two

So I have this dream this morning that I save my baby-self from being hit by a car. Me one (adult) is sitting with me two (baby) on a black-top driveway which may have belonged to my real life growing-up house. The car comes towards us and I hug me two close to my chest and lie with my body between her and the car. Like this: o)

Me two had white, white hair. But my hair, the hair in the pictures of me as a child, curly and wispy. I suppose the good thing is I saved her. And, really, I know what this is all about anyway. The white hair, the old house [pardon me, there are onion fumes drifting into the room, from the kitchen where L is lovelily preparing dinner for the both of us. Rub, rub. Blink.], the whole protection thing.

It just occurred to me that the onion is more real than the dream. It never used to be. The healing continues.

It's this Catcher in the Rye thing. This person-in-pain wants to save others-in-pain thing. I need to be the little o in my illustration. I also need to be the parenthesis.

The holder and the being-held.

The lover and the loved.

The wounded and the wound.

Now I'm both.