tales for dreamers: messages from beyond

It began as a prank at first. Jessie’s idea it was, to leave a trail of shimmering hands on the black wall that separates the world of the living from the world of the dead. 

Naturally, we all tried to talk her out of this madness.

“You don’t want to go around raising the dead!”

“What if they come after us?”

“Best to stay away from them.”

“Don’t wish to meddle in affairs we know nothing about.”

“We’re not even supposed to look at the wall, let alone smear paint on it.”

But, as happened every time Jessie came up with a mad idea, I was the only one who went along with her while the other children ran back to their homes. They promised not to tell on us, though.

Jessie and I hauled a large bucket filled with a glowing green paint that looked like gooey muck. Jessie didn’t tell me where she got it from, and I didn’t ask.

We pressed tentatively, at first. Our handprints glowed. Then faded into the black wall. It was like magic.

When nothing else untoward happened, we let loose. 

Dip. 

Press. 

Lift. 

Watch it vanish. 

Repeat. 

And then the first blue handprint appeared. 

Then disappeared. 

Jessie smacked a green hand on the wall. A blue print appeared almost immediately in response. Right next to hers.

Thus the game began. 

One print from our side. One from theirs.

A green one. Then a blue one.

We’ve been at it for several months now. The other children don’t even call us to come out and play with them anymore. They knew we won’t. 

The wall is our favourite haunt. Both Jessie’s and mine. We’re glued to it. Almost.

Sometimes the green and blue handprints overlap. Ours and theirs. That is when the messages come through. They are priceless.

It’s tricky to make it happen. Sometimes it can take days. There’s no other way to communicate and strategize and perfectly time an overlap. 

But even the smallest of overlaps, the briefest of touches, is enough to let a message slip through. And that alone makes all the effort worth it.

Last week's image info: The post-it in 'the unexpected demands of a shopping list' was lying on the Centennial bike path by the parking spot behind the Nelson soccer field.