Daymakers and Dreamcatchers
Article by Victoria Calton, art Fer Juarez Duran
Nowadays, mornings are quieter without your goofy aura and bony, warm back reclining on mine and prepping my dusky soul as your impatient elbow nudges me awake.
During those mornings, I was caressed by the cold of night as sun-kisses attempted to beat out the heat of a flickering bud to warm my icy corpse. I greeted the dawn with a silent breath of fog as He peeked out, hoping to catch a glimpse of His creations.
Once the sun overtook the hills, you’d cry like a rooster saying,
“If you don’t wake up and look now, you're gonna miss God flippin’ through the chapters, waiting for our next adventure. Come on, Wake Up!”
“Damn it, Dante, the scream was enough.” My droopy eyes always resisted the flashiness of day. “This mundane ritual of yours is killing my sleep schedule, and I’m tired of dirtying my ass on all these rocks and gravel. I’d rather wake up at Denny’s, IHOP, somewhere with a decent cup of coffee at least—”
My voice quickly dried out as I took another hit, laying my head slightly over his right shoulder, and watching my smoke race dawn rising into the sky. With a welcoming gesture of his wrist, I passed the cigarette to his right hand, hoping my breath would catch up with the soaring early birds, while he stamped out the bud. That sweet, bitter taste of living life to its beautiful yet tiring extent was addictive and being able to share it was even more intoxicating. I let out another fresh puff of smoke while laying back, fully extending my neck across his shoulder as he stared off into the eastward, rosy battle between the presiding dawn and the retreating dusk.
Peace and stillness filled the unmarred wilderness. Sometimes this silence was too quiet for me to stand. If I closed my eyes, it would carry the same uneasiness of reclining on a stiff chair, choking on each breath taken within the bleach-stained hall, waiting for my mother to be placed for visitation. I don’t think anyone could tell if she really needed the assistance, like a helpless sheep, or if she was playing the role of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. This was a bitterness that had no sweet release, and when the heavy, pale medical doors swung open with aggravated force, a barely visible limp figure would stand in the glaring doorway gripping an IV drip. It was almost like the light was attempting to cure the encroaching darkness as she approached.
With another hard nudge, a piercing pain shot through my back and shocked my amber tinted eyelids awake. Shaken by the memory of her, I nearly choked on the smoke.
“Now that we’ve claimed the day, the world is ours. We can rip the clouds from the sky; how do you feel about a sunny day? Or chase down a phoenix and get her to teach us how to fly! Sounds better than green energy or gas-powered transportation to me. But bugs are probably ten times more annoying without a windshield, right?” Dante asked with a giggle. An intrusive pause lingered in the air as his usual spiel fell short. “But we don’t need wings to get the hell out of here, do we?”
Famiglia this, famiglia that. Everything about it tears me up inside. It’s like hoping for a future, for love – change is a death wish because family and our wellbeing is king. But slowly killing others with our poisons and addictions – devastating others’ lives is totally fine. “Sii un uomo,” “Be a Man,” “Sii un uomo” is all they ever say! I was tired of it, and now, even the thought of it, what I did–
With that comment I sat up, turning towards him, hoping he would face me directly, but he didn’t. Dante just looked away from the sun, peering at the dark road leading home, saying, “You don’t need an angel to drop down from heaven to tell you what you're doing is wrong, and you don’t need to hear sirens to know when to run.” Not even the cooing of well-rested birds could break the loud silence between us. Not even I knew how to break it. “I’m not like them. You know that, I know that. So, how long do you think I’ll last…four, five months. A year before–” He couldn’t finish his sentence, fearing the manifestation of a deadly yet inevitable possibility. A fist covered his mouth while his other hand latched onto his neck, which silenced him, yet held him together.
A panicked, pensive look cut Dante off from reality, transporting him somewhere I couldn’t reach.
