I had two dreams last night – both of which I know came from this Mystic River fog.
1. I had a dream about Deirdre P. – a girl I went to grade school with, a tough girl, a nice girl – I went to some of her birthday parties. She was a tomboy. An old soul. Kind of like Jodie Foster when she was a kid. And she died maybe … 10 years ago or something like that. In wierd circumstances, I believe, although I don’t know any details. I am not haunted by Deirdre – we were friends for about 5 minutes when we were 9 years old. But there she was. In my dream. Clear as day. Sitting at the bottom of a flight of steps which were coated in ice, looking over her shoulder back up at me. She was a kid in the dream. Not a grown woman. A kid, just looking up at me.
2. I had a dream about an old flame of mine. A long-standing flame. We’re actually still friends, in a kind of invisible “I know you’re out there” kind of way. I see him when he visits New York. The guy is a big MANIAC – tall, with crazy black hair – who, as a human being, obviously has insecurities, and flaws, and fears, but he never shows them. Or, if he does show them, it’s never in a neurotic worried way, he does it in a brash masculine way, like: “DAMN! I am feeling REALLY INSECURE right now!” He proclaims his humanity in a loud voice, and everybody bursts into laughter. I like being with him because he never cares what people think. And he also made it his GOAL IN LIFE to make me laugh. Even now, when we get together for drinks on his once-a-year trip to NYC, he makes it his #1 priority to make me laugh.
I rarely dream about him but I did last night. He didn’t look like himself, but it wasn’t his features that were different. It looked like something had collapsed – inside of him. Which was the worst tragedy in the world to me. I never ever want that wild free soul to collapse, become small, become scared. I stared at his eyes, I stared at the diminished soul in his eyes – and thought: where is that brash confidence? Where is that loud arrogant I-could-own-the-world-if-I-chose-to stance? Where is my old friend? Where did he go?
It is only now, looking back on these two dreams, put together, that I can see where they came from.
Mystic River.
I’m working on writing about it, in more depth. Maybe that will help me loosen its grip on me.
I read the book about a year or so ago and it gripped me for a week or so after.
I can’t wait to see the movie and find out if it has the same effect on me. I bet it will if it did it to you.
Damn, didn’t have the chance to see it last weekend. I’m hoping this one will be different. It looks so damn good.
DeAnna:
Yes, I am almost done with the book now. I was late to work today because I couldn’t put it down.
UnbeLIEVable.
The movie is very true to the book – they lift most of the dialogue right off the page.
I can’t get Tim Robbins’ performance, in particular, out of my mind. It is haunting me.
Dee Dee jumped in front of a train before our 10 year high school reunion – I was friends with her for about 8 minutes back in the day – but had an extensive conversation at the bar with another former classmate at the last reunion – I’ll have to share that with you in a more private setting…
Your description of dream #2 is beautifully written and very chilling.
The way you detect evil people is: they *want* to bring about the kind of collapse in people that you describe in your old flame.
David:
Your comment, for some reason, brought tears to my eyes.
I know just what you mean, and … I appreciate that you would call that “evil”. Yes. I call it “evil” too. And even though I see that old flame once a year – I feel like I hover protectively over that wildness in him, the beautiful freedom – making sure it still exists. Loving it, drawing it out into the light.
Evil. Yes. That’s what Mystic River was about. The evil that humanity can do to humanity.