sleepwalking

One night years ago, awoken, or so I thought, from an eerie dream, I pushed the covers away and padded out of my room in my bare feet to find a parent. I came across my Dad first and seeing the look on his face, tried to persuade him I wasn’t up to my old sleepwalking tricks.

‘It’s this dream’ I started, trying to break through the confusion it had left me with. ‘I know this has got to, I mean it will be strange, for you I mean’ I continued, annoyed with myself for such a poor opening. I tried again, ‘I’m not asleep’ I said firmly, as, steered by his hand on my shoulder, I found myself being led back to my room.

We stopped and again I tried to explain what I felt I needed to tell him. There was something the dream had left me with that had to be expressed, and Dad was the one who had to hear it, so why couldn’t I find the words? ‘I just have to tell you this thing, then I’ll go back to bed’ I promised, as we sat side by side. ‘Ok, go ahead’ he encouraged and I struggled with the thoughts swirling around my head. ‘It was odd, but now, but I guess someone made it, and then I didn't understand, and I know this won’t make sense but maybe in the morning I can explain better.’

The sense that I had to tell him something was still strong in my mind, but I could see myself from his perspective, the wild hair and half-closed eyes. I started shivering in my nightgown and took myself back to bed. He didn’t think I would remember but the following morning I could still feel the urgency with which I had tried to relay my message, although I no longer had any idea of what that message could have been.

It’s still like that sometimes, although I’ve long since given up sleepwalking. Some days I get the feeling that there’s plenty I need to get across, plenty that needs to be said and listened to. I don’t know how to say it and even if I did I might not be taken seriously, dismissed as the vague imaginings of a girl with wild hair and sleep in her eyes.