I woke up this morning right out of a dream about Jeanie H. She was one of my closest friends from 6th grade on. She was born 364 days after me (me on Nov. 5, 1981 and her on Nov. 4, 1982). She was German descended and she had golden-green eyes.

In 6th grade, she and I were in Marrs Stars together. Maybe that's how we met. We'd also go out to the playground at lunch and swing. I remember various instances of us intentionally flying off the swings to see how far we could jump. I'm suprised we never broke any bones that way. I don't remember her from junior high although I'm sure we spoke. During our freshman year of high school, we were in the same daily algebra classes and I think we may have shared some of the block schedule classes as well. She and I taught each other algebra, and when we were done with our work for the day, we'd play speed with my deck or recite Disney movies line for line. And she drew tiny, meticulous cartoons for me.

I saw her less and less as our four years passed. Finally during senior year we shared a government class for the second half of the year. She seemed quieter, more reserved...but I guess I did too. We were kept busy the whole period of class, so there were no cards, no drawings, no movie recitations. She signed my memory book. We graduated. I haven't seen her since.

I have known for a while that life fades. For some it ends fast, but for most it cracks and flakes and falls away. Our fires cool and our feet slow. And then we lie down and sleep with the saints. All we take with us are memories.

As I remember, I compare two realities. The colors of now are softer, and they don't swirl. And as I compare, I talk to the part of myself that is still that age. My motivations are lost to her, and hers to me. I have grown apart from myself through disassociation, and apart from Jeanie.

In my dream this morning, Jeanie was leaving. She had her things set out on a shelf, but she had planned to leave them there. I convinced her to take them, telling her they were hers, that no one else needed them. Among them, two bins of stones glittered. One was small and filled with fake diamonds. The other was larger and filled with the real thing. As I helped her pack, I poured the fakes in with the reals.

I can only speculate what it means. Maybe the stones are people, emotions, or experiences. In any case, I hope she finds more reals than fakes.