Fever Dreams

I woke up to a cold winter morning. I was lying in bed, fresh Chrysanthemums stood in a vase on the vanity. Drifting in and out of sleep I was thinking of my night, long ago, at a Dashboard Confessional concert.

I stood near the stage, admiring Chris as he sang "Don't Wait". My heart imploded and melted and I closed my eyes, hearing his voice. Sometimes I hear it echo in my head:

you have stolen my heart...

His "Dusk and Summer" album, ironically, reminds me of an endless Autumn with crisp memories of the golden summer.

We watch the season pull up its own stage, and watch the last weekend of the last week. Before the gold and glimmer have been replaced. Another sun-soaked season fades away

Liz and I danced that night with our arms free and waving under the blue and red stage lights. We watched other girls mouth the lyrics and I thought Chris was probably the cutest boy I'd ever seen: honeyed-innocent voice, dark hair and eyes, tanned, and tight t-shirt.

"If I ever date another guy" I started, sighing, "he'd have to look like Chris".

She stared at me, giggling. "Of course, Libet"

I like boys who play the guitar with white-clean boyish smiles and messy hair and glasses, probably, and Converse sneakers. I like boys in t-shirts and blue jeans. I like boys with washboard stomachs who can skateboard.

Phil...he's the boy I fashioned in my head that night of the DC concert. I imagined him and he came to life.

I sat across from him in the little tiny restaurant surrounded by the banyan tree--white icicle lights twinkling high above in the branches, and I thought this must have been heaven in some way. I took a sip of my Pellegrino and tasted the lemon and the warm July night. He smiled at me and his blue eyes glimmered and he shyly took my hand and I let him.

We sat on the bench at the marina while the waves crashed against the rocks and seawall and he told me about sailing. We danced under the orange glow of a street lamp and he spun me around and I heard the song echo in my head:

You have stolen my heart...
I watch you spin around in your highest heels. You are the best one of the best ones. We all look like we feel

I pulled the covers over my head and thought about our youth--cold, perhaps, like the winter breeze that snuck in through my window; and this youth is still, like the pre-dawn grey fog.

"Would you have married anyone else?" she asked with hand on chin.

"No", I am sure of this, "Perhaps I would have made an exception for Chris C."

We laughed.

aeka at 1:08 a.m.