The Dream Canvas Read online

  “Yeah, of course. Sorry. Was just thinking of something.” An image of my Dad popped into my head. He had this look on his face he’d get before I’d try to run away from the high diving board. It looked like he was saying, “dive right in, Dottie. The water’s warm.” Although I wasn’t sure why my father would be urging me to make a love connection. He was always the over-protective father on the block. If he was still around he’d be answering my door in his robe with a bat in his hand, running off all the boys who came to visit. And his baby girl wouldn’t date slick firefighters from New York. But in my heart of hearts, I knew my Dad would’ve liked Isaiah. I knew he had come to me in my dreams to tell me so. As strange as that may have sounded.

  Something inside me yearned to tell him how I felt, and I was fighting it with every ounce of my being. Just because my dead Dad had put his stamp of approval on the situation didn’t mean I had…yet.

  Then it slipped out, “I have to tell you how much fun I’ve had with you.”

  Isaiah touched my hand. “Me too,” he said and took another sip of coffee. “In fact, I would like to come down and visit again soon, if that’s okay with you.” He looked at my face inquisitively, as if he had no clue how I would answer.

  “I guess that would be alright,” I said, teasingly.

  We talked for a couple hours in front of the coffee shop, watching as the sun made its way across the sky. The customers at the coffee shop came and went. They were all in a big hurry. We weren’t. The conversation had begun with light chit-chat about street art and transitioned into an opening of the most personal floodgates. I confided in him about my father and how his death had so deeply affected me, and Isaiah talked more about his failed marriage and kids. I ended up telling this man things I would never have dreamed of telling anyone. There was something about Isaiah that made me feel comfortable in my own skin. He made me feel beautiful, wild and free. Like a caged doe just released into an open meadow. Like we were best friends.

  The sun began to set as Isaiah and I walked along the sidewalks in Ybor, hand in hand. I was feeling like a smitten sixth-grader at a roller skating rink, skating the couples-only round. I always wanted to do that in middle school. No one had ever asked me.

  We passed by numerous clothing boutiques and loud restaurants, wild chickens and homeless men before I realized it was night time. That meant I had been with Isaiah all afternoon and evening. Had a date ever lasted this long that hadn’t turned into something more? As long as he was around, he was helping to re-write my dating rules. He taught me how to just be.

  ****

  Isaiah

  Gazing at her gorgeous face, I knew inside I wanted more. I couldn’t be just friends with her. That type of fortitude just wasn’t in me. She seemed to be okay with me visiting again, but was visiting going to be enough? This was the kind of woman I’d been waiting for my whole life. This was a woman I would never find in New York, possibly not even in the entire world. And I was just going to leave on a plane and hope she saved herself for me? What an utterly ridiculous expectation. No one lasts in a long-distance relationship. Then again, we agreed we would just have fun. That this would be a casual thing. Could I help myself? She was too damn perfect. Even with those wild dreadlocks piled on top of her head and the tattoos running down her arms. Somehow these unorthodox characteristics added to her charm. She was like a piece of abstract art, a beautiful mess.

  I walked behind her up the steps to her apartment. Standing in front of her door, I knew what I had to do. I had to tell her how I felt, even if it made me sound like a desperate asshole. Even if she turned me down.

  “Umm, Dottie?” those big doe eyes stared back at me.

  “I know we’ve only just met, but I think you’re amazing. I know I said I’d come down to visit again, but I have to tell you something. I know this might come off strange, but I think I’m falling for you,” as the words escaped my lips I realized how crazy they sounded.

  She fidgeted with her keys and stepped backwards, letting her back press into the brass doorknob.

  “Wow. I mean. I don’t know what to say, Isaiah,” she looked confused. Her face had turned redder than a fire engine. “I mean, I think you’re wonderful and I’ve had a great time. But I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship yet. I just got out of a living hell, you know?”

