Dream On

It’s been raining for days. The spring river flows rampant, but when the sun peeks from behind the clouds, the water glints blue and gold in the early light.

Miranda has been sitting on the old stone steps leading to the river, water flowing around her bare toes dangling in the current. Rainbow mists are starting to rise up when the water warms up, and gently lapping waves soothe her feet.

In the distance, a long canoe appears, finding its way in the currents toward her. The canoe is red, and a man sits in it, looking at Miranda intently. She sees his piercing dark eyes and his wide-brimmed leather hat from far away, and can’t look away. A rifle is slung across his chest.

Miranda continues to sit quietly. He’s pulling closer, smiling now.

“Scared you?” he says in a soft drawl, a mixture of accents Miranda can’t place. “I saw you there sitting on those steps, looking kinda… sad…” His face crinkles in a smile.

“Sad? No. Lonely, yes.” It flies out of her mouth before she has time to silence the censor inside her head.

“Makes two of us,” he says, a hidden murmur in his voice over things he’s lost.

Miranda knows. She’s lost them too.

They look at each other for a long time. Somewhere she knows she’s looked into his eyes and felt this comfort before.

Finally he tips his head toward his canoe.

“Wanna ride a little?”

She just nods and silently gets into his canoe. They float in silence, lonely together.

The sun comes up, gilding the whole valley, and Miranda turns to face him at the rear. He’s smiling again. His hair is dark and wavy, flowing around his weathered, lined face and she knows she’s always known him.

“You ok?” His face crinkles up in a smile.

“Sure.” Coughing to hide her embarrassment, she realizes she must look awful. She didn’t even comb her hair this morning, and threw on her jeans and an old, faded T-shirt for the short walk down the river where nobody ever came.

“You look beautiful. I love your auburn hair.” His voice startles Miranda. How did he read her thoughts?

He’s stopped paddling and looks at her intently.

“Beautiful. Too beautiful to be lonely on the river too early in the morning.” There’s a question somewhere in that and Miranda doesn’t know where to look. His eyes are unbearably warm and something inside her breaks. The tears start flowing, and she hides her face in her hands.

He starts to paddle again slowly, whistling a tune. Miranda risks a peek from behind her fingers. He’s staring out at the horizon, looking lost.

Am I losing my mind? Miranda wonders.

“You’re not losing your mind,” he says, flashing a comforting smile.

“Who are you?” Miranda manages. “What’s your name, what are you doing on the river…?”

He smiles again.

“Same as you little lady, same as you. Came down to the river to find you.” This time the smile’s gone, and he looks dead serious.

It’s very quiet for a while. Maybe it’s a dream…

“You’re not dreaming,” he whispers.

“No?” The tears start again. Miranda wants him to hold her.

Past the bend in the river, they land on a pier and he ties the canoe and climbs out, starting up the path to his log cabin on the slope. Almost all the way up to the back deck overlooking the river, he turns to offer his hand for help. “You okay? Need help?”

She shakes her head, no.

Once on the wooden porch, he turns again, and the warmth of his body so close overwhelms Miranda.

“I didn’t help you off that canoe because you’d gone off to…“ The smile on his face is very gentle, “… fear space…”

Nodding, Miranda realizes it’s true. She was scared.

He goes in through the sliding doors, and Miranda hears running water, then Arrowsmith crooning ‘Dream on’ inside. Then the aroma of fresh coffee. He comes out, handing her a steaming cup of black, strong coffee.

Just the way she likes like it. He sits next to her with his coffee.

“I know.” It’s a statement and Miranda almost drops her coffee.

“What?”

“I know you, the way you like your coffee, everything,” he says. “I’ve always known you.”

They sit in silence, and Miranda’s confusion gives way to knowing she’s always known him too.

Hours later, or maybe two minutes, he turns slightly and takes her hand into his. His hand is solid and hard and soft at the same time, and his strength flows into her, all the way to the damn she’s built against her emotions, and somehow he’s finding his way through it by just holding her hand.

He’s not smiling now. Just holding her hand and looking into her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he finally says. “You’ve come home.”

Very gently, he gets up and pulls her in his arms, while she sobs against his chest.

“You need something to eat,” he says after an hour or maybe two minutes. Maybe a lifetime of tears.

He lets go of Miranda gently and goes inside. He moves around in the kitchen, and she smells eggs, onions, and bacon.

Miranda sits waiting for him, looking at the river, and hums along with Arrowsmith, “Dream on, dream on, dream on, dream until your dream comes true.”