A Dream Too Far

I saw her again this afternoon. Will she keep stopping by? Does she feel she has to out of politeness? I got paranoid she was taking another route to work just to avoid me but really she just needed to run an errand that day.

And still I fret.

Talking through the bars is exquisite torture. I'm insanely happy talking to her but wholly miserable at being cut off from her. When she leaves I sit on the bench and pout every time. The guards sneer at me.

Just how far can anything go with me stuck in here? I love to hear the tales of her life. If only I could get out and join her!

What if she gets a different job and no longer needs to pass by? Would she still make time for me? I'm torn between bonding with her and pulling away. She makes me feel alive. Alive like I haven't felt in years and years. But it also brings pain to places that have long been numb to death - and it slices like a scalpel.

So this is what swirls through my mind day after day. I can find no resolution. Welcome to cell hell.

CODA: I got unexpected early parole. I said nothing to her as I didn't want her to feel pressured or obligated to meet me outside. I wonder what she thought when she stopped to find my cell empty and no word given. Would it have hurt her? Turns out I don't have the nerve to face her in real life.

I watch her from afar taking her daily walk to work. My hands sweat and heart races. I just can't approach her. Would she smile or groan? Before, it was on her terms and she never had to commit to me. But I am committed to her. Is being her friend a dream too far?

******

"Hey, Lonnie, what the hell you doing with all those car body parts on the side of your house?"

"Going to build an exotic car."

"Really! What kind of engine you gonna put in it?"

"No engine. No innards at all."

"Then how the hell you gonna drive it???"

"Ain't. Just going to build a really cool body and everyone will think I have a really cool car."

"They may think it, but it won't be true."

"If they believe it's true it will be true."

"Only in their mind!"

"Yup."

"So what's the point of all this if you don't have a real car?"

"We just went over that..."

"I guess I just don't see the point."

"That's on you, dude."

"Well, I sure ain't building no exotic car shell that don't run and parking it in my driveway."

"And no one will think you have an exotic car. I prefer it the other way."

"OK, let's put this another way then. Why don't you just go get you a real exotic car and put that in your driveway??"

"Because that's a dream too far so I'll just have to make do like I really got something."

******

[John Looking Glass Lennon died in 1969 in a one car crash and his Aunt Mimi who raised him gave her thoughts at his funeral.]

"He was wild like a lot of boys with a very active imagination. But he was a good boy and came to realize he had to grow up. It took a long time to convince him! When he got his mechanic's certification, it was the proudest day of my life. He said, 'You were right, Mimi. Love won't pay the bills.'"

"He still had an irresponsible streak, spending his money on music concerts and fashionable clothes. I emphasized how it important it was that he save his money for the future but he just could not help himself."

"It is tragic that both he and his mother died from auto accidents. [Editor's note: Julia Lennon was hit by a drunk driver] Perhaps if she had lived his life would have turned out differently."

"I'll admit there was a deep, unexplainable sorrow inside him that infected everything he did. It's a mystery to me why a young, handsome boy with a mechanic's certificate could be so unhappy when he had such a promising future. When he passed the mechanic test, curiously all he said to me was, 'Part of me has died. Now I can't even write.'"

"Maybe he never really fully grew up and faced reality. He got kicked out of clubs for berating the band. He fell in love from afar with a Japanese woman, something that had no possibility of working out. I do know some people only choose things they can't have in order to not face themselves."

"I asked him what is writing without food? And he asked what is food without writing? I certainly hope this death is not the answer to that, that his life was a dream too far."