I just woke up from a somewhat odd dream. It had her in it, which is unusual. I often wonder why I don’t dream of her, as I can’t stop thinking about her during the day.
We were sitting together with an older couple, talking about some kind of writing project, where the two of us would collaborate to write a piece based on something that had happened earlier in the lives of the elderly couple. I already don’t remember what the episode was. Some sort of foreign adventure together, I think. But what I remember was this:
She told me she had wanted to do this project together with me before, but I had said I couldn’t do it. Now I was bringing the same project to her, why? I told her we could do it together now, because of what we had experienced together recently, something that had brought us together, and made me ready to take on the project with her. She gave me a big teary hug as the older couple looked on fondly. While she was hugging me I realized that experience I was referring to was surviving her death. That’s when I woke up.
She was the one who toyed with becoming writer. She had been researching about Dorothy Parker when we saw Sunday In The Park With George. She wanted to write some kind of play about Mrs. Parker and the Algonquin Round Table of writers. We even stayed at the Algonquin that weekend. I never saw any fragments of that work, I know she abandoned it early when she realized there were rights issues, but it still surprises me that I can’t find any real sign of it on her computer.
So if she was the writer, why am I the one with the blog? A posthumous collaboration, one last project together?