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"A persian rug in front of a marble
fire place" she said, crossing her legs on the beige couch, "and
French champaign."
"And the kids away for the weekend?" Her girlfriend smiled.
They often spoke about escaping into dreams. They joked about meeting
millionaires with Ferraris, globe-trotting with the perfect gentleman
or being rescued heroically by the knight in the Italian handmade suit.
A healthy family life with a caring loyal husband.
"Just ghosts!" she laughed. "Just an image that will fit
the dream."
She knew about images. Stroking her soft hands over his back as he lays
sleeping peacefully in front of the TV set, the kids playing computer
games in their room. Introducing him proudly to her colleagues, casually
mentioning his success at the work place. Making love gently through the
long hours of a pastel coloured summers night, not as an obligation but
as a commitment and appreciation of understanding. Sharing dreams and
reaching goals, together. Loving, as if they discovered love. The images
that she can turn to by just closing her eyes.
A smile slips onto her pretty face and lights up her green eyes, making
her look younger still. Across the lounge she notices that her friend
also got lost into a dream.
"Hey, let's get the party going! They'll be here any minute now."
The lounge changes shape as the couch and chairs were moved to form an
inspiring party composition with the arrangements of snacks, dips, chip
bowls and wine glasses on the small table against the wall. The CD player
sprang to life as if an entertainer walked into the room. The lights are
dimmed and the chatter of friends celebrate the escape from dreams.
They laughed and danced all evening. The music filled the room with a
passion of memories. They grabbed the sweetness of each moment as if it
was pink candy-floss. Swallowing it greedily before it disappears. Almost
everything was perfect. Her eye caught two men kissing fleetingly in the
dim light of the far corner. Two ladies sat on the couch, holding hands,
contempt in comfortable silence. She danced like a young girl with the
husband of her male friend, swinging in the whispers of old promises,
fascinated by the attention of considerate touching, her body feeling
warm and welcome as when she was eighteen. She was on a journey, visiting
escapism. She forgot about life for a while.
It was only between the brief pauses of songs that she was aware of the
ghost. But then she would close her eyes and loose herself in the bubbling
notes of the music, taking it in as if it was champaign. Drinking from
each dance without spilling a minute, filling herself with the moments
until there was no more room left in her head. And late in the evening
the ghost drifted out of her mind, across the room and out the door.
She slipped into bed. Everything had returned
to normal, the guests leaving only empty glasses. The silence became louder
than the music was. She started to cry. Not because the laughter had ended
so soon. Not because time travels one way only once. But because she realized
that she did not know how to turn her carpet into a persian rug, her bedside
lamp into a marble fire place. She could not connect her life with her
dreams. The images she had created so carefully seemed to have glided
away so effortlessly between the lines of songs and the lines of time.
When she fell asleep strange words were ringing in her head: "Dance
with the ghost, dance with the ghost..."
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