A DREAM

Last night I had a dream about Sophie, the girl who lived two houses down from me when we were kids.

In the dream, I was 8 years old again, and the doorbell rang. I was back at my old house, where my bedroom window was right next to where the front porch stood, so I could see who was at the door before anyone else.

I raised the blinds, and there she was: her jet-black hair pulled back, the dark eyes, the pointy nose and the delicate cheeks.

She asked me if I wanted to play and I said, "Yes!" and I ran outside with a basketball under my arm and we played one-on-one until our parents called us in for dinner.

Then I woke up.


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Where are you now, Sophie? Did you get knocked up by some vato from the neighborhood? Did you get married, gain 50 lbs, and get a job as a nurse? Did you get addicted to crack or speed or heroin? Did you become a whore? Did you join a convent or accept Jesus Christ as your Savior?

Where are you?

What I wouldn't give to know where you are.

Sometimes I see women on the street, in magazines, in movies, as extras on television, in passing cars, and I think they are you.

Sometimes I go online, on sites like Friendster or My Space, and I look for you. Sometimes I Google your name.

Once, I found a name that could've been yours, in the phone book. I called and left a message. I never heard back, and when I called the number again a month later the line had been disconnected.

I wonder if you have ever thought of me once in all of the years since we last saw each other.

The last time I did set eyes on you, time had changed the both of us. I was 16, with long matted hair and a surly attitude. You had your hair piled high and you were wearing make-up and a tank top and shorts that showed off your body. I remember that I couldn't handle the fact that you were no longer a tomboy. I remember that you were becoming promiscuous, and that all the guys were after you.

Last I heard of you, my cousin Johnny told me that he saw you at Magic Mountain, in line for Viper. He said you were acting a fool.

I have this idealized image of you in my mind, but all I want is to see what became of you.

I don't care if it doesn't compare to the image that is burned into my consciousness. I just want to know if you still exist. Occasionally, I wonder if you ever existed at all, because your absence from my life has been so complete.

Maybe I imagined you all these years. Maybe I made you up.

No, it was real. Too real.

Sophie, wherever you are, hear my plea, absorb it into your soul... I am looking for you. I want to find you. I'm not afraid of what I'll find. I promise I won't be mad at you.

I promise.

You've been gone far too long. I don't want to pick up where we left off. I just want a chance to tell you what you meant to me.

That's all.


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This is my major malfunction, people. I don't think I'll ever be happy until I resolve this. After years of sorting through the various traumas and neuroses of my life, it all boils down to finding her.

I know she's out of my life, but I have a feeling that, if I can make peace with this, then it will be easier to make peace with other issues that I have.

I could hire a P.I. or pay one of those People Finder sites, but I'm too lazy, and besides-- what if she changed her name? What if she doesn't want to be found? What if she just doesn't want to see me?

What if she's dead?

What if?

I wish I knew where to start. I know her family moved to Oregon, but she stayed on here. That means she has roots here. That means she has a reason to not leave L.A.

I'm going to try and find her by year's end.

Wish me luck.