My boyfriend and I were on a getaway and staying at a small bed-and-breakfast. We had just come back from a vigorous swim. As we’re in the common area outside our room, we cross paths with a teenage girl. He and the girl start speaking. I believe he said something to her first. It looked like a compliment. They chat for a few seconds, and then the girl steps closer to us. I hear this one – “I like your necklace too.” She holds the necklace up for him to see closer, a little silver and glass lantern style case holds blue crystals, a tiny door opens on the setting. “It’s the blue flames. My family’s Irish.”
He seems to understand what this means. His gaze goes from the necklace to her face. She’s smiling sweetly and knowingly. His look shows understanding and attraction, a wow moment. She leans in further basically beginning to whisper to him. He’s sort of propped against a hall table, and her knee drifts over to touch his thigh. They are both slyly grinning now. Their faces are close.
Too much. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Not thinking about anything except removing ourselves from the situation, I shove him back towards our room and inside. The pretty 18 year-old with short blonde curls and voluptuous body fit neatly into a revealing white ruffle-trimmed tank and faded jeans shrugs and walks away, all too confident.
I’m furious, and a part of me wants to do the whole passive-aggressive thing where I storm around giving the silent treatment. But I can’t be silent. I’m on fire, like those fucking blue flames. I begin the fuss. What the hell was that? What were you thinking? Oh, my god, you were about to do her right there on the hall table!
He doesn’t get it. He’s just nonchalant. What? No. We were only talking. You were standing right there. I start packing. Throwing things this way and that, trying to find my stuff. I say, “We are leaving.” He’s not happy. He doesn’t get why I’m not happy.
So I’m overreacting. He tries to hug me. I pull away. He tries to make jokes. I say, “I can’t do this with you right now.” Bag half zipped and clothes falling out, I walk out the door.
This was the dream I had last night.
It was very vivid. I yelled and cried in it. I woke up sad and scared. I sat out on the front porch, chill in the air, soft rain falling down, to contemplate what it meant. We all have fears, and I believe those are evident in the subconscious. Against wills of every therapist out there, I attempt to decipher my nightmare…
I’ve had a few pitiful courtships with guys who cheated on me. The worst kind too. The ones with full-on intimate “I love you” permanent girls on the side. The ones that make you think you are crazy for not trusting them. The ones who, after a string of these dead-end relationships, make you wonder if you are the problem, if you are not good enough. I fear infidelity.
I’ve had a lot of other relationships sour in my life due to lack of trust. Some of the people who should be there the most simply aren’t. They’re not equipped to be. Or they don’t try. I’ve come to have little to no expectations so I avoid disappointment. I fear a broken heart.
I know the rules of this world – out with the old and in with the new. Lovers, jobs, materials are all victims, being bested by something of a new generation. I recently had a birthday. The thoughts swirl especially when you read a study that shows women apparently reach their peak of beauty at age 25. I fear aging.
But it’s not like me to be dire, without a shred of hope. The positives in this dream were travel, adventure and exercise – running themes in my life. That maybe the girl looked like me, a younger Aarika that hangs on to carefree fun. That my boyfriend has never given me any instance to question him whatsoever. That my active imagination has and will get me far. And that the blue flame crystals were probably a result of watching a major amount of Breaking Bad lately. :)