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From The µDream Series¶
By Stacie W Beliveau
 ˜ y dear friend, Jackie, was in trouble at her office, and I rushed through

the city streets trying to find her in a mad frenzy. The night was falling quickly and
what concerned me was that the day people were slowly slipping away, replaced by
the night people, those that you don¶t want to meet in dark alleys.
³Need help lady?´ A youth in a long black trench coat inquired, startling me
into swallowing my breath and jolting my heart. He never looked up or moved
from his spot. I could smell the fear on myself, I was completely out of my element
and we both knew it. I quickly walked on.
³Need a place to stay lady?´ Another youth, clothed in tatters and tattoos,
moving out of the shadows, and then slipping back in before I could get a good
look. I frantically looked around for Jackie¶s office, but the streets were now dark
and unfamiliar, and my fear escalated again. I turned towards him and slowly
turned around and walked backwards a little, making sure he didn¶t make a move
towards me as I made my move away.
I turned left at the next intersection and to my left was a large, blank white
wall of painted brick. How odd that the color of a building could ease my fear, that
didn¶t make sense at all. But somehow its brighter color brought my mood to
loftier heights, so I focused on it and continued moving. Searching. Seeking.
A dirt lot across the street was overgrown with weeds and trash from the
city, with a broken down chain link fence surrounding it, as if the city feared that
someone would want to take something away from it. It struck me as hilarious and
I involuntarily snickered at the thought. It reminded me of the bank that chains
the pens to the counters, but leaves the vault door wide open. Someone probably
got a bonus for thinking up that bit of silliness, and they most likely had stocks in
adhesive spots.
I continued down the city street and saw a man standing near a wood fence
that surrounded a lot filled with mounds of clean dirt. He wore a wrap of earth tone
colors that reached the ground, and a matching hat. His face was heavily bearded
but he didn¶t frighten me. He just looked like someone who needed to make
money, and he was against stealing, and satisfied with selling movies on video
tapes. A large stack of them were on a low bench between him and the fence.
 ³Need a place for the night miss?´ He indicated a 2-story house down a long
path, between the fenced dirt lot and a manufacturing building. The lights were off
and the windows were dark, but it had a familiarity to me that felt good.
³I may be back, thanks, but I¶m looking for my friend´, I replied, and
continued down the road.
I walked south to the ocean, it was only a few blocks from the man with the
video tapes, and when I reached the ocean I found myself on a low narrow wall
that separated the ocean from a bay of small cargo ships tied to the docks for the
night. I nearly lost my balance but was able to regain my footing on the wall as the
water sloshing up on my feet tried to wash me off the wall. But I couldn¶t walk any
further without falling into the sea, so I turned around and headed back towards
the city.
I don¶t know why the ocean calms me. I nearly drowned in it once when I
was quite small, and I¶ve never been in it since. But ships have always fascinated
me, to the point where, on occasions when I have spare time, I enjoy building
models of them. And I always prefer the pirate ships of days long gone. I
remember my older brother loved to build model cars, and I¶ve always enjoyed the
details that each one possessed. I guess it was natural to enjoy building them once
I grew older.
The moment I turned towards the city I heard a ringing that seemed way off
in the distance, and grew closer and closer as I tried to find where it was coming
from. I looked down at my feet, and there before me was a cell phone, ringing
repeatedly, and I scooped it up to answer it.
³I¶m fine! Don¶t worry about me, I¶m home now. I¶ll see you next week´,
she said. Who was this? I knew the voice was familiar but for some reason I
couldn¶t place it. ³Don¶t forget to bring your files with you, bye!´ A sudden µclick¶
told me she had hung up. I looked at the phone and read the name: µJackie¶. Oh, I
was so relieved to know my search was over and she was fine. I took a very deep
breath and smiled. ˜y friend was safe.
The lights from the city cast a yellow glow on the streets and sidewalks, and
the breeze moved the branches of the trees, whipping the shadows back and forth
along the sidewalk as the streetlights seemed to come alive through the trees. It
reminded me of a night I once spent on LSD, and there was nothing more beautiful
than the streetlight shining through a wind-swept tree that grew thirty feet tall.
The green was dark like a forest, and the trunk was dark brown like walnut, and the
leaves made a soothing rustling sound as I was surrounded by the cold night air.
Suddenly I understood the house at the end of the path. The house was
pleasing, inviting, it felt safe when I looked at it. It wasn¶t too big and wasn¶t too
small. It was made of natural wood, an element that is closer to me than any other
on earth. The manufacturing building was large, yet vacant, and the dirt lot was a
playground that held the promise of creative fun. It all made sense.
The dark, inviting house was me. Well removed from the bustle of the city
life, curtains closed to hide my inner value, a neat and ordered pathway to the front
door, but securely locked and bolted. It was a cabin-styled home, with fireplace
and all the comforts a home should have. I smile every time I look at it.
The empty building was my past. The family business now closed, the
building, an empty shell where life and love once lived, it meant so much to me, so
it made sense that the building was so close to the house, as if the walls shared the
space. It had a life of its own once, and for thirty-one years I lived there, at work
more than at home, it became a part of my very existence. The glass panes still
clean and bright, a promise that life would return to it again one day. I certainly
hope so.
The man out front with the video tapes? The keeper of my memories, all
neatly recorded and filed chronologically and kept in order, and on the street for
anyone to watch. It speaks of my willingness to share my experiences with others.
And, of course, the lot of clean mounds of dirt, fenced off and protected from
the world, it is my future. To make of it what I will. To smooth out, to build up, to
play in to my hearts¶ content.
As the world revolves, with me and through me, the people going about their
normal daily activities, I am still in the middle of the heart of life. Existing in the
present, nestled happily between my past and my future. I know where I am. I
know who I am. I¶m the house at the end of the path.