Silver Ring
There’s a woman standing in a kitchen I’ve never seen before, light turning everything the color of honey, and when she looks at me I feel like I’m drowning in something warm.
I don’t know her name but I know the exact pitch of her laugh.
These dreams come almost every night now. Not the kind where you’re flying or suddenly you’re back in school wearing nothing but your socks. No, these are different. Clear. Like memories, except I know they can’t be.
She has this way of moving through a room. Graceful, but not in that studied way some people have. Natural. Like water finding its path.
Last night she was standing in a kitchen. Sunlight coming through a window, catching dust in the air, turning everything golden. She was doing something, I think, or maybe just standing there with her hands in the water, and she turned to look at me over her shoulder. And I felt this overwhelming sense of, I don’t know. Peace?
“Do you remember what she said?”
I’m trying to. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Something about coffee, maybe. Or the garden. There was a garden in the dream. Tomatoes. Big, red ones, sliced thick for sandwiches. She knew exactly how thick to cut them.
The thing is, I can recall these dreams better than I can recall what I had for breakfast this morning.
I just remember how bland it tasted.
Oh! it was a half cooked omelet right?
Yeah it was awful.
I’m sorry, what were we talking about?
Oh, right. The woman. From the dreams.
I told you about her, didn’t I? The kitchen, the honey light, the tomatoes, the way she laughed.
You were right here. Why are you looking at me like that?
I’m not confused. There was light behind her, bright, golden, the kind that makes you squint. She had her hand up, shading her eyes? Waving? The smell of coffee lingered, or maybe bread. Something warm.
You keep writing things down. What are you writing?
Her hair was dark. I’m sure of it. Dark and long, down past her shoulders.
Except sometimes I think it was shorter. To her chin, maybe. And lighter. Or am I mixing her up with someone else? No. No, it was definitely dark.
She said something important once. It started with a W. “Wait.” “When.” Something about staying. I can feel the weight of it in my chest.
“Do you remember where you were when she said it?”
I was — there ?
I was right there with her. We were somewhere. A room.
I mean. There were pictures on the wall, I think. Or maybe a mirror. Something reflecting light. And she was upset about something. Or was I upset? One of us was upset.
I’m not losing my mind. I know how this looks, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not. It’s just, it’s all jumbled up.
“Take your time”
She wore a ring. Silver. Thin band. I told you that, didn’t I?
I touch my own hand sometimes, searching for the circle her thumb used to trace.
You’re humoring me. I can see it. But she’s more real than this room. More real than this faint scent of antiseptic I can’t place.
What day is it?
I know what day it is. I just… slipped for a second.
She knew what day it was. Always. She’d write things down on a calendar. Little notes in the margins. Dentist appointment. Call Mother. His birthday. Whose birthday? I don’t — it doesn’t matter.
But I can see the calendar. Hanging on the wall by the — where was it? The hallway? There was a hallway with photographs. Our faces, younger. Smiling. Except they’re not our faces because I don’t know her.
I don’t know her.
But when I close my eyes, I can feel her hand in mine. Warm. Small. Her thumb rubbing circles on my palm when she was nervous.
How do I know that?
“Let’s continue tomorrow”
Tomorrow. Yes.
What were we —
The woman. Right.
There was a moment. I remember a moment.
She was sitting at the table, morning light catching dust like slow snow. The faint smell of coffee still there, or maybe just the memory of it.
She had this way of, her hands. She did something with her hands when she talked. Moved them like birds.
“What did she say?”
I don’t know.
But I feel it. Heavy. Important. Something about waiting. Or staying.
She’s gone now. Not gone like dead. Gone like smoke.
I think she loved me.
I know she loved me.
There was a moment. I’m sure of it.
Where everything was clear and warm and I wasn’t trying to remember because I was there, and she was saying something, and I —
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What was I saying?
There was a woman. I think. In a dream I’m losing.
She’s here.
No — she was here. Why can’t I find her?
Voices. Words scrambled, wrong order. Her voice? Not her voice.
Who are you?
You keep asking questions. I don’t understand what you want.
The light shifted. My hands, they look old, paper-thin, veins like blue rivers. When did they get so old?
I’m tired.
Have I been here before?
I told you about the woman. Dark hair. Light hair. The kitchen. Golden light. Honey light. The smell of coffee gone sour.
“Would you like some water?”
Water. Yes.
The glass is heavy. Cold against my palm.
It tastes like nothing. Did it ever taste like something?
There was something important. A kitchen. Tomatoes bursting red. Bread warm from the oven. Her laugh.
CALM? How can I be calm when she’s screaming at me from inside my own head?
“I didn’t say anything, sir.”
She loved me. Did I love her back? I must have.
The ring. Silver. Where is the ring.
I’m scared.
I’m so scared.
The kitchen is flooding. No — there’s no kitchen. Just this room. White walls. Your eyes full of pity.
DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT.
Her voice. Always her voice.
I don’t know her.
But God, I know her.
Warm.
Hand. Soft. Small. Thumb moving. Circles.
I know this.
Voice. Shh.
Quiet now. The screaming stopped.
Everything soft. Edges blurred.
She’s.
You?
Your face, strange but safe.
“Do you know who I am?”
Should I?
Light wrong. Time wrong.
The ring. There was a ring.
She loved me.
Do I love her.
Tired.
Confusion like an old blanket. Familiar.
Everything going.
But this warmth stays.
Doesn’t it.
Honey.
Warm.
.
Light behind eyelids.
.
Pressure. Hand.
.
Heart.
Beating.
.
Lungs.
Rising.
.
Falling.
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In.
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Out.
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In.
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Out.
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In.
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Out
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Forgot.
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How
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In.
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In.
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