The Dream Police

  I still have the wedding album yet can’t muster the strength anymore to look. But when I did look, and it wasn’t that long ago, my recollection desperately tries to convince me they were genuinely in love. For a time.

They say children can change the dynamic of a marriage, but I’m more convinced it was financially related. And her sickness. Her mind. Perceptions. Delusions of something that was never to come. I was never sure how those levels of importance were determined for her. Perhaps uncontrolled.

His dreams were a hindrance to her master plan. Pop’s glory was centered within, but simply not enough. However embellished, it was still his truth. Just not hers. Perhaps not ours either but we still enjoyed the journey. Papa’s lyrical and tireless imagination. He projected light and promise. She, a darker vision centered on that which we did not have. What he could not provide. A painful truth that love could not support. Pain body took center stage. And ruled mercilessly.

He shared each day a spirit that could not be dampened or broken. Her venomous broadcasts fell on deaf ears. His, anyway.  However honorable his poetic musings – nothing came close to fruition. It mattered none. No, he was  undeterred for our next adventure.

Still, moving became a distraction. A new home could perhaps erase yesterday’s crimes of promise. But futile. A marriage in despair. The charade received a new zip code. An unrequited reverie.

Still – they did love once. I saw it in a photograph.