You can't say I didn't try it...

The smell of rain still hung in the air, long after it had stopped and the clouds had parted. My mom told me to go out and play out in the backyard. I ran around and climbed up my tree, and watched the rain trip off the leaves.

While I was running around I came upon a puddle of mud. I spent a long time looking at this perfect mud hole, wondering if I should try what the other kids did. They said it was a lot of fun to play in the mud, but I hated getting dirty. I was even careful not to get near the wet patches on my tree.

After some thought, I pushed up the sleeves on my sweater. Carefully I took off my shoes and socks. I put them by the back door, neatly side by side. I tucked each sock into the shoe so it looked like the person wearing the shoes was invisible.

I gently padded back to the mud puddle. Did I really want to do this? I took a deep breath, and slid a hand into the puddle. I dipped in up to my elbow, then pulled it out again. Systematically I did the same with the other hand, and dipped my feet as well. I stood with my hands and feet dripping mud for a few minutes. It turns out it was not all it was cracked up to be. The mud began to dry and clump between my fingers.

Gingerly I walked over to the screen door. I took a breath and yelled "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

She said I looked like I was wearing elbow length gloves and ankle boots. She let out a laugh and led me over to the garden hose to wash me off.

A Difference of Opinion, Or: Everyone's a Little Bit Racist

I think it's safe to say I was in uber-lust with him. I was 16, and this was my first job. I felt like a superhero with a secret identity. None of these people working with me knew how I acted at school; I could pretend to be anyone I wanted to me.

The problem was, these people didn't care. I was white, and therefore invisible. I guess that's what happens when you become a busser at a casino Seafood Buffet. Having just barely passed Spanish in school, I was lost when everyone was talking. Being human, I always thought they hated me and were talking trash about me. There were just a handful of people that would even speak to me. Then there was Alex.

Alex was from San Salvador, and he was a classic hot latin boy. He had sensual lips, and the nicest brown eyes I've ever seen. He swaggered when he walked, he knew he was hot shit. He was a bad boy in the very classic sense. He was the 19 year old stocker, and I used any excuse to talk to him. I thought I was in love. I had all my teenage emotions, and sparks flew inside my head whenever he was around, and fireworks whenever he touched me.

I think it's safe to say I was so in love I would have done anything he asked me to do, but that's another post. Look for a post titled: The dumbest thing Paige has ever done and will ever do. For now let's just say he dared me to do something that he thought I was to goody-goody to do, and I proved him wrong.

He had no interest in me whatsoever. We became friends, but it took all my energy to get him to even talk to me. We had interesting conversations, but we had our differences. I remember telling him constatly that he needed to quit smoking, because I was worried about him and his health.

In hindsight I think I was quite obvious about the fact that I wanted him. If he needed to run an errand I would skip our break and go with him. I ran out from the back to watch him re-stock the plates on the buffet a million times. He would put me in headlocks, and I would shutter just from his touch. I was a mess over him. He never made a move until one night when I got angry and snapped at him.

He was always saying how I wouldn't understand; it was his joke between us. After it became clear to me that he didn't want anything romantic, the joke worn to thin. Someone would say something to him in Spanish, and I would ask him what they said, and he would say "You wouldn't understand, don't worry about it." Once it was about a customer who had been racist towards another busser.

The next day I was so angry I walked right past him. When he asked me what was wrong, I said "It doesn't matter anyway, because I don't understand anything, do I?" I was on the verge of tears, and just made a beeline for a bathroom and spent the rest of the break in there.

On our second break, at the end of the night, I sat down at an empty table(as I usually did) with my food. I felt him behind me before he even got close to the table. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him I had a problem with him thinking I would never understand anything.

He told me about the racist comments his parents had to endure emmigrating from San Salvador, and how "whites" (his term, not mine) how always kept them down to jobs like dishwashers. He said as much as he liked me as a person, I would never understand because I was "one of them."

It was then that I realized that he didn't even know me. He had no idea that I was Jewish, and I've had people tell me at age 7 that I was going to be killed and go to hell because I wasn't Christian, and been made fun of so much that I had developed the hard shell that stays with me today. Would explaining any of this to Alex even help? I knew how he was, I don't think that he would even listen.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you that I felt? That I had to deal with a lot of those issues? That growing up Jewish made me face many of the problems you are talking about?" I asked him, looking into his soulful and mysterious eyes. He took a deep breath and looked right into my eyes and said "You can't imagine how bad it is. You can blend in, you don't have it on your skin, for everyone to see. The white people try to keep us minorities down."

