Dream Come True
Last night I dreamed I was an audience participant in an amazing magic show. By the end of the show I was half in love with the magician, so I was delighted when, of all the crowd, he came to speak to me. I’d just reached the part of the dream where the magician was going to reveal that he loved me too, when Patches crashed into bed with me and woke me up. I snuggled Patches into bed with me, regretting the loss of the dream. It had been a lovely story and I wanted to see the rest. I was drifting back toward sleep when I realized that I’ve already seen the rest. It was no wish-fulfillment dream. It was my life history played back to me under the guise of a story. See, 13 years ago the magician did pick me out of the audience and take me home.
At the time I didn’t fully realize that Howard was a magician. I was only at the play because my roommate was a cast member. Howard was the conductor for the on-stage orchestra. I recognized him as the roommate of my former boyfriend. I’d been introduced to him once, but I was with another guy and did not follow up on my interest. This time I had several hours to watch him on stage. I knew I wanted to talk to him, but I did not dare.
I did, however, dare to come back to the play again. This time I determined that I would at least speak to him and compliment him on the play, particularly on the music. He’d written many of the songs in the play and they deserved praise. I was working my way to the end of the row of seats, rehearsing what I meant to say. I had less time to rehearse than I’d anticipated because he was at the end of the row waiting for me. I wish I could remember what he said. I can’t. I do remember that he spoke first. In all the crowded audience he had seen me, and he wanted to know my name.
We went to dinner that night and many nights thereafter. In fact I never went on a date with anyone else again. We did not have a fairytale courtship, nor wedding. There were no evil queens to interfere, nor singing birds to adjust my veil. Instead we had prickly government employees at the county registrars office and a trio of sisters to help me fix my hair. It was all so much harder and more wonderful than stories would lead one to assume. There has been no happily ever after to neatly end the story. Instead there have been more than 13 years of laughter and anger and frustration and joy. Sometimes we had all of those things simultaneously.
There have been times when I have felt like my life is hopelessly mundane, when I look at my husband and wonder how I ended up here. Not that here is bad, but it just seems so ordinary, so lacking in fireworks and music. Those are the times when I can’t see the magic in front of my nose. See, he chose me when he did not have to. Better than that, every day he continues to choose me. And he is magic. Anyone who has been in a room with him, who has heard him speak, knows this. He can take a simple gathering and turn it into a laughter filled event. But more precious than his public magic are the private gifts. The tears he will shed in front of no one else, the joys and jokes that are for my ears alone. In a hundred tiny ways he continues to choose me every day.
Patches did not ruin my dream this morning. He woke me up into a better one.