boom and I napped for a couple hours today, once at noon and once as afternoon faded to evening. She growled subconsciously every now and then when neighbors’ voices and footsteps filtered through the walls and adjusted herself as her puppy dreams took adventurous turns. I faded in and out of drowsy wakefulness (no dreams for me), observing the light change across the wooden floor as the pup snored quietly next to me. The minutes marched on and I glimpsed in these four walls memories of the places I’ve called “someday” homes, someday in the past or someday in the future.
The first, an image of a franz ferdinand, our orchid, nodding in the bright midday sun drew my drowsy mind to Austin. It was, to me, a city of freedom, of newness, of promise.
The second, our misty grey walls turning blue in a soft afternoon glow reminded me of the sea. In my imaginings, my sea-home never carried an associated structure. It was enough to have the whispered graininess of cool sand brush my feet and the waves lap my ankles, my board comfortable in the crook of my arm as I surveyed peace and sense in their primality.
The third belongs to the night, the cinema, and my childhood. The neon lights from the gas station and dollar store streamed through the blinds in the same particular way the Coruscant city life blinked into Amidala’s room before the probe droid brought them into the brilliant fight and chase. If ever I lived in an apartment, I thought, it would be one akin to that.
Unlike the third, the fourth is a dream which perpetuates. The candle A lit before he left cast flickering shadows across the wall. Our wood pile occupied my vision, boomer’s toys in its periphery. They are strewn across a spotless floor, steamed just yesterday by the singular husband of mine. Boom stretched against my tummy and whistled a sigh. A’s prospective return rounded out the scene. It is a home which is our home.