With a deep breath, and a broken heart, I said; "I guess everyone's a little bit racist. Even you."

The Mapes Hotel Implosion

The morning was a little cold; there was still snow on the mountains. I hadn't been up this early since the Reno Balloon Races, but this was a special day. Dad had gotten the whole family tickets to the parking garage across the street from The Mapes; it was being imploded this morning.

I had seen things like this on TV, but never thought I would get to see it in person. There had been lots of talk over demolishing this historic building. Lots of people wanted it to still stand, but the truth was it would fall down on it's own in time. It had been closed since before I was born, and at 19 years old, even I knew the building was no longer up to code. Everyone thought something could be done to save it, but there was nothing more to do. To this day there are websites that are angry the building came down.

They had been working on the building for a long time, preparing it for implosion. They brought work to my father so that they could get all the asbestos out, so when it blew we didn't get the whole city sick. The day had come when it was going to come down.

Thankfully we were around people who were excited to see a building come down like I was. We had to be up in the Cal Neva Parking lot hours before to ensure our safety. After an hour or so they moved us up to a higher level, saying the dust would reach us if we weren't high enough.

Finally the time came. Everyone was worried we wouldn't get to see it come down at all, because sometimes after the detonate the explosions, it still wouldn't come down. Anticipation reached an all time high, I could almost feel the tension in the air.

Everyone on our floor counted down with the crew. 5....4.....3.....2.....1 and the explosions went off, starting from the ground floor and working it's way up with a boom that sounded far away even though it was across the street. Seconds went by, and I thought the building wasn't going to go down. After all this waiting I felt myself get a little disappointed. Then I saw it start to slide...The whole building like it was made out of legos imploded into itself with a great crash. I felt my eyes grow wider as I watched the last of the building sink into the dust it had already kicked up.

The dust grew closer to the parking garage, and suddenly the whole crowd realized we were not up high enough! There was a mad dash for the elevator, and my sister, mom, dad, and I dashed to the elevator. I felt elated running, like I was in the middle of an action movie, and we had to not get caught by the giant dust rushing to meet us. The glass elevator was almost full when we reached it, but we squeezed in just as the doors were closing. We looked out the glass just in time to see the dust envelope the elevator. I remember thinking "That was one of the coolest things that's ever happened to me." I felt the smile move across my face and looked up at my dad, only to meet the same expression. At that moment I knew what he was thinking, and he knew what I was thinking because we felt the same way.

I looked down at my 12 year old sister and saw the blank stare. I smiled at her, and she burst into tears. I was completely taken aback, and asked her what was wrong. She was upset that something that big had been destroyed. This was a new experience; I felt almost wrong for being so excited seeing The Mapes destruction. My dad told her that no one was in there and not to be so silly as to be upset over a building, but she was upset. She stayed that way all through breakfast at Cal Neva, but managed to cheer up a bit afterwards because I was making jokes with her.

After breakfast we went down to the site and bought one of the bricks from the Mapes, and we still have them to this day. To this day I think it was one of the coolest things I've ever seen, regardless of what people thought of the building.

High School Graduation Part 1

"We can just keep doing this all day until we get it right. You won't get to see any of your family today, we can just sit here and practice graduation until tonight." Thanks Principal...that's exactly what I want to do.

I'm getting a little sick of the girl I'm supposed to walk next to. We've never met, but we are getting along well enough. For graduation I guess the whole school has decided to drop the "don't talk to us and we won't talk to you" hispanic rule. I've seen this girl around, but last week she wouldn't have given me the time of day. I laugh at how stupid we have all been acting the past 4 years.

We are so near the end we aren't even paying attention. I realize this might be the very last time that I have to worry about being last anymore. I vow right there that I'll marry someone with a last name in the beginning half of the alphabet (I kept that vow too, totally by accident.)

At the point of Graduation I've pretty much gotten to the point where I hate everyone. I'm an angry teen, I just can't wait to leave this all behind. I wouldn't be going through the ceremony if they weren't making me. I don't want to see any of these people again; I can't wait to move on.

I glance over and see a group of guys that instantly proves me wrong.

Roy was my prom date and now friend. To this day when I look over my pictures of he and I, I crush on him all over again. He was everything a silly teenager girl would want in a guy; tall, dark, handsome, and dumb. He was a reformed bad boy in his 5th senior year. His only downfall was that in his reformedness he had "found Jesus" and couldn't really get through a whole conversation without bring up his "Lord and Savior." Needless to say, I warned him that if he said God or Jesus in my presence again I'd strangle him, but I'd like us to be friends. He took it really well. I hear he's a monk now. Despite our differences, I looked down the row at him and smiled. In another life we would have been a really good couple.

