Valentine, the next generation

At least 40 years ago, I had dreams in which I was flying with the vision of a drone, technically supported by a backpack with a coil. Could be that reading to my daughter from ‘Karlsson from the roof’ was the cause of that.

I was then wearing only my sleep shirt, washed and shrunk to my navel in the dryer. These dreams were a great improvement; previously I was walking down the Rotterdam Lijnbaan mall, nude like this. Psychologists will be able to explain that. When people looked up to me it was an image like a jellyfish, floating in the swell.

I had that dream again. My grandson who is now 16. We lost each other 3 years ago when a cruel twist of fate separated us and we could no longer have contact. Can’t think about it yet, let alone tell about it.

A month before that happened we were in town and I took him into the Leonidas chocolates store to buy for my love only the white ones, in a gold box, Valentine’s Day, right? He asked “You’ve had her for 49 years, right?” and I explained to him that the fire of love always needs fuel.

“Can I give Oma chocolates for Valentine’s Day too? And Mama?” I nodded encouragingly and he took out his still so new bank card. “Not for my sister, right? That’s incest.” I smiled at my so precise, rule-conscious little autist.

In my helicopter dream of three years later, I see him sitting on a wall near the harbor with a girl next to him.

He pulls out a Twix (that’s how loudly readable the wrapping is, even from 20 feet up) and shares it with her. She smiles at him and I am proud of my shy boy. Is he overcoming his contact problems?

The picture tilts, I see him riding a bike on the now too small bike I once bought him. Into town and to the chocolate store. He comes out with a gold kilo box, he’s clearly up to something!

Out of town, racing into the suburbs, bike up against the facade, placing all 20 locks on it and then ring the bell. I feel his heart pounding. That girl! She smiles and he gives her a boyish kiss on the cheek. Like with grandma.

I fly over the house and indeed they sit down in the glass roofed veranda. He hands her the box from his backpack and I see her jump up happily, grab him and hug him. I know he finds body contact difficult, but he doesn’t flinch.

I discreetly turn away and let them do it, but when I fly over later, I see the buttocks I washed long ago tighten and relax.

He is in his next phase, doesn’t need me anymore, I have tears, but am SO happy for him.

Gepubliceerd door Desiderius Lustig

Ik zet mijn hete dromen om in verhalen vol genot en liefde. Mijn fascinatie is vooral de herinnering aan mensen, ontmoetingen en gebeurtenissen, maar dan omgebogen naar intense lichamelijkheid. In mijn verhalen ben ik daarnaar op zoek en herbeleef al schrijvend, wat er had kunnen zijn of bijna was. Als er maar......

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