I had a dream last night about Ana. In my dream she was locked away in a mental hospital (residential facility). She was still beautiful but her eyes looked more dull and her face showed wrinkles. The man who loved her, handsome, Irish (Bobby), visited her in this place. And he was sad and tired.
Ana was my childhood best friend. She went to a different school, a private school, and I would run to meet her when she got off the bus in her uniform. We co-authored stories, co-painted murals, drank coffee and laughed.
I could barely keep up with her mind and her imagination. We went to the private tennis clubs wearing crazy clothes and one each of each other's shoes. We spent weekends reading to one another in her room, part of a flat with very tall ceilings on the other side of town.
Her parents worried about her - she was impulsive and violently artistic. The quality of her painting made people pause. Their jaws dropped whenever her work was on display.
I miss her terribly. We now live thousands of miles apart and I can't find her on Facebook or through Google.
While I've asked from time to time, my father, who still communicates with Ana's father through an Engineer's alliance, does't seem to have any leads.
No comments:
Post a Comment