Robert and I had been friends since god knows how long. I can't even remember when he moved into town, but he and I were always doing things together. He had flaming red hair which drove my dad crazy, he hated him. I think the real reason why though, was because Robert was the Nevada equilvent of a surfer dude. His casualness my dad took for disrespect. I still have his coat and Ouija Board in my closet. Half of me expects him to come knocking on my door one day, asking for them back. My heart twists knowing that will most likely never happen.

My friend John had turned into a different person by graduation. Up until our trip to the Rodeo where he puked on my shoes after riding the Zipper, he had been one of the greatest bad boys I ever knew. I think he had gotten to heavily into drugs by the time grad rolled around, because he didn't seem to really know where he was. I wonder if they actually produced a diploma for him. My friend David was absent, having really disappeared off the face of the earth a few months before graduation. I heard later he had moved to LA to model.

Then there was Tyson. We had always hung out together, but never hung out exclusively. I never even had his phone number. But I looked over at Tyson at the graduation practice and realized that Tyson was a man now, no longer a boy. His lanky frame had filled out, and he was much calmer than I remembered him. He was the kind of kid that was always "on." He would do anything for a laugh, and never stood still. He always amused me, but I never thought of him as ever being a serious person. He always slouched, from 6th grade on, but today he was standing straight, looking straight ahead. I don't think he saw me looking at him, but it made me suddenly sad. He wasn't the joker any longer. I didn't even know who he was anymore.

And tonight we were going to graduate, and I'd never get the chance to know him.

The First Greatest Day….or, the Swim; scuff marks style!

I tucked my hair behind my ear, again, and gathered everyone together. I was never this bold unless I wanted something badly. I had to win this dance contest…and I knew exactly how to do it.

It was 1995 and my middle class team, the Barracudas, had chosen us to represent them at the Sock Hop Dance Contest. I looked around at my team;

Chris, the one who always did the best break dances and the school dances. He had called me “Hanukkin” once, but I had forgiven him…after he forgave me for calling him “Kwanzzakin.”

Jessell, who I knew was going to smoke. Her whole family participated in Hot August Nights, a 50’s celebration of cars and dance, and she was in all the parades. We used to spend nights at her house learning new dance routines; the only one I retained was Stop! In the Name of Love.

John, Tyson and Robert; my boys. They were like my brothers, but they couldn’t dance worth a damn. They were willing to go for it though, and so was I. The rest of the kids I didn’t know personally…so I had to give them a pep talk.

I got them into a circle and whispered so the other teams wouldn’t hear me.
“Okay guys. We might not be the best dancers here, but we know the moves, right? And here’s where we are gonna win this thing…” Everyone moved in closer, anticipation on their faces.

“When they call out to do the swim…Hit the pavement.”

“Say what?” Chris said, looking at me like I was crazy.

“Do the backstroke…on the floor of the gym. The crowd will go crazy and we will WIN this.” Everyone slowly smiled, realizing we had this thing in the bag.

We put our hands in, counted 1, 2, 3, and shouted a “Go Team,” and we went out to the gym floor. Midway out I stopped in my tracks, causing the others behind me to slam into each other. I turned around and shouted over the roar of the crowd, “DON’T CHICKEN OUT!”

My heart pounded in my chest, I could feel it all the way up to my throat. This was it. “You Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog” blarred over the loudspeakers, and the voice over the microphone shouted, “The Monkey!”

I was proud of Robert, he went for it with gusto. People were laughing and pointing at us already. We had drawn them in…we waited, dancing The Monkey like our lives depended on it.

“The Hand Jive!” The voice shouted.

“Follow Jessell and I!” I shouted to the others, a look of panic had crossed their faces. The Hand Jive was one that everyone always got wrong. Everyone except Jessell and I-we could do it in our sleep.

Twice on the knees, clap twice, the hand shuffle, fists one on top of the other, the double hitchhicker and back to the knees. After two times our guys had it down. “The Twist!” was an easy one, we had no problem with that. Across the gym I saw a couple go all dirty dancing style, and the teachers approaching them to disqualify. Hee.

“The Masted Potato!” “The Jerk!” “The Swim!”

It had become our time.

