Children all need dreams. Old men, too. Dreams are the things that keep us going, sustain us through the years, and make it possible to live, yet a bit longer, when the wearying realities of age and infirmity would otherwise put an end to us.
We turn the pages of our lives and exchange one dream for another. We read on and repeat the process over and over again. Here and there, then and again, a dream falls from a clear night sky and explodes happily upon our lives. We celebrate and rejoice in that moment, and our faith is renewed that dreams sometimes really do come true.
Still, we are often disappointed. Other dreams, often dreams for which we hunger, remain just beyond our grasp, nimbly eluding us no matter how doggedly we give chase. Some dreams wither and fade away, becoming pale ghosts of the once proud and bold dreams of our youth. Others we kiss and simply let go.
There is a dreaming place on the south side of Atlanta, Georgia. It is a magic place where I have found a rip in the fabric of time, a tear that opens just wide enough for me to step into a dream that I dreamed a very long time ago; a dream as fresh and quick, as sweet and enchanting as when both it and I were young.
As Mary Ann and I turned off Deckner Avenue into Perkerson Park on a hot afternoon late last summer, we were both afraid of what we’d find there. Would anything be the same? After nearly forty years, would we find ourselves yet there along the creek? Would the ghosts we left behind there on a cold February night so long ago, shivering shadows of two young lovers hiding from the world and taking safe refuge in the stolen moments we shared in our park, recognize us still? Would we recognize them?
Time has changed so much in our lives! How little has it changed our hearts! How unchanging were the dreams we dreamed in our park.
We parked where we used to park. Down the hill, by the pavilion, and under the trees. It was just as we had left it. The spot where I kissed her and watched her drive away in her giant old car on the last day of February, 1971, our last secret rendezvous in Perkerson Park.
In what an explosive, boiling, whirling and tempestuous nightmare we were trapped then! What a refuge were the stolen moments together we shared in our secret place.
In our hideaway we played and laughed, cried and clung desperately to one another, nursing the bruises and dressing the wounds that threatened our young dreams. How our hearts ached when those moments inevitably came to an end!
My old heart was racing as we stepped out of our rental car and took one another’s hand. Just like so long ago, we crossed the wooden bridge over the stream and slipped into the park’s familiar green expanse. Mary Ann’s grip tightened on my hand, and I knew that she was crying.
For the next two hours ghosts of young lovers entertained us. They danced in our hearts and welcomed us home. We heard them laughing and calling us back to each of the places, this clearing and that hidden nook, where special memories lay like golden nuggets on the ground. The clearings where we’d walked and built brave new worlds in our dreams. The places where we’d thrown our blanket and picnicked under the trees. Those private places where old secrets yet lay hidden, undisturbed like precious treasures buried deep under the years.
Then, just as it had been so long ago, suddenly time was gone. This time we would leave together.
Mary Ann climbed down into the creek and selected two stones, tangible souvenirs to hold in our hands. Reminders that the past was real and that it still is very much alive. We pledged that we’d come back soon, and then it was time to go.
We said very little on the long drive back to Nashville. A confusing mixture of joy, sadness, peace, anger and loss washed around inside me, crashing waves sent first this way then that with every curve in the road. From time to time Mary Ann put her hand on mine.
The dream we shared in that dreaming place lives yet in Perkerson Park, in a big old fourplex on Guadalupe Street in Austin, at a hospital on the south side of Atlanta where our son was born, and on a green football field in Pennsylvania where we watched him realize his dream. It lives in an old Craftsman home in Nashville and in the memory of little league baseball games, Christmas trees and anniversaries. It lives in emergency rooms and prayer filled waiting rooms, and the memory of dogs, cats, robins, bunnies and goldfish that brightened our lives and wait to greet us again one day.
It lives in the memory of a VW bus that carried us across America, crisscrossing the country in unpredictable patterns and hiding us well for two wonderful years. It lives in the memory of cheap motels along back road highways and late night cram sessions when making something of ourselves was important. It lives in the memory of a hockey game in St. Louis and karate tournaments in Lexington, and it lives in the walks we take together now, rain or shine, heat or snow, every day.
It is just past midnight, February 10, 2010, and this is a special day. It is an anniversary. Thirty-eight years ago tonight in a young preacher’s office on the university campus in Austin our dream, at long last, came true. The preacher, six witnesses and the State of Texas were all in agreement about what the two of us already knew. We were husband and wife.
On that night in the freezing rain the most cherished dream I have ever dreamed pierced through the dark, heavy sky like a comet of hope and exploded happily and forever upon our lives. Tonight we’ll celebrate and remember the emotion of that moment, and our faith will be renewed. Light can suddenly appear even in the darkest hour and, even against all odds, dreams sometimes really do come true.
Dreams are the things that keep us going, sustain us through the years, and make it possible to live yet a bit longer when the wearying realities of age and infirmity would otherwise put an end to us. An end to “us?” There can never be an end to “us.”
Thank you, Mary Ann, for every dream you’ve dreamed with me. Young lovers all need dreams. Old lovers, too.
Happy Anniversary, my Sweetheart!
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
Happy Anniversary to you both! What a great story.
Happy Anniversary dear friends! Being privy to your history, we know what a special day this is for both of you! We celebrate with you and send our love.
I cannot express the gratitude I feel for you and Mary Ann. In sharing your story of eternal love you bring to others the reality of dreams that do come true. My Debbie and I have celebrated this love for well over 25 years. Following in your footsteps is a joy and a blessing that holds no limits. Happy Anniversary to both of you!