Somewhen during the nebulous time between Friday and Saturday I met a man. I did not learn his name; it never seemed important. I know almost nothing about him, even after I had the chance to spend several hours in his presence. Let me tell you what I remember.
He was a large man, easily six feet with some inches to spare, and a soldier's physique. His head was covered in rough black hair. It's texture and color was more memorable than it's style, as I struggle to recall whether he kept it short or wore it long. I do remember that he had the same coarse black hair on his face, forming a neatly trimmed beard except on his cheeks. Like me.
If I had to guess, I would say he was in his late 40's or more likely his early 50's. Like his name I did not ask. It never seemed important.
This man was not a kind man. He was not a cruel man. He was quick with a sarcastic comment or a cutting truth, and he often had jokes that were more crude than funny. I feel that he tolerated my presence, but did not welcome it. The feeling was mutual. I was not there by choice.
Our early time together has been quickly forgotten, that is how little impact it had on me. I could not tell you where we met or why. It never seemed important. Our last moments were spent driving to a destination he would not tell me. It was a secret. We rode in his truck. He had given me the opportunity to drive his other truck with trailer attached. I declined, too scared to drive an unknown road alone. He almost left while I was making my decision, and at the last second I climbed aboard his truck and settled into the back seat. The trailer was left behind.
The front passenger seat was occupied by the man's wife. I caught a glimpse of her, but we didn't speak a single word to each other. She never acknowledged my presence; I never acknowledged hers. That is all the attention I paid her. It never seemed important. The man steered his truck effortlessly. We did not ride the paved highways. He took us through bumpy fields, unerringly finding passageways through fences and forests, changing his course only when we passed through a gate and entered a new field. Then he would adjust our course directly to the next gate on our journey.
Inside I worried about the damage we were doing to the fields and how the landowner's felt about our presence on their property. We never saw anyone. Out loud I asked how he found this back way to our destination. He answered, but his words eluded me and I never discovered the origins of his shortcut. I imagined that it took countless trips exploring the boundaries of grains and greenery until he found the way from each field to the next.
We reached our final destination. A small gravel covered clearing amidst a ring of trees. The only sign of civilization was the transmission tower at the clearings edge that carried power lines away from us in both directions. The man immediately began preparing food to the hungry masses; he promised they would arrive. The location seemed an unlikely one for a random visit; I never doubted him. As he worked others arrived and set up their trucks as well and began their own preparations. As he worked the man told me of all the foods he could supply if he had his truck and trailer. However, without his trailer things were different. He could still serve food, but the menu would be limited. Nevertheless, they would manage. Despite these words, I could hear his disappointment in me and I was disappointed in myself.
About this time the somewhen became more solidly Saturday and my deep sleep became half-sleep. My waking mind had the realization that the dream was ending. This was a familiar experience. However, this time it was accompanied by another feeling. I realized that when I woke up the man would disappear. He would ceased to exist. His life, such as it was, would end forever. And I felt sad.
I felt sad for the loss of a man who had shown me no special kindness and done me no favors. I felt sad for the loss of a man who had little to recommend himself to me or others. I felt sad because he would disappear and I was the only one who had ever known him.
I am still unsure how I managed it, dreams our not ours to control, but I forced myself back into sleep and continued with this man a little longer, giving him life for a few precious minutes, and enjoying his company until I inevitably woke. The dream and the man ended.
He was not real; he was a creation of my mind. In the full light of day the ending of the dream was not such a major loss. It shouldn't have seemed important, but it was important. Important enough that I felt the need to share this story. I have no grand meaning that I want to tell you. No message, no moral. Take from my experience what you will. If you take nothing, I will not be offended. The experience was mine, not yours.
I will not spend my days grieving for the dream man, or hoping that I dream of him again. There are more important things to occupy my mind. But I will remember him for a while. Most importantly, I will remember the feeling of loss I had once upon a dream.
