Ascension Both Figurative and Literal

 

            This was the seventh night in a row that Sergei had the same dream. Mere seconds after closing his eyes, he found himself standing in the center of his backyard, the light brush of the freshly mown grass caressing the sides of his feet, a gentle breeze tussled his hair and seemed to carry a light threat in its soft touch. Within seconds of standing alone in the midst of soft grass and a soft breeze, he felt himself slowly ascend, to look down upon the small town he called his home.

              Everything and everyone had grown remarkably small, his new position communicated to him just how far above and unlike he was from everyone else around him. The further he rose from the ground the more aggressive the wind became, threatening to drive him away into the featureless acres of rolling hills and wilderness. He breathed deeply in his newfound situation, blissfully relishing his absolute freedom, his escape from the mundane world of social interaction, social niceties, and the usual inescapable grasp of gravity.

              Like every dream he had before, he continued to rise, facing more and more aggressive wind, the occasional flock of birds and the thankfully distant airplanes. When everything below disappeared into an unrecognizable smear of color, he began to will himself back down to the surface of the globe.  In a patten very much like his ascension, he slowly descended and once again touched down in his backyard. It was at this moment that he began to feel a mixture of relief and disappointment.

              The freedom, beauty, and grace of his limitless escape also brought with it a sense of disconnection. Wanting to ascend once again, he instead lay down on the grass, staring into the cloud free, open blue sky, thankful to once again be touching something tangible and solid. His eyes began to feel heavy, growing tired of looking into nothingness, while his mind raced from one topic to the next, fabricating solutions to problems that had long plagued him.

              His eyes finally gave up the battle and crept closed, to once again reopen, staring into a poorly painted ceiling that held onto a ceiling fan that dearly needed to be dusted. With a groan, he rolled to his side and looked at the digital clock that read twenty minutes earlier than his yet to sound morning alarm. He slowly sat up, swung his feet over the side of the bed and retrieved a glass of warm water from the kitchen. He leaned against the counter at the edge of the sink and replayed his dream over and over in his mind, wondering if there was some hidden meaning within it all.

              Pulled from his introspection by the sound of his alarm in the other room, he slowly passed through the hallway, turned off the gentle sounds of a singular violin, the kindest of sounds he could find to wake him from sleep. Knowing better than to do so, he flopped down onto his bed, stared once again at the ceiling and made a mental note to clean the ceiling fan when he returned home from work later that afternoon. He pulled himself to his feet, did his morning prayers, ate breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, took a shower and dressed for the day.

              An emptiness filled his chest at the thought of spending another day with a room full of co-workers with whom he had nothing in common. The thought of listening to his co-workers talk about sports, about television, about movies, and what fun they were going to have on the approaching weekend made his chest ache even more. He double checked the heat, the curtains, and the cat food. “Wallet, keys, phone,” he muttered to himself as he walked out the back door.

              Thankful to see that he was leaving fifteen minutes earlier than normal, he decided to stop and pick up a peppermint mocha before condemning himself to another day in the office. The girl at the drive-up coffee stand was overly friendly, touched his hand for a surprisingly long time, and jotted her phone number on the side of his hand before he departed. Sergei made a mental note of the name on her tag, smiled in return, and grudgingly parked near the front door of the office.

              He could feel himself growing heavier and heavier as he approached the front door to join a room full of grown men who behaved like middle school children. Sipping on his mocha, he clocked in as he sat down at his desk, looked over his list of projects for the week, chose one as a place to start and made a conscious effort to ignore the inane chatter going on around him.

              Chest deep in logic and coding, he was forcibly extracted from his self imposed single track mind, realizing that Carl at the desk nearest him was calling his name.

              “Hey, Sergei, wake up man,” he heard him say. “Some of us are getting together for lunch, if you want to join us.”

              “Hey, Carl, no, not today, I have plans,” he said, “thanks for the invite. I’ll see you all when you get back.” He leaned back in his chair and watched the clock click from 11:59 to 12:00. He was the first to rise from his seat. He left the office, took the elevator to the third floor, ordered his lunch and sat on the balcony to watch his co-workers leave as a single mass for who knows what restaurant.

              He took a final sip of his sweet tea, rose from his seat, stood at the railing and sensed the gentle breeze blowing around him. “Wow, this is weird,” he thought. “Here I am, all alone, feeling the wind roll around me and watching everything and everyone far below me. Just like the recurring dream.” With a slight hope that he could recreate the dream in the real world, he took a half step back from the railing, slowly raised his arms and longed to ascend into the chaos of wind and birds far above him.

              Understanding the difference between dream and reality, he returned to his seat, finished his meal and tied together the facts of his everyday life, the imagery of his recurring dream, and the aching loneliness that nearly consumed him every day. He took the elevator back down to his office, entered an empty room, turned on the news feed on his phone, and waited for the inevitable chatter from his soon to return co-workers. Bored with the same news, he made himself a cup of Earl Gray tea and sat down at his computer.

              Four conversations all entered the room as he longed for the never to once again return silence of his work space. Sergei narrowed his thoughts, focused on the work before him, and found himself glancing at the clock every ten minutes, wishing for silence, for peace, and for an intelligent conversation. Five o’clock finally arrived and he clocked out, left the office, and started a conversation with the just arriving janitor, a pleasant, elderly man by the name of Honorio. Despite being a janitor, Honorio was shockingly intelligent, well educated, and knowledgeable in almost every category that Sergei could think of.

              The two men spoke for twenty minutes and Honorio apologetically excused himself, explaining that he needed to get to work and looked forward to their conversation the next day. The two men shook hands, and Sergei could feel himself smiling for the first time in how long, he did not know. “I really need a good Italian dinner tonight,” he said to himself as he pulled out into the street fronting their office.

              Walking into Antonio’s Italian Eatery, he greeted the waitress, saw the phone number written on the side of his hand, excused himself for a moment, and place a call to the girl from the coffee stand, inviting her to join him for dinner. Smiling again, he reserved a table for them, drove to her apartment, and returned to the restaurant, thrilled at the prospect of sitting with someone pretty and who smiled a lot. Sergei and Katherine enjoyed one another’s company, finished their dinner, and he drove her home. He walked her to her door and asked if she would like to have dinner on the coming Friday night.

              Smiling for the third time in one day, he drove home, stood in his backyard and imagined himself ascending above the clouds, wondering if he had delusions of grandeur or were his dreams really an image of a reality that only he understood. Now with a pretty girl to think about and spend time with, he no longer dreamt of ascending to the clouds. It was at that moment that he understood that he was unlike anyone else but now he could focus on Katherine instead of seeing how different he was than all others.

              Having a kind and loving girl to pour himself into and take care of brought a new level of joy into his life that rewired his heart, his brain, and his passion for life. Friday night couldn’t come quick enough, and Sergei picked Katherine up for a seafood dinner, to be followed by a movie, and a pleasant evening at her place drinking wine and listening to music.