the dream catcher

                   "You have a beautiful home," Olivia said. "I love the dream catcher, what's the story behind it?"

                   Maria picked at a cookie, pensively breaking the green away from the hot pink.  She paused dramatically, and the air was thick with a juicy story.  Then, she parted her red lips and told a tale that seemed as if it had been written down and read aloud.

            “Well, a very long time ago, my great, great grandfather moved from Mexico to Upstate New York to start a new life. But he could not leave his old life behind- every night he was plagued by nightmares… very brutal nightmares. He’d wake up screaming, sweating, scaring the neighbors and animals. One day, a few weeks after he moved, there was a knock on his cabin door. Lonely, and bored from being without work, he answered, not knowing what to expect. The girl that stood before him was young and sensual. She had deep brown eyes, and her skin was the color of dark chocolate. Her lips were heart shaped and reminded him of strawberries. He was absolutely mesmerized. She beckoned him toward the woods without a word, and he followed. Whenever he tried to speak, she shushed him. Finally, after almost an hour, she led him to a clearing in the jungle-green forest. They sat on tree stumps, and then she said:

‘I hear tell of screams in the night

Is it just nightmares, or violent delights?

They last from dusk till morning light…

I have wondered, dear sir, are you alright?’

            Startled at both her serene voice and her use of rhyme, he took a moment to gather himself. “Why, yes. I’m sort of embarrassed you heard me. I am gripped by dark, depressing dreams; I am at my wit’s end.” He proceeded to tell her the nightmares in detail, though he did not know why, he trusted her deeply and wholly. The rays of the sun slowly blurred into a silvery moon. It seemed that time had flown away like a bluebird.  Before he left, she -who he had learned was called Sienne, and was the Indian chief’s daughter- turned to him, and produced a feathered, beaded object from her deerskin bag.

“Here,” she said, “Hang it over your bed.

These dark, macabre mysteries will soon fly out of your head

And only through good dreams will you tread.

No longer will sleeping be something you dread.”

            He nodded and watched her disappear into the trees, the cryptic, voluptuous, Indian woman who had captured his heart and given him a gift in return: The Dream Catcher. From that night on, he dreamt delightful little stories of sunflowers and world peace, music and hummingbirds, coy fish and love. He promised himself he would marry her if he ever met her again, assuming she loved him too. But he never did see her. He married my great, great grandmother three years later. “