  I knew I should have kept this to myself. Telling someone you love them in the first few days of knowing them is enough to scare anyone off. Suddenly I felt the urge to jump out the second-story window. A tidal wave of humiliation and guilt hit me full force.

  Time to backpedal. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry to have laid this on you so soon. I thought maybe you were feeling the same way, so I just said it without thinking.” The best approach was to turn around, walk away and leave the poor girl alone. Go home to New York and be with my kids. Go back to reality.

  “Don’t apologize. Never say sorry for speaking your mind, especially to me. That’s one thing I admire about you. Do you want to come in for a few minutes to talk?”

  “Yes, please. I’d love to.” And I’d just made the conscious decision to never allow the L word to leave my mouth again…love. What a double-edged sword.

  We sat together on a squishy orange couch in the corner of her apartment. There wasn’t a single television set in the place, but there were stacks and stacks of books, canvases, and art supplies peeking out from every corner. If there wasn’t a piece of furniture there, you could bet there were art supplies or bookshelves. If I was a robber and had broken into her place, I would’ve known an artist lived there, and I would’ve been pissed off. There were no electronics to steal. No tablets lying on end tables. No big screen televisions. No video game boxes. Just books and paints.

  “I never noticed you don’t have a TV,” I said trying to make small talk. Trying to get our minds off of my idiotic confession.

  “No, never wanted one. I have my laptop and cell phone, and that’s plenty. In fact, I wish I could get rid of the cell phone and disconnect completely,” at the same time she reached out and grabbed my hand. Her small, tan fingers looked like they’d break if I squeezed them hard enough. She rested our hands on the top of her right thigh. Her silver bracelets brushed against my wrist gently. Sent shivers up my spine every time she touched me. Like I was in high school with my first love.

  “Alright, I suck at small talk so let’s just get right to it. I’ve had such an awesome time with you. And I think if I was looking for a relationship, I would jump right in with you…for sure. But I’m just trying to get my identity back after Rory leaving. I’m trying to get back my sanity, for that matter. I don’t want to suck you into the whirlwind of bullshit that is my life right now, dude.”

  Her honesty hit me between the eyes. Why did I think she would respond any differently? I leaned back on the couch, a cat toy squealed under my ass. I dug it out and threw it on the floor. Her two cats pounced over and commenced in playing tug-of-war with the fuzzy, fake mouse. I could empathize with the poor thing. Being tossed between two cats, chewed on, spit out and then left alone. Except I didn’t have two cats fighting over me, I had one woman I was fighting for…one I thought I’d never have.

  ****

  Dottie

  Disbelief filled me with a nasty feeling of uneasiness - like I had something to do but couldn’t remember what. Like I had a test to take that I had forgotten to study for. My stomach was doing flip-flops. I felt happy and fearful. I felt too many emotions all at once. The most exquisite man I’d ever met had poured his heart out to me, and what had I done? I had rejected him. The small talk following the let-down was obviously our shallow attempt to comfort one another. He was heartbroken. I was ashamed.

  His plane was leaving the next morning. I wanted to let him go. Physically and emotionally. Although there was a part of me that was longing to be with him. Tell him how much I felt for him, too. But I knew deep down our relationship wouldn’t last long. This man lived in New York with his kids
, for Christ’s sake. He was from a completely different world. His ex-wife would have appreciated the fact that his new girlfriend lived in Florida and their kids would get to see their father even less. I refused to be a homewrecker. I refused to take these children’s father away from them. I knew all too well how bad it hurt to lose a father. He wasn’t going to move down here, and I wasn’t going to move up there so I knew it was best for us to move on. Forget the whole thing.

  Yes, we had dreams that synced up. That had to be some sort of a sign. Those things don’t happen to just anyone on a daily basis…right? Then again, it could have just been coincidence. Weirder things have happened. Like man on the moon. Spontaneous combustion. Tumors the size of watermelons. People returning from the dead. I was going to need more than just one sign to be convinced this was real. I’d need a couple of signs. Blatant signs from my Dad or from the universe…whoever wanted to chime in first.

