The Dreamcatcher was given to Donna by Aunty May who babysat her and Paul. She couldn’t remember how old she had been, but she recalled the excitement with which she first hung its frame above her bed. It had really been bought for Paul but he had protested that boys aren’t scared of monsters.
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Aunty May was a family friend they had known forever and had always been there until one day no more. Mum never explained why, and eventually her comfort and the cups of hot chocolate in front of the fire, were just a memory. She had been there for them when gramps had died, and then nana. She would explain how they were happier and part of the earth now, part of trees and plants and animals. She had believed her then as she had when Paul had passed.
He had started having the dreams weeks before his accident. Donna had slept in his cold bed until Aunty May had shown her that the catcher’s powers could not reach her there. She left soon after.
The catcher stood sentinel as Donna had grown. It had seen Donna’s friends come and go, her boyfriends come and try, and had witnessed hopes realised as well as relinquished. Often mum would come to Donna’s sanctuary, crying and breaking her heart at her latest rejection. It was hers and hers alone, keeping away the very worst.
She never knew her father, or what had become of him. As with others in her life, mum would never discuss him and she had learnt not to ask. Donna did not miss what she had never had, and none of mum’s suitors ever stayed very long. She kept Paul in her heart and knew because Aunty May had said so that he would always be there.
At thirteen they moved to a smaller house, and her native artefact again sat proudly above her bed. Before it her hair changed colour. Frequently. She cried and she laughed. It was before it that her life would change. She was fifteen when he came to her room, when mum was out working. Mum was always working.
Into its spindly web she would stare. Disappearing into remembrances of Paul and of the old house, and the days they would spend on their bikes or calling on the new girl who’d moved in up the street. She recalled fantasies of dancing with Robbie or the dread that mum would find out that she had missed school, then see herself dressed up and made up for the first time. She also remembered the shame and how she had buried her head after calling Mrs Clarke ‘mum’ in front of the whole class.
In staring she found strength, Donna could do what she wanted and could be who she wanted. With a blade she would mark, and cover, only to mark again. She never showed anyone. At sixteen she moved from home and her catcher would be the first thing to be placed atop the headboard. Boys and men came into her life and left just as quickly. Some of their own accord and others rejected.
From flat to flat and from friend to friend she passed. She would cling to those that could offer solace, offering all of what she was to them whether man or woman. That which comforted her she quickly found repulsive or those people that she so desired became aloof, shrinking from her presence and approaches.
Briefly she went to college, but left to live with The One. He went to university leaving her to a neglected living, and a child inside her. Piecemeal agency work filled her days as she grew larger, and her social circle smaller. In her mind she fled to another place, one with Aunty May and Paul. With no one else Donna found comfort as she gazed though her catcher’s matrix into another world.
Now, at just nineteen, she lay, wide eyed in a bland white room. Just staring. Counting the tiles in the ceiling and gazing at the strip light until the walls of painted white brick and the grilled window became a coloured and patterned plain, and she existed in a two dimensional world. Smiling, thinking and dreaming, through a cloud of chemicals she focussed on its spinning ebbing wheel and was drawn back to summer days and her hair flying medusa–like behind her.
Somewhere a door slammed, crashing her back into her room. The light flickered and buzzed. She looked to its silent eclipse above her, shadowing the adoption papers beside her. Donna cried. She was empty, hurting and out of control. An urge was upon her, something primal. A voluntary patient, she left the ward for a cigarette. She left the grounds without a regret.
Donna walked steadily down the road. She was happy and every step was a bounce. The pavement greasy from recent rain felt like a red carpet under her slippered feet. Her long dark dressing gown, hood turned inside became a greatcoat. She reached a nice area with big cars and shiny gardens – the address of the foster family she’d found on a letter mistakenly sent by social services.
The lights were on yet no sign of anyone in. Trying the back door she found that it popped open – sullenly. Her mind blank but for one simple purpose. Gently she traced its outline through tissue in her pocket. She climbed the stairs drawn as a moth to the light within. All was silent, the house absorbing sound.
She looked down at the new life there before her in the luminescent half light, and wondered at the tiny hands of her son, curled against his pink and mottled face. A wisp of hair softly twisted and pointing upwards. Warmth radiated from the child and from the room all newness and love. Hot tears burnt her cheeks as breathing became harder and harder. She reached above the crib placing her only belonging with gentle care.
So, now it sat amongst cloth covered hangers and smiling characters, ancient and otherworldy – a web spun in a halo of wood, of fibre and hung with charms. As woven feathers were bedraggled, so too beads were missing. Smelling of incense and chicory as it swung. Flashing blue lights caught in the spindles as tyres screeched a halt to approaching cars. Donna stood and she stared one last time, into those sinewy arms.
A lifetime of dreams to be dreamt, a life that could be saved in the hours of night but must fend for itself against the challenges of the world outside.
Mikey works as a social worker in Bolton. He lives in Preston with his wife and their small dog. Mikey is currently working towards an MA in Creative Writing which he is really enjoying.