Ruesia's Dream Journal

I had this dream on Feb. 7, 2011. I had a fever and horrible headache when I fell asleep.

A dimly lit courthouse was bustling with arrivals. As I entered the court room, where the trial was to be held, I saw my friends seated high up in the distanced seats for those that are unimportant. I was disappointed that I had such a diminished status that I was seated so far away that I would only be able to make out shapes and not faces of those accused of murder. Everyone was excited about this trial, for the murder suspects were two brothers, barely old enough to be called men. My friends were laughing together and joking about the trial; it was more entertainment than anything to them. I was disgusted in their childish view of this life-or-death situation and wandered down near the judge's quarters, as we weren't yet required to be seated. I looked at the defendant's table and grew curious about the two boys in this case. I had heard only limited information, but from what I had heard, they had poisoned someone, perhaps a family? Suddenly, the bailiff walked out onto the court room floor and began to settle papers. People in the court room began to quiet down and find their seats. I looked up to find that people had crammed there way into seats where I was supposed to be, and I was very upset that I had lost my opportunity to see this trial. As I went to leave, I saw a quirky looking journalist walking in. She had pigtails and glasses and was holding a notepad. She looked at me and asked if I was alright. I explained that I had lost my seat and that I was upset because I had really wanted to see the trial. She told me that if I helped her take notes, I could sit with her. I gladly accepted and she handed me a notepad.

She headed toward her seat and I was pleasantly surprised when I realized she was in the front row, behind the defendant's table. I seated myself and noted the distinguished guests beside me, dressed in high fashion and with their noses pointed in the air. I saw my aunt, who was exasperated, because her seat she'd purchased had been taken. When she saw me, she angrily exclaimed that if I were able to get a seat, then perhaps she didn't want to be sitting down here. I was not surprised by her remark and smirked when she walked out of the court room.

The bailiff called the room to order and we all rose as the judge entered. When he took his seat, everyone's attention was diverted to the side door opening and the two defendant's being ushered in. One of the men, the older brother, was wearing overalls and a plaid shirt, his brown hair slicked back. He looked mean and unforgiving. His younger brother, closer to my age, had on a red shirt and overalls and had his shaggy, auburn hair loose and falling in front of his eyes. They seated themselves and the trial began.

I listened and took notes, and then the boys were asked to give testimony. They were taken up together, to answer questions, which I thought was unusual. But only one was asked a question at a time. When the older brother was answering, the younger boy kept looking around the court room, as if searching for something. A few times, he would skim over my area and I felt something stir in my chest. His hazel eyes were intelligent and calculating, but I also detected fear.

One of the lawyers held up a bottle of orange liquid, which reminded me of DayQuil, and explained that this is the poison believed to have killed the family. The older boy rolled his eyes, but the younger boy gulped and stared at the bottle. He seemed nervous and his hair clung to his forehead where sweat beaded. We were adjourned for lunch, then, and I got up and walked quickly out of the court room. I stood in the hallway, breathing rapidly, the fear in the boy's eyes eating at my soul. Down the hall, I saw the two brothers, shackled, being led from the court room. The younger boy turned and looked at me and I saw his eyes widen. They were walked into a room in back, and I felt a sudden urge to go talk to him. I crept down the hall, making sure no one saw me, and I turned the knob on the door where the brothers had disappeared. As I did so, someone turned the knob on the other side, and I saw the younger brother's face appear. I stepped back, not fearful but surprised, and he put his finger to his lips.

Taking my hand, he pulled me down the hallway and into an elevator. The doors closed and he punched in a floor. I stood nervously across the elevator from him and he turned to me. I snatched a glance his way and saw him staring. I then turned to look at him and we stared into each other. We did not look at each other, but into one another, and I felt his fear and adrenaline. He held in his hand the bottle of orange liquid and I gulped. His sweaty fingerprints were all over the bottle. He was shaking and I took the bottle from his hand and put my hand there instead. As the doors of the elevator opened, we saw men in uniforms trotting down the hallway. The boy slammed his fist against the elevator buttons and we took off. He pushed the emergency stop button and we came screeching to a halt. One of the cables must have broken, because the elevator titled sideways, as if hanging by one cable, and we were thrown against the back wall. I landed against him and I didn't go to move. Instead, I rest against him, my face pushed into his shoulder. We were both breathing heavily and I was scared for my life, for this man was a murderer. Yet, when I looked up and saw the fear tracing in his eyes; swirling with a maddening look of passion, I couldn't help but feel that this is where I was supposed to be. We held each other then, and I clung to him as he clung to me. He lowered his head to my face and we kissed, just a soft kiss, and then we held each other once more. As we stood there, we heard people yelling down and crews working to get to us. After what seemed hours, but I am sure was only minutes, he moved and I knew we had to go. He couldn't be found here. He kicked the top of the elevator out with his feet and pulled me out. We walked along the elevator shaft, out onto a ledge, and then we made our way down onto the streets. I smoothed his hair back and we walked anxiously. I clutched the bottle of orange liquid to my chest as we walked away from the court house.

I asked him then if he did it. He told me that he didn't want to talk about it. He told me bad things happen, and that he was caught up in one of them. But he told me he was not a bad person, and that he'd never hurt anyone. That he would never hurt me. I was afraid of him again, and shivered as I walked with him. He told me he had to go get something, but he'd be back for me. We embraced, nothing passionate, just an embrace, and he was gone. I stood still for a few seconds, looking around me, and I wondered if he would actually come back.

I then looked up to see the journalist marching my way. She had fury written all over her face. She told me if I was going to use her to get a good seat, then I might as well just not come back. I calmed her down and told her I had information, as it seemed the only way to quiet her. I told her I'd talked to the younger brother, and that I could get an interview from him. She suddenly forgot that she was mad at me and we walked into her apartment (which was surprisingly close by) and she began to ask me questions. I worried he'd come back, see I wasn't there, and leave me. I kept opening the door so I could see out onto the square where he left me, but there was no sign of him. I worried and missed him. I'd never felt so close to anyone before. Even though he was being charged with murder, even though he was strange, he was beautiful and kind and gentle. He was who I was supposed to be with- no matter what that meant.