In Search of the Rose Notes Read Online Free PDF Page A

was hitting her right side, and the hair along the side of her face was getting soaked. Her hair was that enviable auburn, gathered into a beautiful mess behind her ears. What surprised me were the lines around her mouth. Laugh lines already. I’d forgotten how much she’d smoked the last time I saw her. It looked like she hadn’t ever stopped. Aside from that, her skin still had the perfect alabaster quality it had when we were kids.
    Charlotte danced from one foot to the other.
    “C’mon, c’mon!” she shouted. “C’mon out of there and give me a hug! I’m getting wet!”
    I opened the car door and pushed the lilies into her outstretched arms.
    Dreams and Dreaming:
    September 1990
    “Freud said dreams are the ‘royal road to the unconscious,’ ” Charlotte informed us. She’d marked a page in her book that said so.
    “Freud was a jerk,” Rose said. She reached into Charlotte’s box of animal crackers and pulled out a fistful.
    “What makes you say that?” Charlotte wanted to know.
    “You’ll find out when you’re older.”
    I wanted Charlotte to pursue this, but she didn’t.
    “This section here gives tips on how to figure out your dreams,” she continued, looking at Rose for approval. Rose nodded and popped a buffalo into her mouth.
    “The first step is recording your dreams. I think we should all keep a dream log.”
    “We? All three of us?” Rose examined the hippo-shaped cracker in her hand, then bit its head off.
    “Don’t you want to understand what your dreams are telling you? What they mean?”
    “Where does that come from?” Rose asked. “Where does ‘what they mean’ come from?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, if you think that they mean something, you believe that it comes from somewhere. Where does the message come from, then?”
    Charlotte stared at Rose, openmouthed and breathing through her nose. I could tell she was straining not to roll her eyes.
    “It’s a mystery,” I said softly.
    “It’s not a mystery, ” Charlotte hissed. “The message comes from your subconscious.”
    “What is that, exactly? Where does that come from?”
    “From your brain.”
    Rose looked at me. “You know what I’m saying, right?”
    I hesitated. “Wherever it comes from, it probably helps to record your dreams.”
    “How’s that?” Rose asked.
    “Maybe by recording them,” I said uncertainly, “you can figure out where they’re coming from.”
    Charlotte nodded her agreement. “That’s really what these directions are saying. The more you write them down, the more you remember, the better you’ll put the pieces together and learn what they’re trying to say.”
    Rose smiled. “What who is trying to say? What what is trying to say?”
    Charlotte twisted her ponytail into a bun, then let it fall back onto her neck. “Never mind, ” she said.
    Rose dusted animal-cracker crumbs off her hands.
    “Don’t get mad. I’m just asking. Go get some paper, will you?” She grabbed a pen from the middle of the kitchen table. “I actually had a pretty interesting dream last night.”
    Charlotte dashed off to her bedroom. Rose and I sat in silence. She perched her elbow on the edge of the table, clicking the pen. Chick-a chick-a. Chick-a chick-a. Her restless thumb gave her away, clicking maniacally like that. She was actually interested in writing down her dreams—I could tell.
    Charlotte returned with a sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper for each of us, but when it came time to start, Rose was the only one writing. I doodled around the middle notebook hole, making it into a fiery sun. Charlotte gazed at Rose. Rose quickly produced a few round-lettered lines, then looked up.
    “Done,” she said, and pushed her paper across to Charlotte. I looked over Charlotte’s shoulder, reading it along with her:
    I was in gym class, and Mrs. Powers was making us do endless headstands on those gross old gym mats. When she wasn’t looking, when she was spotting someone else, I got off