As soon as we heard “The Swim!” Time stopped. I looked around at my team. We all nodded, ready to put our plan into action. We all seemed to drop at the same time, in slow motion. Looking up at the gym ceiling, I smiled. Time returned to normal speed and I heard the crowd roar as we swam in a circle on the gym floor.

Other teams tried doing it when they saw the reaction, but we were the originals. We had done it. When they cheered for us, we knew we had won. We still jumped up and down and encouraged when the time came to “vote” (i.e. screaming when the say your team’s name).

But when they called our names, I jumped higher than I ever had before…I felt like I was soaring, and the noise of the crowd died away as well all hugged each other. I remember thinking “this has got to be the best day of my life.”

July 4ths Past

I don't remember ever not going out to see the fireworks. July 4th always felt to me to be a halfway mark in the year....it was like another New Year's Celebration! I always missed Dick Clark on July 4th, it was like having a celebration with fireworks without him was just sad.

The elation I felt when I saw a new kind of fireworks was highened...the only other time I felt that way was with my head buried in a book. Do this day I'm still amazed every time a firework takes a shape of a cube or a circle. How do they do that???

The last 4th of July I remember that doesn't bleed into the rest is one I spent without my parents. Last year, right before my wedding, my fiancee and I and my friend John went to the Sparks Marina to watch the "Star Spangled Sparks" fireworks. We sat around eating and set up chairs and talked about everything and nothing. We were bored while waiting for the fireworks, but it was nice to be bored with other people. We watched the seagulls, and named one Ed, because he looked like Ed Sullivan. I'm not kidding either, a seagull...exactly like Ed Sullivan. We couldn't stop joking about it.

Finally the fireworks started. I remember them being average, and remembered to July 4ths past that every year there was a new one. Not this year...but I was among friends, and we all laughed together, when halfway through they turned on the sprinklers on the other lawn, sending people flying. There were maybe 25-50 people there who had all laid down blankets and one even put up a small tent. They were all soaked by the time they got out of there.

I remember at the end of the night smiling and thinking how much fun it had been, and how after next month things were never going to be the same.

Con Cebolla? Or, A Mother's Day Story

My mother has beautiful olive skin and pitch black hair. We had gone into a Wendy's after visiting Wild Waters, the local water park. She was as dark as she had been all summer. My sister and I told her what we wanted, and we approached the counter to order.

My mom is hard of hearing, but she can read lips fairly well. Most of the time, though, she has master the art of smiling and nodding and asking me later what went on. She looked directly into the face of the cashier and the woman said "Como Estas?" my mom answered fine, and then she was asked if this was "para aqui y vendes?" My mom answered "for here, please." She asked for a baked potato, a cheeseburger, and a small bowl of chilli. The cashier took another look at my mother and said "Con Cebolla?" asking if we wanted onions on the chilli. Knowing my mom, she didn't hear and knowing she couldn't have anticipated this question, I opened my mouth to answer no. My mom smiled and said "no onions, please."

Good Guess, I thought to myself, knowing my mom took French and had no idea what this woman just said to her. I also thought it was amusing that this woman thought she was hispanic with her two incredible white children. It certainly validated the story she always told about how them almost didn't let her back into the country after she visited Mexico. They asked her how long she was visiting America, she said she needed to go throw up...they let the "gringa" through.

The cashier then gave her the total...in Spanish. My mom gave her the amount, having seen it on the registar. The woman behind the counter told in, in spanish, that her order would be out soon, and to have a nice day. She ended with a "thank you for coming," and my mother said "Your welcome."

By this time my sister and I were almost in tears on the floor. She had answered every question correctly, not knowing that this women wasn't even speaking the same language. The cashier was looking at my mother funny, not understanding why she didn't just answer her in Spanish.

Mom looked at my sister and I and asked "What?!?!"

Happy Mother's Day

Deja Vu-and Not in the Good Way

My parents hardly ever went to this McDonald's because of it's appearance. The bricks looked as if it had been an old Taco Bell, and they had converted it to a McDonald's sometime in the 70's. It should have been closed down years and years ago. It looked as if it doubled as a homeless shelter at night; dirt on the floor, which was always sticky, and sometimes sleeping bags tucked behind tables.

Mom told me to go find us a table while she waited for our food. I was six or seven, old enough to be able to take care of myself at a table. As soon as I was out of my mother's sight, I felt a grubby, rough hand grab my upper arm. It spun me around and I was face to face with what must have been a homeless man. His breath was a mix between alcohol and what smelt like grassy mud. Dirt was creased into his wrinkles, much like a Shar Pei when he has never been washed. His skin was poc-marked, and his eyes were a mystery. They were a dull glossed over brown, but they were trying to be vibrant.

