In this dream I am aware that Alanna suffers from a very rare although non-infectious disease and that, whether by shyness or illness, she cannot bear to be touched. In the dream we are trying to figure out a permanent solution to the issue. It seems several attempts to fix her have been made, with little success prior to this particular dream. The experts have given up. We are sat in her kitchen drawing diagrams in large notebooks, trying to come up with something that might cure her. As we discuss it, I experience the feeling that we are the only two people left in the world. I can’t comfort her: touch triggers the illness. The dream is truncated: it ends before we reach a satisfying conclusion.

One evening I open my eyes in a dark room. I don’t know what time it is and I don’t know where I am. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I obviously have. My temple hurts from resting on something hard. There’s something hard in my throat. A hand pats my head gently. I have not moved at all so I can’t be sure if I woke up to the touch of the hand or if the hand has been touching me all along or if the hand knows I am awake now and that is why it’s touching me. It is a very solid, gentle, repetitive touch.

‘We’ve all been there, darling. Don’t you worry,’ says Mrs O’Toole. ‘It’s much harder when it’s your first. Then you get used to it.’

The thing about Mrs O’Toole is that she’s so used to giving advice that she will attempt to do so even when she has no clue what she’s talking about. Not knowing either, I thank her, because it feels good, for a moment, to be looked after.

TOMATOES

Nearly Ten Years Earlier

17/06/2006

We’re here!