A night in the Dreams of Dahlia B.-autobiographical

The Beast

The rain falls hard on a summer porch, Daliah sits quietly stitching together a torn sock. A black sock, the

knee high sort, the sort she has worn far too many times. That's one thing about Daliah, she's the sort of girl

who wears things until they fall tattered from her hips. Even then, she keeps them in a box in the closet.

Another thing you should know about Daliah, she is a dreamer. No dream too high, too low. No dream too far or

too scary. She dreams them all. It is her favorite part of the day, the time when she lives the second part of

her life. To Daliah, it is just as real as her waking moments and far more exquisite.

She finishes patching up the sock, and rolls it up from her toes to her knee. She flicks a mosquito from

her pale thigh, sighing in protest. There will surely be a nice red bite there tomorrow. Just one more reason to

keep her skirt pulled low, and her socks pulled high. Daliah is afraid of being unclothed, afraid of being seen

in the purest of lights. But at the same time, she longs to be seen for who she is. She delights in the fantasy

that some day she will be just right, just perfectly ok to be bare, raw, and vulnerable. And some nights when

she dreams, she is just so. A baby, unafraid and so far unharmed. Yawning, she rises brushing her dark hair from

her shoulder.

She marches through the front door, and thinking suddenly, she closes the door as quietly as possible as if

not to disturb the other members of the house. Dahlia lives alone. Up the stairs, she smiles at the thought that

she has always prefered the descent. She pulls the blinds shut, and pulls off her t shirt, it's okay, no one is

looking. She quickly pulls on her night shirt, a black mess covered with little pink stars and holes. But it's

her favorite. Another memento Daliah holds onto. That is another thing about Daliah you ought to know, she

prefers the ugly puppy in the litter. She prefers the worn out tee shirt to the brand new sparkly one. She loves

her friends most in their hardest moments. She is the ugly puppy, the awkward friend, the ratty tee shirt. She

is ready to sleep. Laying her dark hair against her mountain of pillows, she curls her knees up to her belly,

and wonders why she keeps a stack of these pillows on the opposite side of the bed? Perhaps when she is sleeping,

in this moment will come her man. He will sneak in through her window, just as her big brown eyes close, and

climb as gently as possible into her bed, kiss her cheek and watch her sleep. And just as the sun rises, that

is when he will creep softly back out the window, before she wakes. Yes, this is probably the way it will always

be, and the thought comforts her as her mind drifts inward, into sleep...

The forest is a fortress, large oak trees are defended by smaller shrubs and sometimes flowers, and

these are surrounded by moss and fallen branches gray and brittle with decay. Dahliah sits on the roots of one

such fallen tree, Daliah is herself in this dream. She is viewing the moment from above, as if outside of

herself. That separation gives her relief. She is sitting lonesome, waiting for someone or something and she

decides she will just have to let this dream play out to see if that something or someone arrives. Contrary to

everything she has been taught, the forest is not at all a silent place. It is a cluster of sounds, more alive

than anywhere she has been lately. She can hear the lives rustle in the trees with the slightest of breezes,

a fly buzzes past in a hurry somewhere, maybe to die.

You can hear trees fall! Yes, you can. She knows this is true because she has been here before, and if you

are there at the right moment, you can hear it! Everyone is far too busy to take that sort of time, or risk,

to see what might go on outside the realm of what they have been taught. But not Daliah. She likes coming here.

Her legs are bare and scratched, muddy at the ankle and rough at the knee. Her feet are bare, and when she looks

more carefully, she sees her arms are also bare and slightly dirty. In her dark hair sits a lone needle, from

a large pine tree. She must have crossed some pines on her way to this place, her favorite spot.

A rustling, this time not the leaves. Then silence. She places her small hand against the rough neck of the

tree and rises, peering around the forest, then peering around the other side of the tree. There is no noise now.

Quiet. Not a rustle or single bug hurries by. She looks down and turns back, her head slowly rising to meet

what has come to be of company. The biggest Grizzly these woods have ever seen, and he looms so close to her

she can feel his breath and see his nostrils expand in time with his heartbeat. She is not afraid. Why is she not

afraid? Again, everything she has ever been taught tells her to stop, play dead, or better yet climb. No.

She reaches for the top of his head and touches his golden fur, his eyes stay locked to her legs. Around his

left side she slowly creeps running her had down from his head to his shoulders. He is beautiful. His belly

is greying with age, and his claws are far too long and indicate wisdom. Just at his mid back she pauses, he

quickly rises to his hind legs looming over her. Still, she is not afraid. Her heart flutters slightly, but she

remembers him suddenly. He is an old friend. She is not afraid. Looking down at Daliah, his eyes are the deepest

caves she has ever seen, they sparkle just so one can tell he is thinking, but one will never know just what of.

Daliah lets out a slight sigh, almost a whimper. Please...a tear forms in the corner of her eye. A tear born of

loneliness and wisdom, far too many experiences and even more moments of pure abandon. She remembers why she is

not afraid. With not a single word exchanged, Daliah and this Grizzly met many dreams ago, and he had saved her.

Without a single word, he had saved her. She ought to give him a name, or at least ask...

Before her concious mind can interfere and rationalize or humanize this dream in its ruining ways the massive

bear slowly closes his arms and belly around her, as she crouches below him. He envelopes her in his hide, not a

single part of her left visible but one big brown eye, which peeks from between his limbs. She smiles. He is

her father. He is now protecting her and bringing her back from the cold. She closes her eyes, and drifts away

from this image. She feels his wisdom and strength and she knows she is protected, even if she wakes. She realizes

that her dream is just as real as her waking, and she wishes everyone could know the same. Her mind drifts, the

image fades. She is entering the next chapter, the next dream phase.