He spoke to me, almost in tounges; He described everything you'd ever not want to know about the world; He told me my parents were going to die and leave me someday, that I would die too, and that no one would care about me. He talked about many other things, and I was frozen to the spot. I was afraid of what he would do if I tried to break free of him. He almost had me locked to him with his eyes, somehow I couldn't move even if I wanted to.

Finally another patron told him to leave me alone. He released his grip on me, and I felt the scrape of dirt that fell from his hands. I looked down at my arm and saw that he had left a dirty print of his hand. I never forgot how scary that was, being held captive. But I never told my mom, and she never asked why I kept brushing dirt off my arm the whole meal.

Around seven or eight years later, we came back to that same McDonald's. We were shopping in the area, and it was the only place that my sister would eat at. I tried to talk her into something else, since I had never wanted to go back to that McDonalds. My sister was the same age I had been when we last went there, and I had the encounter with the homeless man.

My sister had a terrible habit of running off, which she did as soon as we got to the counter. I went to go get her from my mom, but I took my time getting to the area where she had run off to. I rounded the corner and saw her; her arm was being held the same way, by the same man. At first I couldn't believe my eyes, but I would have recongized that man anywhere. He had changed his speech to more profanity than I remembered, but there he was. This time he had an eye patch over one eye. A skateboard was tucked under the table. Although I was as terrified as if it had happned to me all over again, I called out my sister's name and told her to "get over here NOW." Once again the man loosened his grip and Amanda wasted no time getting away from him. We never talked about it, and I never mentioned that the same thing had happened to me, just before she was born. He was even in the same booth.

This homeless man started popping up everywhere. He rode the skateboard around town and screamed obsenities. He never made sense, and I swear he followed me everywhere I had a job. When I worked at Hollywood Video, he would hide in the bushes and scream at me when I went outside to check the dropbox. He walked the mall where I was selling calendars for Waldenbooks. He was everywhere. Until one day, he disappeared. I never saw him again.

That McDonalds was closed a few years later, a nicer one built a block away. It only took them a few months to get the floor permently sticky though.

Me at 3 months old

Pictures by Paige

Ode to my Father

I never felt that anything was missing out of my life. When I was little I just assumed that what my dad did was the definition of what a father was. I never thought he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be doing. It was in second grade, when it was announced that we would be making something for father's day, that I was told differently. I said "They have a day for those people?" I was met with the most bewildered faces I have ever seen. It was soon explained to me exactly what a father was.

He wasn't easy to live with, to this day he isn't. But he is who I am, he is who made me into what I am today. When I look deep within myself, and go back to both my parents heritage, I know that some of it lives inside of me. There is a southern belle inside me eating grits and red eye gravy to her hearts content, and is so polite it seems to drip from her lips. I have few memories of when we visited North Carolina, but what I remember most is the atmosphere. It was so humid, and it bothered me, but it also felt like home to me. Gone With the Wind is one of my favorite movies because I know that my great great grandparents were there living that same exsistence.

My father told the same stories and jokes, so many times I knew all the punchlines and still remember them. Growing up he would embaress me and make me cry. But now that I am where I am today, I miss him. He is part of my soul. I wish I could go back in time and cut him some slack. I was rude and disrespectful to my father. I felt like he had no right to tell me what to do because he wasn't around a lot. Unlike the characater in Big Fish, I didn't believe that he had another life when he was away for months at a time. But I knew his mind wasn't at home when he was there. I inherited a lot of his traits for him not being around a whole lot.

I miss him, and I wish I could have one more day how it used to be, with me living at home, so I could enjoy co-habitation with the only father I will ever have.

The Wilber D. May Museum

Field trips were always exciting, whether it was kindergarten or senior year of high school. The one that always fascinated and scared me at the same time was the May Museum.

It was never really explained to us kids who Mr. May was, or why he had this museum. Maybe it was explained, but we sure weren’t listening. The museum consisted of animals that had gone through that wonderful activity known as taxidermy. There were dead animals in every exhibit, even the ones that were just a little scene from his living room. In fact it was his living room that was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.

