My, Leonard. You seemed like such a wonderful, patient, kind man, and these are pretty important things if we’re going to be married. And based on last night’s sweet dream, we were. I’d love to know how we met or all the fun things we did during our courtship, or even how you proposed–I hope it was a surprise proposal, Leonard–but I’m also happy that the dream just kind of started full swing and showed me these lovely images of our life together. After all, I woke up knowing your full name. I probably even know your social security number. And yet, Leonard, we’ve neither met in my actual, waking life, nor do I know anyone named Leonard.
So where did you come from, my love? Oh, I don’t doubt that my subconscious molded you out of all the qualities I hope to someday meet in Mr. Square Peg. But the dream was so specific. I saw us together, always together: conversing, walking, gazing at one another. I even noticed your patient regard while I gabbed with friends at our house of worship seconds before start time. And when I finally rushed to my seat and sat down, Leonard, you smiled at me and took my hand into yours.
I’ll confess: it was bittersweet to wake and realize that I wasn’t Mrs. Sotten. I laid in my bed this morning and couldn’t shake visions of your face from my mind. I even wished you were real. Because, Leonard, I don’t know anyone like you in this actual, waking life. My experiences with your gender have forced me to believe that the majority of you must be suffering from some kind of illness that renders you unable to be normal and do normal things. Is that too vague, my dear? It’s meant to be. I certainly don’t want to be as specific as my dream was. If I get too specific about your brethren, Leonard, this letter will take an interesting turn. And I’d rather just think of you and how nice it was to share a life with such a kind man. And boy, did that dream communicate your kind nature. I even felt that kindness. You know that tiny part of the mind where you know it’s only a dream and that what you’re experiencing/seeing isn’t real? Almost as if you’re watching a movie? I felt your kindness there, in that strange corner of sleep lucidity, and I longed for it.
Years and years ago, Leonard, I heard a quote from one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite TV shows. “A dream is an answer to a question we haven’t learned how to ask,” as spoken by Dana Scully from The X-Files. I remember being stunned by those words. Obviously they have stayed with me. Just profound and rife with meaning. So what answer did you provide, Leonard? And what was the question?
I didn’t want to leave you in that dream, and I don’t want to now. I wrote your name down. Maybe we will meet someday.