Footsteps

New Mexico was in my dreams. And so was Michael Jordan.

Sound first. Movement second. These are footsteps. Nobody seems to be in charge of them. Like they were born out of the ether. Are they going at their own pace? Could they venture on their own? If they were truly given carte blanche, they would definitely unfold to beat of a quicker tempo. Fast strides are a trend these days. And most of us abide. When was the last time I had a slow walk? 

Sound is familiar. Those steps belong to a dream – to a land I fell in love with way before my eyes were able to decipher its symbolic details. I’m the kind of person who seriously questions the connective aspect of dating apps – part of it due to my highly developed sense of smell. So how could I fall in love with a place I had never smelled before? That is uncanny. But I’m finally at peace with unanswered questions. Perhaps one day, the answer will land on my shoulder.

New strides. My gaze passively falls on dull concrete that makes the sidewalk inviting. So random yet so special. The land of enchantment is revealed. Finally. Here, the sun awakens heaps of redbuds and gives their fuschia tone a third dimension. Their brightness takes over the fine layers of blue standing over them. And if you were to lie down on the ground, above would stretch the only polka dotted sky palette we could hardly expect. Made of primary and not even secondary colors. The unlikely mix of tones that could send you flying. Blue and dark fuschia interweaving. Earth and sky entering a dance. And then, at this very moment, the door to the ocean would eventually open. Bare and wide. Oh Lord, how much I miss the water – like a sweet balm, like my twin sister.

I feel an urge to pause. To gather myself and look up. To let my feet find their way into the ground. To make sure my balance is stable.
A vehicle pulls up right next to me. I remain still. The sun is kissing my skin and the spark in my eyes only broadens as his unmistakable silhouette arises on the sidewalk. Michael Jordan. What is he doing here? I’m speechless. 
Another unanswered question for the unanswered list. His presence takes me back to childhood. To a world I had once dared to imagine. One day I would be a part of the NBA. 

No more movement. Words from the dream nibble themselves out of the nightly cocoon. Do they taste the same in daylight? Hard to say. But the substance of a dream is as thick as a morning toothpaste splotch landing on the bathroom mirror before you catch your own reflection.