Everything was made of some kind of animal. The lampshades hung off of hooves of zebras, even the couch was being suspended in air by hooves of sheep and horses. This man was obviously a hunter. Two tusks surround the fireplace, and above the mantel is the head of a giant hippo. The walls are covered in animal heads from every end of the earth: tigers, antelope, buffalo, zebras, rhinos, and even hyenas. Flattened bobcats were used as headrests on one of the couches. There were antlers, antlers everywhere. And that was just one room.

There were individual displays of tigers, a giraffe, an entire gathering of deer. But the one that to this day I still will not get close to, the polar bear. One of the first visits I took there put me off of that bear forever. A bunch of boys were joking around and banging on the glass that separated the bear and the group. They hit it so hard that the bear began to rock back and forth, and nearly came crashing through the pane, it’s glass eyes cold and frightening. From then on the entire place was haunted to me. Down to the stuffed monkeys in the rafters it had me spooked. The creepiest thing about this place, though, is the actual shrunken head. It might very well one of the last. How many people can say they have seen a real shrunken head?

Because it had me spooked, it put me off the entire ‘May Center’ altogether. Because you see there was more than just the May Museum, but the ‘Great Basin Adventure’ as well. In the center was what looked like a miniature version of the mountain in Disneyland. Inside was a mine, and it had mannequins of miners that talked, and lit up when you were passing by. They cried, “Fire in the hole!” in the darkness of the cave, and then lit up to show you the surprised mannequin about to be blown up by the explosives. It scared me to death. I refused to go in there, and only liked the log flume ride, which was only one tiny drop into the water. It was nothing to write home about.
But that, my friend, is what fuels my fear of mannequins and taxidermied animals.

The Reoccuring Dream

It always begins the same way: I hear voices, but I don’t see anything. I can feel the ground beneath my feet; it is a rough cobblestone. Suddenly a voice comes from out of the darkness, asking me if I’m sure I want to do this. He tells me my mission is to find the Jewel of Light for him. Because of its brightness I am the only one equipped to complete this mission. It will be a long journey, but when I turn over the Jewel to him, he has sworn to restore my sight.

I feel someone hand me a relief map, which they refer to as a “high” map, to guide me through my journey. Someone else hands me a knapsack filled with food and water for my trek. I’m given a long wooden staff, which feels smooth against my hand.

My journey starts in the west, and my open-faced compass tells me we are headed toward the mountains in my map. They are treacherous and hard to climb, I feel them under me as I nearly scale the mountain wall to get to the other side. There is a village there, the Village of the Smalls. The people of this village will help me to find the Jewel of Light.

As I approach the village the dream takes a different turn. I either here them run to greet me, or I hear nothing and smell the burnt remains of their township. I find them all dead in their huts, or the bring me into their prospering community and give me a feast fit for a king. Either way I spend the night there, then they promise to lead me as far as they can to the Jewel of Light. Or I have to go it alone, finding a map to the Jewel in one of their smoldering dwellings.

It is a long walk across a desert; I can feel the sun beating down on the top of my head, the sweat coming out of my pores and dripping down the back of my neck. I reach a rock formation that I sit under in the shade for awhile in order to cool off. Then I make my way to the top of the rock formation to the point where the Jewel should be. It is not there. I stood in the place where it should have been and pondered what to do, when the ground quaked beneath me. I felt myself being lowered as if in an elevator, and after a short time it stopped. I felt in front of me and found the Jewel. It was as big as an ostrich egg, and was a round cut jewel. I wrapped the jewel in a piece of fabric given to me by the people who sent me on this mission, and I was on my way back.

I thankfully didn’t have to go back the way I came, I found myself a shortcut. It was still a long journey back to the Kingdom that wanted this jewel. When I finally arrived they took the Jewel from me and let me rest in a room for a day or so. Then they again called me into the room with the cobblestone floor.

“You have brought us the Jewel of Light, and for your reward, I will now return your sight!”

There is a bright light flash and for a second everything comes into focus…and then I wake up. But before I do, this is what I see;

It is a great hall in a medieval castle. Before me is a line of people: A Merlin-type figure, a couple of knights in full regalia, a great King and his Queen, and their daughter, the princess. They all look exquisite and beautiful, and behind them is a large mirror. It covers floor to ceiling behind them, and I can see their reflections in it.

I can see their reflections, but I do not see mine. I don’t have a reflection in that mirror.
Did my imagination just forget to put one in? The popular theory with everyone is that I was a Vampire. I didn’t think I was, but I did want to know what I had been in that dream. I had the dream off and on from the time I was 6 years old until I was 12 or 13, and I never figured out who I was supposed to be, or what my subconscious was trying to tell me.