Today's prompt asks with which fictional character do we most identify?
In the past my answer would have included Susan, from the Chronicles of Narnia, and in a more pretentious time, Zooey from Franny and Zooey. Now I want to say that I identify with every single character in Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine.
There's the story about the Happiness Machine, which the inventor's wife warns him about, and once the family takes a trip through their happiest and wildest dreams, leaves them desolate because it's not reality. One story is about an old lady who tries to make friends with the neighborhood kids, but they call her a liar for telling stories about her youth and say she's stolen the things she shows them from her childhood. They won't befriend her until she admits she was always old and never had a first name. There's happier stories too, about a pair of new sneakers that make Douglas the fastest boy in the world. And about summer in a small town, sounds people make waking up and going to sleep, the music of the summer.
The story that's part of me, though, is the one where Douglas' best friend is moving. I'm going to summarize it from memory, and it's been years since I read the book, so it may be wrong, but this is how it's written on my heart.
The two boys get together like always. Only this is the last time, because John is moving the next day. They spend all afternoon doing absolutely nothing, being frozen like statues, to stop time. I am Douglas in this story trying to boss time around. I'm the old lady who saves everything. I take pictures and write journal entries and save flowers and try to remember every golden hour. I fail, too.
I'm upstairs writing this after holding and nursing my little baby boy for hours tonight. He wouldn't settle down for me until just about half an hour ago. Even though I can't do anything but take care of him for much of the day, I don't mind. I look at his little ears and the down on his arms and the way his baby fine hair comes to a point at the nape of his neck, knowing that no matter how much I soak up every minute, no matter if I read the internet on my phone while I'm nursing him or spend the whole time looking at the perfect curve of his closed eyes, this time will come to an end.
I want to put the dandelions of summer in a bottle and drink it in the winter too. I'm sure the Germans have a word for nostalgia for the present. I'd like to blame it on the baby, but the truth is I've always been this way. Having such a sweet, cuddly, good little eleven week old only makes it harder to see the weeks go by, knowing I'm forgetting all the little smiles and expressions and exploring little starfish hands. So I'm going back downstairs to cuddle him some more before I go to sleep, and wake up to his giant morning smiles and squeals.
In the past my answer would have included Susan, from the Chronicles of Narnia, and in a more pretentious time, Zooey from Franny and Zooey. Now I want to say that I identify with every single character in Ray Bradbury's Dandelion Wine.
There's the story about the Happiness Machine, which the inventor's wife warns him about, and once the family takes a trip through their happiest and wildest dreams, leaves them desolate because it's not reality. One story is about an old lady who tries to make friends with the neighborhood kids, but they call her a liar for telling stories about her youth and say she's stolen the things she shows them from her childhood. They won't befriend her until she admits she was always old and never had a first name. There's happier stories too, about a pair of new sneakers that make Douglas the fastest boy in the world. And about summer in a small town, sounds people make waking up and going to sleep, the music of the summer.
The story that's part of me, though, is the one where Douglas' best friend is moving. I'm going to summarize it from memory, and it's been years since I read the book, so it may be wrong, but this is how it's written on my heart.
The two boys get together like always. Only this is the last time, because John is moving the next day. They spend all afternoon doing absolutely nothing, being frozen like statues, to stop time. I am Douglas in this story trying to boss time around. I'm the old lady who saves everything. I take pictures and write journal entries and save flowers and try to remember every golden hour. I fail, too.
I'm upstairs writing this after holding and nursing my little baby boy for hours tonight. He wouldn't settle down for me until just about half an hour ago. Even though I can't do anything but take care of him for much of the day, I don't mind. I look at his little ears and the down on his arms and the way his baby fine hair comes to a point at the nape of his neck, knowing that no matter how much I soak up every minute, no matter if I read the internet on my phone while I'm nursing him or spend the whole time looking at the perfect curve of his closed eyes, this time will come to an end.
I want to put the dandelions of summer in a bottle and drink it in the winter too. I'm sure the Germans have a word for nostalgia for the present. I'd like to blame it on the baby, but the truth is I've always been this way. Having such a sweet, cuddly, good little eleven week old only makes it harder to see the weeks go by, knowing I'm forgetting all the little smiles and expressions and exploring little starfish hands. So I'm going back downstairs to cuddle him some more before I go to sleep, and wake up to his giant morning smiles and squeals.
This post made me want to read Dandelion wine and now with Mr. Bradbury's passing I feel I need to read all his works. Thank you for a glimpse into your world.
ReplyDeleteThat was strange timing! I hope you enjoy as much as I did. The Illustrated Man is excellent too.
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