Cover image © Brian Michael Barbeito

A dream of crowds and sea buildings that opens, without warning, onto a real memory from an empty rink.

Prose and photographs by Brian Michael Barbeito

So many people, as usual, like basically a city of people around,- crowds crowds crowds,- and they are mingling, almost still, content, knowing each other, going sometimes about their business. I am rushing through buildings by the sea, opening passageways and its concrete and big doors and turns. I am passing people I don’t know. They are not acrimonious and nor are they kind. I don’t know the ‘em. They don’t know me.

Finally, I make it out to the beach, and it’s a bit open aired. I see my old friend and a relative, and they are going up the way to inner shore. There are more people there and I call out, but they are busy, preoccupied. That’s okay. It’s nice to see them. Familiar faces. Someone up there a bit more in-shore is kindly holding my childhood dog!- great. Nice. Soulful to see. I am so grateful.

But the dream switches to something else…

A large auditorium of sorts, but open aired on the sides. Almost right away I recognize a woman I used to know, practically another lifetime ago. Why is she there? I walk by not far. She is with a man who I see from behind and he looks nondescript, very every-day, ordinary, whatever that means and whatever their presence means. They are a couple. I am a bit surprised as she is glamorous, a clothing designer, but it’s all about something to do with being nonjudgmental, and the passage of time, things like that.

Suddenly I remember detailed conversations with her, like a life review type of deal,- something akin to that. Things from real life that are explainable and quite plain, but also mysterious that I never asked about and wish I had. I had the puck behind the net on the ice, just a practice I think,- in hockey, and I felt someone watching me. That was in real life.

I passed the puck up the ice like you are supposed to, a breakout they called it. I looked up, but past the stands. There was nobody in the stands. But in this rink above the stands almost I think, actually, half in the air, was an announcer’s place, with speakers and chairs and a counter of some sort and all or mostly plexiglass. The play had moved up ice,- but she was watching me. From this structure, inside of it. This was almost miraculous. This was in real life. An actual memory spurred on by the dream. Also, I was always wondering,- how the heck did she get up there, to access that place?- I had never noticed it. She was no rink rat or sports person and how did she discover it? She was not a rule breaker either. I don’t think if you asked a caretaker or manager or something if you were allowed there that they would in a million years say okay.

I never asked about it. I was shy. Didn’t say much. She walked past a bit later and said, ‘You are a snob,’ but masked it in a joking manner though she was being half serious. I was really only shy. She held out her arm, ‘I wore perfume but it’s the end of the day. I think the scent is gone now, but you can check if you want….’ That was real life. In the dream I should have said hello,- but as in real life, I was shy.

Then it all fades. Those worlds fade and the real world of morning and daylight suddenly take over.

About the author

Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian poet and photographer residing in the Southern Ontario area.