  I recalled how charming Rory was on our first date. So full of sugary-sweet words that turned out to be nothing more than vile lies. To fall for another man’s games meant to falter in my new state of wellbeing. It would’ve meant I’d be turning my back on myself and my future. No. I couldn’t fall in love, for the sake of myself. For the sake of renewal. For the sake of being my own savior. My own personal Jesus. But oh, how the devil doth tempt me with Isaiah. If Jesus could spend forty days and nights in the desert and look temptation in the face and say no, then I could do it too. Like I said. I was going to need a sign. A good one.

  Staring up at the ceiling, with a cat on either side of me, I talked to my Dad. I asked him if he could hear me to give me a sign that Isaiah was truly the right one for me. Give me a sign that I was being a dumbass for letting him go. Give me a little sign…anything at all. I realized how kooky I must’ve sounded talking to the ceiling of my apartment. If walls could talk.

  And of course when nothing happened, I resolved to sever ties with Isaiah. I was never a patient person to begin with. I couldn’t wait around forever for Dad to answer me. Even if it meant I’d be alone for the next twenty years with nobody but my cats and my art, then that was fine with me. I’d spent so many years of my life giving to others, I’d given myself away in the process. Pieces of me had fallen from the table of life, ripped to shreds and gobbled up by rabid dogs like mere table scraps. No more pieces of me would fall. I had to gather up what was left and stage my own resurrection.

  The phone rang. It was him. He said he was lonely and wanted to come back to visit. I told him no and that I needed some space, that things were moving way too fast. He said he understood. I hung up the phone. What a way to end such a perfect day. We had such a beautiful and unexpected connection. I had literally thrown his heart on the floor and shat on it. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I had to take care of myself first. For once, I had to focus on me. And no I didn’t consider that a sign.

  Chapter 13

  Dottie

  It had been two weeks since my time with Isaiah had ended. It had taken all of my willpower not to call and apologize for being such a dumb, heartless bitch. It felt like the world was screaming at me to take it all back. To change my mind. Everyone around me happily voiced their opinions on what I should do with my love life. I politely nodded my head and stuck to my guns. After all, people are too quick to give of themselves to others; too quick to fall in love and then have their hearts smashed. Having a defense mechanism and protecting oneself from pain and heartache isn’t a bad thing. Look at my Mom, for example. She gave and gave and gave of herself to a man who was rarely at home, only to have him die and leave her alone again to cry herself to sleep every night. Protecting yourself is a good thing, goddamn it. And people who say it isn’t have yet to have their heart broken.

  Miss Anne-Marie called and asked me to pay her a visit to help her arrange the autumn window display. I lovingly reminded her we don’t have four seasons in Florida but agreed to help her anyway. Apparently her lackadaisical assistant had quit for the third time this year. Don’t ask me why the woman kept hiring someone who constantly let her down. Again, we are too quick to trust people and give them too many chances to redeem themselves. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

  There was something about being in Miss Anne-Marie’s shop that calmed my nerves and soothed my spirit. Pumpkin-scented candles were burning from nearly every bookshelf. As always, Miss Anne-Marie’s fat tabby cat snoozed on a pillow by the front door. Celtic flutes filled the air with a sweet Irish melody. I’d been trying to fasten a set of wooden wind chimes to the ceiling with a piece of tape for thirty minutes when Miss Anne-Marie strolled over with a pair of dusty books in hand.

  “Finally found copies online. I was so happy, I nearly peed my panties when these came by mail today.”

  “What are they?”

  “Antique books from nineteenth century Scotland. This one is all about card reading and this one. Well, this one is extra special. This book was written by an anonymous person. I believe the writer was a woman. This was someone’s grimoire or what some might call a book of shadows. Only ten copies were ever made. The original was stolen from a museum in Salem almost ten years ago. I’m so lucky to have found a copy.” She hugged the mildewed books to her chest like a little girl squeezing a long-lost baby doll.

