chiquita miranda

written immediately after awakening from the dream

i had a dream about that island again. a few days ago, i dreamed i got up one day and got on a plane, maybe to the dominican republic or something, and last night i was there. there was a woman we stayed with. her house was beautiful and she wrote me a poem. it made me cry. she wrote it about her, but i heard it as about me. made me wonder if i was her too, you know, since that's possible in dreams and all. anyway, she wore bright colors and her home screamed island vibes. she made a room for us. there was a chiquita banana painting in there. wasn't she portuguese? i can't recall, but she had my face in that painting too. i wonder if i was her.

she took us outside to show us to our car. when she stepped out into the beaming sun, a rush of reporters came at her in awe. she smiled sheepishly. someone took a picture. it was better than the one i tried to take. someone else always takes a better picture than i do. i told him or her i wanted a copy. again, i wondered if she could be me.

our car was a jet black van. all of the kids could see their reflections as we drove by. we drove by hills and hills of green lands. we drove through cracked and creviced streets full of people, a market of some kind. it all seemed a little grayer, a little browner than the house we'd left. i told the driver to be careful not to drive in the open sewers engraved in the streets. i'll always remember those sewer grooves and their trickles of electric green water, even in a dream.

we ended up getting out at a rainforest and climbing into these little baby boats on a tiny river. someone gave mine a little nudge and i went careening down what became a rollercoaster of rivers. the boat seemed self-powered. it took me to the top of a waterfall. i saw the whole island. i gasped at the sight. i wished that other person was there with the camera, you know, 'cause mine never come out right. it was only a split second of sighting but i felt so happy. a feeling that i felt from my dream self straight through to my conscious self. it's that strong, happiness is, it transcends all of the rems and all of the realities we know.

i shot down the waterfall and didn't even feel that rise in my stomach. i just felt happy and nothing else. the feeling wasn't unfamiliar, i remember thinking that. it made me even happier to know that i recognized what happiness was. i rode out the rest of the boat ride, steady though. i smiled sheepishly as we got back into our jet black mirror van and drove back through the crowded brown town (be mindful of the sewers), and back to the multi-colored mansion.

when we arrived she was sitting at the head of the table. the first lady of fruit. there were thin-sliced mangoes, oranges, and pineapples on four foot trays (or is it meters here?) chorizos and minced goat meat were spread out in bamboo bowls. colors (colours?), and colours of fresh food. she smiles sheepishly but strongly and asks me to sit and tell her about my journey. i swear she is me.