When Tom wanted to go shopping, he went shopping. When Tom wanted to sleep, he slept. And when Tom wanted to eat, he ate. But, Tom could never dream.
A day dream here and there, sure, no problem - if he saw a sporty car whiz by as he walked to work he was able to imagine himself behind the wheel, zipping through the side streets of an Italian village with a silk scarf snapping behind him. Yet, every morning Tom awoke with a lament that no cold shower could rinse away. He wished for dreams, but to no avail. He prayed for dreams but received no answer.
His mother used to dream. She would steal into his room in the middle of the night and wake him to share her dreams of floating mountains and birds that ate lollipops and caves of fire. Those were his dreams: waking dreams of a mother's fantasies.
Now, he lies awake in the middle of the night and imagines dreams his mother may have had. Or, he imagines the fantasy she now lives in a world of floating mountains and birds eating lollipops. That is Tom’s dream.
Written: July 30, 2010