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maybe 1940's orphaned teen girl
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O'Hush
Jan 27, 2013, 1:12:12 AM1/27/13
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One of my rare mysterious dreams that are unrelated to my real life:
I'm a tiny, underfed waif of about 13, with long, stringy brown hair and too-big scratchy grey linen dresses. I have big, sad, angry brown eyes. I've very recently attended my mother's funeral with my little 2 or 3-yo brother in tow. My relatives say he's my responsibility now, and anyway caring for him distracts me from my profound grief. My father installs us at my aunt and uncle's apartment. He tells us he can't care for us because he has to work to support us, and he has to find us a new mother. My aunt and uncle treat us more like boarders than family. My little brother and I share a room, where I care for him 24/7.
It's NYC in maybe the 30's or 40's, and baking hot midsummer with no AC of course. Our apartment is near a high school or a community gymnasium I think maybe in Brooklyn. I am a stranger to this neighborhood. Like all kids of the day, we are expected to be out of the house when it's daylight unless it's mealtime. We comply.
I'm in a driveway at the high school. I see a boy of about 16 directing games often. He's not very big, but the other boys generally do what he says. He wears a white T-shirt and short red gym shorts with stripes on the sides. He has a sharp way of speaking, but the other boys like and respect him for some reason. I don't know why they let him boss them around. One day when the boys are playing a street ballgame, my baby brother gets in the way and interferes with the game. The bossy boy shouts at my brother unkindly, and he cries.
Though usually my goal is to be invisible, I run, shouting, to my brother's defense. All of our abandonment and neglect by our family feeds the flame for overreaction, and I fearlessly rage at the bossy boy, menacing and pushing him, face red, spitting mad, because the only creature in the world who cares for me has been threatened, and I feel I have nothing left to lose.
I'm surprised when the older boy gently stands down, laughing a little, and apologizes sincerely, and even after that, he continues to quietly bear my tirade for half a minute or so longer. When it's over, he bows to me deeply and apologizes again. He calls me "m'lady" and tells me that his sword is at my command. I don't know how to take this. I don't acknowledge his apology. We walk away, little bro still bawling.
Some time later (a week or a month - I don't know), my little brother and I are inside the gym. He is playing with the unlocked door to a room not currently in use. He has some ideas about drawing something on the door. I'm making him draw on paper instead, and we're taping the paper to the door.
I hear a voice behind me. It's the bossy older boy. He's politely offering guidance on our project, but he's keeping his distance from the other side of a rowing machine so I won't feel threatened, I suppose. During the course of our drawing project, the bossy boy gets incrementally closer until he's among us. I wonder why he's being so nice to me now.
As I'm waking up from the dream, I remember that this was the day my husband started loving me. My beloved husband who adored me for our long, happy life together.
I'm a tiny, underfed waif of about 13, with long, stringy brown hair and too-big scratchy grey linen dresses. I have big, sad, angry brown eyes. I've very recently attended my mother's funeral with my little 2 or 3-yo brother in tow. My relatives say he's my responsibility now, and anyway caring for him distracts me from my profound grief. My father installs us at my aunt and uncle's apartment. He tells us he can't care for us because he has to work to support us, and he has to find us a new mother. My aunt and uncle treat us more like boarders than family. My little brother and I share a room, where I care for him 24/7.
It's NYC in maybe the 30's or 40's, and baking hot midsummer with no AC of course. Our apartment is near a high school or a community gymnasium I think maybe in Brooklyn. I am a stranger to this neighborhood. Like all kids of the day, we are expected to be out of the house when it's daylight unless it's mealtime. We comply.
I'm in a driveway at the high school. I see a boy of about 16 directing games often. He's not very big, but the other boys generally do what he says. He wears a white T-shirt and short red gym shorts with stripes on the sides. He has a sharp way of speaking, but the other boys like and respect him for some reason. I don't know why they let him boss them around. One day when the boys are playing a street ballgame, my baby brother gets in the way and interferes with the game. The bossy boy shouts at my brother unkindly, and he cries.
Though usually my goal is to be invisible, I run, shouting, to my brother's defense. All of our abandonment and neglect by our family feeds the flame for overreaction, and I fearlessly rage at the bossy boy, menacing and pushing him, face red, spitting mad, because the only creature in the world who cares for me has been threatened, and I feel I have nothing left to lose.
I'm surprised when the older boy gently stands down, laughing a little, and apologizes sincerely, and even after that, he continues to quietly bear my tirade for half a minute or so longer. When it's over, he bows to me deeply and apologizes again. He calls me "m'lady" and tells me that his sword is at my command. I don't know how to take this. I don't acknowledge his apology. We walk away, little bro still bawling.
Some time later (a week or a month - I don't know), my little brother and I are inside the gym. He is playing with the unlocked door to a room not currently in use. He has some ideas about drawing something on the door. I'm making him draw on paper instead, and we're taping the paper to the door.
I hear a voice behind me. It's the bossy older boy. He's politely offering guidance on our project, but he's keeping his distance from the other side of a rowing machine so I won't feel threatened, I suppose. During the course of our drawing project, the bossy boy gets incrementally closer until he's among us. I wonder why he's being so nice to me now.
As I'm waking up from the dream, I remember that this was the day my husband started loving me. My beloved husband who adored me for our long, happy life together.
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