  “You sure you want to sell them?”

  “Oh, I’m not selling these, honey. These are going in my book vault to be caressed by these hands and these hands alone,” she said as she slipped behind the cashier’s desk. I noticed her slide her beloved witchy books on a shelf below the cash register.

  She looked up at me, “you know you can use one of those hooks in the corner of the window to hang those chimes?” she pointed to a spot on the ceiling not far from me. The hook empty and waiting.

  “Oh shit. I didn’t even see that there. Wow,” Moving the ladder over three feet, I realized how distracted I was to have missed something so obvious. Couldn’t shake the images of him from my head. Our time together had been playing in my head like a miniature romance movie on repeat. It was driving me insane.

  “What’s on your mind, Lady?”

  “Bah, I really don’t want to get into it, but suffice it to say my date with a handsome stranger went better than expected. And then I had to let him down hard.” This was the first time I’d spoken of Isaiah to Miss Anne-Marie. My Mom knew. The art supply cashier knew. Even my website designer knew. I’d held off on telling her because I knew she’d kick my ass, figuratively speaking.

  “Well, you can’t reveal a juicy prologue like that and not expect me to want to read the whole novel. Is this Mister Sexy from a few weeks back?” she fluffed a pink silk cushion on the Bay Window seat and plopped down with crisscrossed legs. Her eyes stared up at me intently, begging me to continue.

  “Ugh, alright. But this particular novel is just like any other shitty contemporary book but without a happy ending. Fair warning,” I said as I finished detangling the tiny knots in the wind chimes’ strings and climbed down the wooden ladder. The pressure of my weight made each rung squeak like an old wooden shoe.

  I hesitated to begin my story, because I knew Miss Anne-Marie would have a heart-felt lecture to follow, “I had a great time with him. We spent a couple days together, and we could’ve spent more. It’s just, I’m not ready for a relationship and dude was really rushing it. I’d only known him a few days, and he was already springing the love word on me. I don’t need another Rory in my life.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed and her face twisted into one of those concerned-mother looks. I knew it. She clasped her hands together, fingers interlocked.

  “You’re falling for him. I can see it in your aura. It’s all around you…bright hues of green and blue” she waited for my response.

  “I mean, yeah he’s hot and smart and cultured, but we’re just not right for each other. We come from two different worlds. Plus he has kids in New York and a long distance relationship would never work.”

  “That’s
a cop-out and you know it. Dottie, you’re just scared and you’re trying to protect yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Except one thing. How will you ever know real love if you slam the door in its face every time it comes a-knocking?”

  “I’ve already given love a chance. I’ve given of myself time and time again and for what? To be cheated on, lied to and left in a pile of shit.” I could feel the blood rushing to my ears. Flashes of Rory ran through my brain and anger gripped my heart. It clamped down hard. And then something happened I wasn’t expecting – tears.

  I thought I didn’t cry anymore, but the tears began pouring out like a river forming its first waterfall. She embraced me. Not a word was spoken between the two of us. I laid my head on her shoulder and cried heavily, saturating her pretty blouse right through to the skin. Little black mascara streaks danced across her collar like tally marks on a chalkboard.

  After ten minutes of balling my eyes out, I was ready to face the truth. She was right. I’d been hiding from my own emotions, and my defense mechanisms weren’t doing anything but hurting me. Which is weird because I was trying to avoid being hurt and yet I was hurting myself. But I came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to live life as a dried-up old maid. I refused to be the crazy cat lady. It seems appealing on paper but in reality it just sucks to be old and alone. And Isaiah? He was the perfect one for me, and I’d known it all along. Our dreams were pulling us together for a reason. Some of these dreams were even memories from a past life together bubbling up to the surface of consciousness. There was no doubt in my mind we had known each other before. Many times.

  “You’re right. I’m scared. I just don’t want to be hurt again. I’m sick of being shit on. What do I do?” I asked and hoped she had some sage advice.