In Defiance of Gravity
Written by Kelly on October 21st, 2009There was a house sketched on the back of a restaurant napkin, a Frank Lloyd Wright approximation. One wall was comprised of all glass windows that yielded to the sun. I found this drawing abandoned on the table in the chain restaurant I worked at while trying to pay my way through college. I put it in the pocket of my apron on impulse.
Back at the dorm I smoothed out the wrinkles, and ignoring the grease stains, I pined it to the bulletin board above my desk. In tiny block letters neat and contained, written above the front door that gaped like an open mouth it said, Our Dream Home. I tried for days to remember the stranger who could have sat and sketched something so tender. His or her face was lost among the late day rush of steaks cooked medium rare and microwaved bowls of clam chowder. Someone had thought to architect their dreams but then abandoned them aside the dirty flatware and glasses of Coca-Cola. This filled me with sadness. I kept that napkin for weeks, until my roommate complained that our dorm smelled like pickles. I ended up throwing the napkin away.
We cannot possess other people’s dreams. We can only bear witness.
Last night I dreamed that I was falling. I hurtled through space, a body mass drawn by the earth’s gravitation pull. Time, which felt like days, was only actual minutes. I existed in a constant state of agitated trajectory. I woke with a feeling of weightlessness that has stayed with me throughout the day. How does a planet’s mass determine its life story?
I try and moor myself in questions. My mind wanders. I daydream about my seventh grade crush. He raised his hand in science class to admit he worried about falling stars. In that moment, I would have given anything to be one. I wonder about the type of man he has grown into. Does he still have fear when he stares into the night sky?
I worry that I am going to disappear against the history of other people’s stories. What will set me apart? I cannot draw pictures. I just barely passed my science classes, but I have not lost the impetus to dream.
If I discarded myself in a fit of insecurity, a crumpled napkin against the detritus of used plates and the crusts of half eaten bread, would you smooth me out and pin me to your bulletin board? Would you promise to fall in love with me against the worrying of my stars? I feel so silly asking you to bear witness. But here I am.
This is my house of glass and light. See how I yield against the sun. Turn your face and warm with me. The night is heavy with stars. Let’s count them one by one. Forget gravity. Fall blind on your back with nothing but the flat of the earth to catch you. Read my story, and be dizzy with your own dreams.
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You are so honest and true to yourself. This is lovely, earnest and brave.
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Wowza! Yes! I wonder how often we do hang on to other people’s dreams, sometimes even making them our own.
~*
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I promise that I’d smooth you out….just so I could come back here, time and time again, to read about honesty and hope.
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You are unique, your dreams, your life, your love, all of it. I’ve struggled with this my whole life, wanting to be more than what I am. As I get older, I realize that I am more than I thought, but it’s an inner journey, not an outer journey.
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Dizzy with the beauty of your words I would say.
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I look at the night sky and see a falling star and make a wish. I look and wonder at other universes. I wonder what happens when we die and where the energy goes. Maybe I’ll be a falling star one day and someone will make a wish about me.
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I read what you write and can not believe that you would have insecurity, there is so much confidence in your words.
I guess we see what we want to.
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I have witnessed others fall and looked for them for months to return. I’ll pin you up on the bulletin board for sure!
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I currently feel as though I wadded up my dreams and left them behind whilst chasing some other illusive mystery. I am always so filled with a renewal and hope when I read your heart on the page. I owe you many thanks that cannot be translated into simple vowels and consonants.
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Thank you. I needed that.
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wow – i came across ur blog via ryan-1 up there^
glad i flowed the link
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Splendid writing. Send me an email. I’m a scout for a blog dedicated to truly great writing, and I’d like your permission to submit this . . .
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this reminds me of my first date with a man in which we drew our thoughts and dreams on paper napkins. silly scribbles, ideas and cliffnotes to life. needless to say, i got drunk and threw-up on said date. unfortunate for him, he married me.
end of story.
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There was a girl in 7th grade math. I sat behind her and failed math because all I did was sketch her neck and hair. One day, the math teacher told me to hop a seat. She moved.
And then one day I got an email from her because she recognized a story I wrote about middle school on MamaPop.
We said hi. Said “I remember you”. But I didn’t tell her I had a notebook filled with treatments of her neck and hair.
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Would I smooth you out? Oh yes, very gently though to ensure no tears … rent or shed it doesn’t matter for I want neither to occur. And bearing witness to one such as you would not be a burden but a priviledge. xx Jos
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This weblog entry is being featured on Five Star Friday – http://www.fivestarfriday.com/2009/10/five-star-fridays-edition-76.html
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The day you publish a book, I’ll be the first in line to buy it.
You are my new literary hero. Thanks for the honest and beautiful glimpses of you!!!
Best I’ve read in a long long time.
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write a book please.
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i love that image of you picking up somebody else’s napkin.
i love the wisdom of you recognizing that we can only bear witness to the dreams of others…but i have one caveat. sometimes the dreams of others help us bring our own into focus.
sometimes yours, here, do that for mine.
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You do “draw” pictures.