September 25th, 2005

(no subject)

The second my foreign flight attendant on my flight from Philadelphia told me we were beginning our descent into Burlington, I couldn't wipe the smile from my face. The reality of everything wasn't exactly hitting me, knowing that I was actually here compared to being in San Francisco, but just seeing it from above and hearing its name gave me butterflies like nothing I'd ever felt. I shifted anxiously in my seat, waiting for the second I was off that plane and on 802 soil again, clenching my fists like I was terrified of flying and moving about like I had obvious issues at the time.

To reality for a matter of minutes, I felt untouchable. There was no way this was real. There was no way I could spend months and months building myself to leave a place that I'd had no idea this whole time I could just come back to so easily. There was no way in the world that the lights I was seeing were not the lights of San Francisco, the lights I'd been seeing for long enough now that they felt like home, but actually the lights of Burlington. THE Burlington. It felt impossible. The entire descent felt unreal, like I was descending into a dream sequence and when we touched the ground I would wake up still plagued by all these thoughts of what would happen if I was actually there. I was so convinced that the reality of this situation was so far-fectched that I was actually completely prepared to wake up at any moment.

But the plane bounced when it hit the ground, much like the effect of being pinched in your sleep. My body shifted around with the movement of the machine and I blinked and blinked and blinked but found only that my eyes and mind were not playing nasty tricks with me. I wondered if I would have to wait until the moments I had been waiting for the most before reality would slap me across the face like an angry bitch and I would finally wake up from this heavenly nightmare. Every moment I spent thinking about where I actually was took me to another degree of impossibility. Every breath I took of Burlington air was another breath that polluted my fantasies, and every foot that I descended into the ground sent my head further into the sky. I was here and that was fact. But no matter what I did, what I told myself, or what I felt, I was most definitely dreaming.

And through the night my dream progressed, picking up exactly where it had left off. The feeling of Ben Danger's hands on me made pictures in this dream vibrant and movie-like. The forty without a brown bag around it was an object of this movie that could appear and disappear at any time; a surreal prop of these illogical scenes. The streets never ended no matter how long and how fast I ran down them, placing foot after foot as I ran above it and searched for an end to this tease. But by the end of the night, the fingertips on my skin were real and the damage they were doing was real, too. Something in this imaginary movie sequence knew how badly I wanted it to stay, and as I spoke those three numbers, I was enveloped in a cloud of fresh Burlington life that was in no way in the world unreal. By the end of the night, I was no longer having my dream but my dream was having me, wrapping me in the soft blankets of its beauty and belligerence and whispering lullabies to me every time it thought I might be disturbed. The descent into this Neverland was more than a dream; it was a force that promised me I would sleep soundly the entire week.