s not bad, the waves are fine.” Then she swam away like a fish.
I followed her with my eyes, just to make sure that she was okay and she appeared to be doing just fine, so I turned my attention back to the little boy.
“One time I saw a giant dinosaur on our usual bike route.” The boy was telling me.
I played along.
“Yeah, how big and what kind?”
“It was a Tyrannosaurus rex. It was so huge.” Boy gestured.
“Did it try to catch you guys?” I asked an obvious question.
“No, Dad rides faster than it can catch.” Boy said it proudly.
“That’s fantastic. I love T-rex. They are also my son’s favorite.” My son, when he was little, and sick, always held a little plastic T-rex.
“Sometimes we see construction vehicles, and sometimes we ride trains.” Boy continued to recount his life with his father.
“Yes I have heard.” I squeezed his hand, smiling.
I had decided long ago I’d never make a good stepmother for anyone. I already had children. I love my own children. I adored other children, but the days of raising one with someone, even with a man I love, was over.
I wanted my freedom, more than anything else.
I also feared of losing those I love. I almost lost my son once, and it broke my heart. I had never recovered. I feared to be attached to anyone ever again. The heart healed, but heartbreak never could be forgotten.
Those were private thoughts; I’d never share it with the man I love, the one whom others referred now as my boyfriend.
The music came on. There was festive music playing at shore. Fireworks started to take place from an island not far to the left of us. The sky had turned into dark purple, and it held onto the last bit of rays before the sunset. Darkness was invading our open space. The air became cool.
“Do you think dad has arrived at our hotel?” Boy asked.
“Yes, I’m certain of it. We will be right behind him.” I assured him.
“Good. I miss my dad.” The boy became quiet.
“I know, boy. I know.” I looked up, and the catamaran was slowing down, and approaching shore. This had proven to be a short ride.
As the passengers disembarked, the boy and I trailed behind.
He was looking anxiously through the crowd on shore, searching for his dad.
I knew that you’d be there, you might not be consistent, but you’d always be there, down the road. That much I was sure.
I found the man boy was looking for.
“There is dad.” I pointed the man in a black shirt and blue jeans, standing erect, holding his hat. You appeared to be looking for your son also, searching the crowd, getting impatient. So I waved and called your name.
Then you saw me, and you smiled, or perhaps you saw your son.
Boy ran to his father. “Dad. You go fast.” Boy was so proud of his dad.
I let you two embracing each other. Standing behind.
“Let’s go.” You came up to me, extended your hand to hold mine, again, tight grip.
Boy saw his father holding my hand. So I let go of your hand, uncertain of boy’s reaction, feeling observed.
“Can I be in the middle?” Boy asked.
“Sure.” Feeling relieved, I extended my hand to boy.
Boy put his other hand to his father.
We lifted him up.
Boy giggled, feeling happy and content.
“Let’s count to 100 this time.” Boy requested.
And there we played the game the boy liked: boy counted 1-2-3, and we lifted him up in the air, and he counted again 4-5-6, and we lifted him up again, higher this time, so on and so forth.
I smiled at you, you were looking at me, smiling also, Then you opened his mouth, soundlessly. I read your lips and you said, “thank you.”
I wanted to tell you about the strong current, the waves, and the lights, the fantastical lights, but I knew at that moment, nothing in the world mattered.
Things might change, and freedom would be lost, but you were going to be okay with it. I was not sure of it, but perhaps I would not let my uncertainty trouble me any longer.
I saw a singing mermaid, and if that was what change would bring, I was going to be fine after all.
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