Fate of the Treebird

DREAMDATE: Monday, February 09, 2009

This was a youth, family sitcom-type dream. I was an older teen in a family with a mid-teen boy and our mom. Totally fictional, since I never even had a little brother in real life. Not exactly sure of his name in my dream, but we’ll call him Mikey. It was an afternoon of discovery for our mother, about our little boy who was growing up. Mother was preparing a considerable supper for us. You would think there were more than three eaters in the house by the amount of food being summoned up in that kitchen. There was a series of findings and unanswered questions following the time Mikey got home from school and before supper was ready. ‘Who was that you were just talking to?’ Nobody. ‘Where did you go this afternoon?’ Nowhere. ‘What’s that note on your dresser?’ Nothing!

The three of us now a little anxious with the apparently growing rift between Mommy and her baby boy, we silently stood in the front living room looking out the big picture window at the spring day. ‘And what was that huge, odd-looking tree on the lawn??’, was now the unexpected question in our minds. It was a large bird-like tree, slightly offset to the left of the lawn. There actually appeared to be a colorful, tropical bird perched on the very tip of the tree, with what looked like wings serving as the tree’s body, draped all the way down over the tree trunk almost to the ground. They really weren’t tree branches at all, nor did they look exactly like bird wings – it was more like a smooth, parachute enclosure. Mother mused that she’d never noticed this tree in our front garden before, when all of a sudden this large tree-bird began to lift off the grass. Its giant wings unfolded into the air and it hoisted itself straight up about ten feet. It seemed too heavy for itself, and was hardly graceful.

It tried its very best to fly, but alas, it only made it to the left-side neighbour’s yard where it came down hard, unfortunately not even making it to the lawn, but landing with a crash on the black, paved driveway. The weight and force of the mysterious tree-bird had shattered the pavement several feet outside the circumference of its giant bird feet. Large chunks of black pavement jutted up and around its temporary landing spot. Not perturbed at all, Treebird again raised its semi-plastic wings and proceeded to try again – this time making it to the next lawn over and landing almost as hard in the middle of the grass.

As we stared in amazement at what was happening, I noticed Mikey was not so much amazed, but more anxious and distressed. In his hand was a light pink device – some kind of telecommunications device, but it didn’t quite look like a cell phone. It was oblong with rounded edges – similar in shape to a lady electric razor — with a small square LCD screen on the top. “Mikey what is that?”, Mother inquired. “Nothing!”, Mikey answered, and promptly flung the thing into the bushes past our lawn on his far right, and he ran inside.

We followed, but Mother decided to go back into the kitchen, probably to forget the atrocity of what she had just witnessed by occupying herself with supper once again. Mikey was in his bedroom, but when he knew that Mother was busy, he scurried outside to retrieve the pink device from the bushes. Still looking very worried and distressed, I followed him back to his room. He told me, almost with tears in his eyes, that he was supposed to send a text to “KEEP ZOOEY”! But every time he’d go to send a text, one of his little friends would be texting him to go this place, go that place, and all the latest teen gossip. He skimmed through the flood of messages in his texting Inbox. But now it was too late and Zooey the Treebird was gone.

I told him to come into my bedroom and we would send the text to get Zooey back. We sat on my bed’s white puffy comforter and we got ready to do the deed. I told him if we heard Mother coming, to stick the calling device under the flap of the comforter between the mattresses. Or I would shove it in my top right drawer. Mother doesn’t nose through my things – it would be safe there. Mikey was relieved, and looked at me with a smile. He confided that he missed older sis Lisa, because she was usually the one who was there for him and to take care of him while he was growing up. He snickered and said, “And here I am 15 and still wearing my hair the same way and still wearing these baggy sweatshirts,” as he glanced down at his light grey jersey. Obviously he wanted some lessons in coolness and fashion from his big sisters. A quick thought flashed through my mind of how boyishly handsome my dear little brother might look if he had a cool, modern haircut and some slimmer-fitting clothes. “Don’t worry,” I assured him, with a smile, “I’m here for you.”

Moral of the story: No matter how wacky his stories or his friends may be, your little brother still needs you.


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