Last week, I was so ready to prove myself, to finally get all of them off my back. Before I knew it, it was nightfall. It was so dark I couldn’t see my own fists, and a heavy, hot metal stung my skin like a rash was spreading from my waist. I was sweating so hard, my heart was beating so fast, my eyes were darting, looking for any sign of escape, of danger, but our toxic or "prescriptive" dealings looked like they were moving in slow motion. Then, with a blinding and paralyzing flash, everything shot into hyper-speed. Blankness covered my mind, blinded my senses like it was trying to drive me mad. I could see their wild gestures pointing towards the man making off with our goods. So naturally, I followed suit. When I caught up with him, I tackled him to the ground, like a frightened doe.
We tussled for a while, like two desperate dogs hoping for approval, until he was able to kick and push me off him. I had no choice. I grabbed him by his ankle, making him trip to the ground. I reached for my piece. I screamed,
“HEY man!” I quickly stood up hoping he couldn’t see my hands shaking violently as my body sank from the pressure, “Don’t.” As he jerked to rise, I quickly pointed the barrel of the gun at his torso and pulled—it snapped back like the bloodthirsty jaw of a desperate snarling beast. The man quickly rose, smirked, and ran for the hills, leaving me with a jammed gun and crippled conscience.
His mind seemed to linger as his soul was clenched in a devastated state. The only way to reach him in times like this was with a hug, empathetic acknowledgement, and vulnerability. With each passing moment, I was struck by gusts of cold, maddening air that poured out from Dante’s soul. This cold stung me on contact and violently vibrated through my core, freezing my veins. This freeze exited with a familiar sting before the next wave hit.
As the sun rays tried to dry out our saturated conversation, I treaded towards Dante and kneeled down, wrapping my arms over his. I hoped my heart was close enough and beating loud enough to fight back the waves.
“You define your strength, actions, and limitations which are unbound by any outside source unless you give it power over you.” Hoping to keep his attention, I squeezed him harder. “You are who you say you are. So do, act, and be who God intended you to be. Do that, and we’ll be alright.” He slowly unraveled and latched onto my arms as the sun peaked higher over the horizon.
I continued, failing to hold back a loving smile, “I mean, who will be there to beautify my braids if not you? Who will hold my hand when we’re touring from Troy to Athens Ulysses-style?” I could feel him holding in his laughter deep within his chest. “You're too young,” I paused to kiss the left side of his neck, “too insanely intelligent,” pausing again to kiss the right side of his neck, “and way too beautiful inside and out to give up on me before our journey’s even started.”
I ended our chat with a final kiss on the nape of his neck, then nuzzled my way onto his right shoulder saying, “God’s next chapter, right?”
Something about remembering that moment creates an adoring sting, like the piercing comfort of a coat of alcohol on a freshly barren wound. That’s the type of pain my mother specializes in. When I’d visit, she’d spout nonsense about a curse of death and despair that fed on our family’s souls until they were left bare and driven mad. She says I’m her last and only regret because my birth bore her madness, and that crimson red mark proved it.
“You’re my Hell. Everything you touch, everything drawn to you will be corrupt and poisoned with ceaseless pain and suffering. Like Cain, spurned from every public, and outcasted. Not even God will rest your soul.” She’d clench my arm harder saying, “Beg for mercy now or suffer in purgatory for life.”
She’s full of it.
As the sun broke away from the confines of the earth’s horizon, I couldn’t help but smile, feeling his body and soul quenched by the light and warmth of a new day. He carefully twisted around to return a bear-sized squeeze and a loving peck as we both turned away from the overpowering strength of the sun.
“Sooo it’s hiking and phoenix-hunting for today then,” Dante said as his dimples tried to fight off his pearly-white smile.
It’s important to remember that dawn breaks day into the future and dusk seals our fate for the historical records. The past eclipses my present because letting go is too painful and holding on is too suffocating.
I can't motivate myself enough to watch the sunrise on my own; it hurts too much. Most days, I watch the sunset and pray nothing happens when dusk settles and my work begins. My taillights carry on the sun's duties of chasing away the shadows as they mask the once-clear, welcoming land of the living.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Never forget the daydreamers ready to light a fire under their dusk’s beautiful and revolutionary sweet dreams by breaking the darkness with the light of tomorrow’s quest.