five red balloons

the dream of roses

-but let’s talk about the dream I had on the overnight train to Paris.

In the bunk opposite me, an old lady is clutching her sheets - delicate hands, blue-veined. Clutching her sheets as if even in her sleep she is defending herself from the world.

Above me is ceiling, so close i wonder if i will touch it with my nose. All around me, the rattling of the train. 

My best friend lies in the other bunk; she always looks so content in her sleep.  Me, i cannot sleep - something about the thin fabric of my blanket, with the lumpy pillow growing like a tumour under my head.  I think of the past few days, i rewind my mind to see if i have forgotten anything in Madrid.  I count the calendar and realize how soon i will be going home.  Something in me is tugging at the clock, slow it down slow it down.  Something in me is wanting a fresh start to this trip.

Sleep hovers restlessly. And then it settles -

there is the soft touch of grass on my skin, grass and a picnic blanket.  A whisper of wind blows my hair to tangle with my eyelashes.  Ahead, children play on an old-fashioned swingset, ripped jeans touching the ground to head back into the air.

It must be sunset here, because there is a pinkness to the atmosphere.  Countryside. A sense of peace. Sweet scent of freshly-mowed grass.

I think i am floating, because i am moving down the length of this field without touching the ground.  Noticing everything very minutely.  

I see a group of men in dark suits, holding - yes, those are cameras.  Photographers have taken over this section of the field, and the horses are suddenly gone.

A girl stands in the midst of them. In the pastel breeze her veil is flowing, in tune with the rustle of her wedding gown.  She has long dark hair and red shoes.

A short stubby man - a sort of Winston Churchill - stands in front of her.  His top hat reaches only to her waist, and he has hardly been able to button his coat over his stomach.  He barks commands at all the photographers: “Move! To the left. Yes.  A little more.  Come on, come on!”

I have not yet seen her face or heard her voice. She is absolutely silent.

FLASH, the cameras go off.  All the men in suits are stooping for a different angle, bending, vertical or horizontal, sacrificing shoe polish for the perfect shot.  The girl raises her arms when they say, she holds the lacy white of her gown when they say.  She moves a step forward when they say, perfect perfect, lovely posture - and then

I am that girl.  I am that model standing in the field, doing everything i am told.  Hair curled perfectly, lipstick red as blood.  I can feel it, the red, starting from my shoes in a stain of rebellion, pulsing through my body.  I tear the veil off my hair.

I begin to run.

The short man in the top-hat is standing still, yelling. His coat buttons have burst open in his rage.  ”What are you doing, what are you doing, you get back here!” 

The photographers gape, astounded. Quickly they realize this is the perfect opportunity for a different kind of photoshoot, and they begin to chase me. 

The man in the top-hat seems to have lost his shoes, and he falls face-down in the mud.

More FLASH as the photographers wildly click their cameras, afraid to miss an instant of this insanity. FLASH. FLASH.

My hair has come down, is cascading down my back into the sunset light.  The red of my shoes lies somewhere down the field, my feet are bare now - bare and covered with shards of grass.  Mud streaks up my ankles and onto my dress.  I am running, running and the wind is with me.  Running, and the red lipstick is gone, the dress is torn.  

Running and suddenly, between my toes, red roses begin to grow.  They grow up my dress, into my hair.  I am running in a field of roses.  

The mass of photographers have gone, their shouts have faded into the distance.  The air smells again of peace.  The children still swing into the sky. 

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beauty fashion girl field photoshoot model editorial wedding gown veil rose red shoes lipstick rebellion run meadow swingset dream train sunset photographer camera flash grass