It was just about the least special day that Charlton entered my life. May 30th 2006, to be exact. Dreams are hard to pin down in date since they occur over night, as in on two separate days. Whether Charlton came to me on May 30th or 29th, the important part is that he made his appearance. The specific date is trivial, but I can definitely say that he entered my life when I was 18 and a half; half a year in adulthood (according to Canadian law). Charlton is special for me in many ways, so let me recount the dream of which he starred, the dream that affected my personal history in so many ways.
Before indulging in the dream, I must clarify that I was in the process of painting a piece of work. I did not know what I wanted to paint; all I knew was that the canvas was a square and the colour green was involved. I had applied a dull coat of various shades of green, hoping to instigate an inspiration. Little did I know that that same night it would hit me like Cupid’s arrow in the chest…
The dream begins in third point perspective, in an elevator shaft. The main character (who is presumably British) is paired with another young female figure. They are moving onto the second challenge of a competition. The elevators doors open to a hall containing paintings on the wall. The point of view dramatically shifts to first, and I am suddenly observing a particular painting. It shows a background of green painted in a cross-hatching movement, almost like the weaves of a basket. In the center, at the bottom, lies a portrait at frontal view. The composition has nothing special, but the colours are vibrant and disturbingly alive. The portrait is highly expressionistic; the impasto paint that depicts the person’s face consists of white, blue and red. Limes are placed as the eyes. For some reason, this painting brings a chill up my spine, and the figure seems frightening. I am scared to meet such a person, if he or she were really corporeal. I finally snap out of my reveries and move forward to the next room, hoping to go through with the next task of the competition. Instead, I am confronted with a dreadful sight; the same figure in the painting is standing in front of a crowd of floor-seated adults. He is dressed in a body suit that resembles splatters of red and blue paint on a white canvas. He wears black shoes, and his hands are bare. His face, surprisingly, is not hidden behind a mask. Instead, it is completely covered with makeup painted à la Jackson Pollock (with the same colours as his suit) and he wears a bathing cap also adorned in the same fashion. His eyes are covered with cucumbers.
I move onto the next room, hoping that the figure did not notice my presence nor detect my fright. I enter the adjacent room and find myself among other contestants who are willing to participate in the second challenge. This room is dimly lit with soft ochre light and oversized toys of Mighty Max are placed in the corners. I observe these strange but nostalgic toys, and suddenly, a figure enters the room. It is the frightening man! He does not talk; instead, he performs some martial arts movements accompanied by dance steps. It was one strange sight! The bewildered crowd does not say a word. I thought to myself, was this the second challenge? Must we perhaps dance with this man? I then find myself hollering to him “I will take this dance!” He walks towards me, apparently following the sound of my voice since his arm is reached out like a blind man taking precautions with every step. I simplify his search by walking towards him. He then touches my hips, waist, shoulders, and other parts of my body as if trying to identify the figure that lies in front of him. I realise, with him so close, that the cucumbers are real; his vision is in fact impaired. Touch is the sense that he must now rely on. We then tango. Very clumsily and horribly, but nonetheless, we dance. During this utterly bizarre excuse for a dance, I am engulfed by his smell and his touch. Despite his frightening appearance, I am aroused and at ease. His firm chest of which I rest my head against brings an indescribable comfort. Words cannot fully express the feelings I am experiencing, but if I were to label them, I would say it is euphoria, bliss and ecstasy all at once. Or, I am simply in love.
I was in somewhat of a daze from this elation, so I do not remember everything clearly. There are certain things I remember hearing. For one, he told me that he did not like to go out very often; he was an introvert. Also, I distinctively remember him calling the cucumbers covering his eyes “decorations”. Finally, I recall him kissing my neck, and no where else.
The dream continues with an abrupt change of scenery. I am now witnessing my mother and some unrecognizable person engaging in conversation. They are talking about me (I am not physically there; I am only watching them from above). I learn that my “boyfriend’s” name is Charlton. He is a third-year art student, and he lives in the art school.
The dream ended with frivolous events, but they were so irrelevant that my mind chooses not to remember them. The important part was Charlton of whom I surely will never forget.