a strange, broken dream

part 1. sunset

I'm outside. It's snowy. A garden spreads out in front of a large, unlit house. At the foot of the garden is a fallen tree dusted with fresh snow, beyond it stretches a field, and misty, coniferous hills lie in the distance. We are staying at the large, unlit house. I know, without understanding, that 'we' is myself and a small group of people. My Mum and sister are there, and although I don't recognise the others, some seem faintly familiar. I can't connect the dots.
We sit around on tree stumps in the garden, watching what remains of the sun sink behind the hazy pine trees in the distance.
Now I'm standing on the fallen tree trunk. It starts to roll underneath my feet, and I wobble a little at first but manage to remain standing. Then I jump off and my feet sink into the fluffy snow. I expect my feet to feel wet and cold (I suppose you can't feel those things in a dream).
I'm in the house now. I'm looking for a bathroom. The house is poorly lit and I don't know why. I'm in a room with floral curtains and a lush cream carpet. It has is an ensuite bathroom, and I fumble for the light switch in the dark.

part 2. dusk

Downstairs in the house. It's growing darker by the minute. I find the group of people clustered around an old TV set, watching a movie (I can't remember which). I curl up at the end of the sofa, surprised to find a seat - people are perched on the back of the sofa and on the arms of chairs looking uncomfortable.
Next to me is a man who has sunk so low into the cushions that his neck seems to be at a right angle to his back. My eyes travel down from his crooked head to his chest, and further to his tummy which is exposed - his jumper is bunched up around his ribs from where he has slumped into the couch. My eyes linger on his belly button and the trail of soft hairs leading up to it. I want to sink further into the settee and let my arm or leg rest against him, but I don't. I imagine waking up next to his body.

part 3. twilight

My brothers are also at the house. I leave with them and we travel, by means of rickety snowmobile, to an all too familiar place.
The house stands dark, lonely and terribly out of place on the snowy hill. Nothing like it should, nothing like it did. I don't even want to look at the pebble-dash exterior, so I turn my eyes to the blue shadows it casts on the snowy drive. I don't want to go in.
Inside. I'm standing in the hall, it's dimly lit. Tim shuffles around me impatiently. There never was much room in this place, and he never had much patience.
Upstairs. I'm in the bathroom now. Everything is still here and it shouldn't be. Her faded pink and peach towels are hanging on the heated rail. If I reach out and touch them, might they still be damp? There is a little bar of soap on the sink next to her toothbrush. A pair of knickers are hanging up to dry. The radio she kept upstairs and carried between bedroom and bathroom in the mornings is sitting on the shelf, next to it is a pale pink shell she probably picked up on the beach when we holidayed in Mallorca. It is exactly as I remember it, and it is all wrong. They should have cleared it all away by now. Why is everything still here?
Back downstairs. In the hallway. Tim is frustrated - I'm not helping them. He drags a large case outside, it looks like it might have a musical instrument in it.
Then I see her. No face or features, just her shape and the colors she wore. She's standing in the kitchen at the end of the hall. I don't want to be afraid, but I am, and I feel terribly guilty because of it. I shouldn't be afraid of her.
Granddad appears. He is taller than I remember him. He hugs me into his sizable chest and cups my head with a big, warm hand. His mustache bristles tickle the top of my head. I can still see her, in the kitchen. Don't let go, I think. It's all wrong.

part 4. night

Outside in the driveway in front of Nan's house. I'm helping Tim and James load cases of musical instruments on the snowmobile. There is no room for me to ride back to the house. "Just come back for me," I say.
A mini bus arrives and I hop in. I sit down next to a man. Next to him is a woman with a bonny child. I'm pressed up uncomfortably close to him. As the bus leaves the driveway I have already forgotten about Nan and Granddad and the house and the musical instruments. I have to get to a party.
The man next to me points out of the window, naming the dark peaks of mountains in the distance. My eyes turn to the shapes outside, and I cannot really tell the mountains from the trees. While he distracts me, his eyes wander unabashedly over my body. I'm not wearing a bra and my breasts shake under the black t-shirt I'm wearing with the motion of the bus. My Levis sit high on my hips, making me seem curvier than I really am. His eyes are all over me and I don't like it. I don't like him. His wife and child sat next to him seem suddenly pale and withdrawn. I make myself as small as possible.

part 5. night cont.

I'm in an airy, bright room, filled with music and the chatter of a hundred or more voices. The ballroom has a high ceiling and a mezzanine that overlooks the main floor. The men look elegant in their penguin tuxedos, but the women look cheap in their too-tight dresses and too-high heels. I'm underdressed in my jeans and t-shirt, I don't mind though.
Familiar faces and faceless faces float by - friends of friends who I struggle to place, my brother's ex-girlfriend, people from the dimly lit house...but not the person I want to see.
I'm looking for the man from the sofa. I weave through the party searching for him, but I'm wearing a pair of black stilettos which keep slipping on the shiny floor, and I'm becoming anxious that I might not find him.
I make my way up to the mezzanine, hoping to catch a glimpse of him from above. An older woman tries to flag me down on the way, I give her an apologetic smile and push through the crowd. I suddenly place the woman's theatrical face - she was my Nan's friend - I remember her magical, loopy handwriting from letters scattered around the mantlepiece. Elizabeth Something.
On the balcony. My eyes dart about the crowd for the man who is nowhere to be seen. Then a blonde woman in a tight red dress taps me on the arm. No sound accompanies the movement of her lips, but I can understand. She tells me the man has left for another party. "Down by the lake," she mouths, "he was looking for you."
Outside. The snow is melting in the early morning sun, revealing lush green shrubs underfoot.

I wake up as unsettled as the snow left behind in my dreams. In the shower I try to wash it away with the hot water and shampoo. I can't. Damp, dripping, I bend over my notebook, hold a towel to my chest with one hand, and with the other begin to scribble furiously. Drops of water splash on the pages making inky puddles. I feel better once it's written down. I don't try to understand it. I dry my hair. I spray my perfume. I pull on my black t-shirt and Levis. I get on the train.

Pictures are from the one and only Nikoline.