Dreamscape Chateauguay Sept.10.2006

(L: Gail McAleese)

( R:Judy Vokey)

In Dawson College 1973 Richilieu Campus near Selby Campus, David Gray taught the gentle art of writing from “perceived” experience drawing upon the beat generation authors Jack Kerouack and Paul Bowles.

“The mind is a perception device and one should write from experience in order to get past the “blank page” syndrome.” He might say.

“Who is to say that what you dream has not been experienced?

You students who have recently left high school, have yet to swim out into the great stream of life. Few of you have yet to initiate life altering adventures to write from, so, as aspiring writers, you must begin with experiences you have had including those perceived in dream. Go ahead and create your ‘mirage –montage’.”

Today, I will toss in to the blog a dream journal entry.

For those of you who get bored easily with reading, go on back out to the golf course or back to the TV – or do the lawn or wash the car –whatever- it’s Sunday.

It’s o.k.

And to Tom Lauder who observes that this blog is ‘bizarre’. “Yes- I suppose it is, but so too, is life sometimes.”

Dreamscape – Chateauguay (REMEMBER –THIS IS DREAM ONLY!)

The sun shines. I plod my way up the street from the dam towards the O’Connor house, passing by St.Eugene on Salaberry, the river on one side, houses on the other.

It seems years since my last visit. Much has changed. Perhaps I’ll stop briefly to look upon the O’Connor’s residence, if just to rest for a moment and think back on past memories of some of the O’Connor’s social events.

This walk is dragging on. The house is nowhere to be seen. Instead there are farmers tilling the soil where the house, pool and Terry’s Gymnastic rings once stood. I look back towards St.Eugene – now transformed, a concrete throughway entrance going under Salaberry and the river itself, – a tunnel. A sign reads “This way to Lachine and Montreal”.

“Well it’s about time. I think we’ve all had enough of the damned bridge!”

But I still can’t seem to find my way back to the shopping centre. If St.Eugene is now a one way route, down through a tunnel, then that is not the way I need to be going; at least not yet.

Contemplating the farmers turning the soil, I hear voices coming from behind me. And there behind me, gesticulating and talking to another, is Judy Vokey! Wow! She looks great!

“Judy! –Hey! How are you?” I exclaim, “It only been 35 years!”

She stops and focuses for a moment.

“Les – Oh my god! Look at you! The hair is cut, jeans are gone, gray in the hair – but I still see you in there!”

I explain to her and her friend that I seem to have lost my way in all this change and ask for their help back to the shopping centre.

“Come with us,” she says, “Were parked in the lot just up the street and we’ll get you back to D’Anjou Blvd. We have to go back to the store now anyway.”

The store is located between IGA and Canadian Tire, just across from Jean Coutou at Maple street. I enter and they show me around all kinds of machinery and appliances.

A garden furniture display juts out of the wall above eye level across the store. What I thought was a mannequin – is now waving to me. I put my glasses on. There waving, smiling and looking directly at me is Gail McAleese – just as I remember her, trimmed bangs just above the eyes –still thin and lovely. I can feel tears begin to well up. I cannot stop them.

“How can this be?” I think to myself – elated yet profoundly saddened. Gail was killed in a car accident in Scotland not a year after her graduation in 1973. I cannot believe what I see, but I so do want to.

I turn to Judy.

“Judy, do me a favour and look over there to the wall display. Tell me what you see; my glasses are smudged.” – I lie blatantly. I don’t want her to think I’ve gone nuts.

I’ve accidentally interrupted her while she deals with a client, but she diplomatically ignores my faux-pas and looks up. (That’s Judy alright.)

“Oh yes,” she says, “The display - I told them to take it down. Kids always climb up and play on the darn thing. We’ll get in trouble with that one day. Hold on.” She seems to have noticed something else.

She strides over to the display.

“Young man,” she commands, “Come down from there this instant!”

What young man? I look back at the display. There a kid of nine or ten, short red hair fools around with a mannequin of a young lady in front of his friends down on the floor.

Gail is no longer there. I am saddened.

I remember days with her as a good friend. Gail and Debbie Vawer, sometimes Joanne Beda, hanging out front of the school. Sometimes Gail and I would go over to Beconsfield and see Susan, her lovely cousin. Gail put me up to running for school royalty one year – a good experience – Hopeton won out as he rightly deserved. And I had gained a true friend in Gail.

Before leaving the store, I approached Judy one last time.

“Judy, you’ve heard about the Reunion next year”. Will you be there?”

Her face always expressive – said, “For now, I don’t think so, but we’ll see.”

I could see in her eyes mixed feelings about attending such an event –things she would prefer to leave behind and yet people she would love to see –if not for one last time.

(End Dreamscape)

So, it was good to see my old friend even if in a dream, smiling and waving to me. I do miss Gail when I think upon her every now and again.

And Judy, – if you happen to read this ‘message in a bottle’, I do hope you are well and that you and others referred to herein, may see fit to attend the Reunion next May.