Prose by Tessa Aguilar

Edited by Ayla Baig

Every so often, as sleep overtakes my consciousness, they visit. I don’t have the freedom to choose when, so I shall forever anticipate these tender reunions.

My grandmother arrives first. Her scent—rose and the faintest trace of cotton—fills my dreamscape like a familiar memory. She’s clad in her usual blush pink nightgown, her hair styled in an elegant bouffant. She doesn’t speak, as she never did; the language barrier between her Spanish and my English kept our conversations simple, yet her love and affection for me were always fluent. In my dreams, it’s her embrace that speaks. No words are needed—just the gentle warmth of her arms and heartbeat. 

These mornings, I wake up with lethargy and comfort, reminiscent of a time when my words failed, but affection didn’t.

…

My grandfather follows; compared to grandmother, his arrival is livelier. He enters my dream as if time never passed. Despite being an older man with frosted silvery hair and a signature plaid button-down, his voice carries the same mix of youthful captivation and enthusiasm during his renowned storytelling. I endlessly listen to his stories about his upbringing on the hacienda, his unconditional love for my grandmother, and his family’s immigration to the States from Mexico. In this dream, he shares his journey at the supermercado, showcasing the treasure he found: delicious snacks and candies he bought for me—a caring trait my mother always scolded him for. Like the nature of his stories, these visits merely replay moments of my childhood, never potential continuations of what currently exists.

I arise from his dreams as my returned self, one with the utmost urgency to accomplish the “big girl” goals I’d rant to him about; to one day speak of my own story with such fervor.

…

I receive another visit from two of my closest friends: My rabbit Lucky excitedly hops to me, nudging me for attention. A true loyal companion, he curiously watches and sniffs me, and attempts to chew at my clothing regardless of my activities. In my dream, I constantly walk around to explore the environment, and he follows. My surroundings appear to be the exact park where my father and I first found him ten years ago…atop the greenbelt where his soft white fur, speckled with black spots, first appeared from the brush as he hopped to me. It’s almost as if he already knew of the endless care, companionship, and yogurt treats he would receive at his new forever home. 

In his quiet way, Lucky reminds me that the simplest of creatures can leave the most lasting presence—forming the most meaningful companionship and understanding with us.

Pumpkin patiently waits for her turn, always a dog to maintain her composure (except with other animals) and walks up to me. Her tiny paws—her patitas—tap rhythmically on the floor like soft rain. Startingly realistic, the sensations of her fiery-colored fur remind me of the tranquil afternoons after school, sleeping at my side while I watched TV, completed homework, or solely cherished the time spent with her. She basks outside until her fur soaks up the warmth of the afternoon, and when she curls up beside me, it feels as though the sun itself is resting in my lap. Pumpkin naps by my side as if the day had given her nothing more important to do, and I quietly watch her drift into contentment.

Now, the roles are reversed, and she watches over me as I continue my slumber.

…

When I wake, these dreams fade too quickly. Yet, the love I feel for my family never truly disappears. 

I believe they’ve found a way to visit. Perhaps, it’s the invisible thread—for both living and deceased—that keeps us connected. Or, perhaps visitation dreams are the language of the soul, only eligible for those who have passed. 

Because of them, I will never stop dreaming. Even in their absence, through abstract dreaming, my loved ones gift me with gratitude for the beauty in the past and present.

Artist Statement: I find joy in stories of creativity and personal connection that feel refreshingly different from the typical readings university students are trained to read. This new feeling upon my university entrance felt so engulfing, that I would often recall distant memories from my childhood and wondered if there would be another opportunity to enjoy those moments again. Thus, I was drawn to this year’s theme of perspective and reminiscence through the dreamscape, and am excited to present Visitation Dreams.

In crafting this short piece, I felt encouraged to explore and share the introspection of my personal experiences and past through the concept of visitation dreams. My hope is that through my own depiction of this phenomenon, others may derive the same sense of connection and gratitude for their past—whether through the vivid stories of their relatives, or even the comforting presence of a pet. I want to help my readers return to a time they felt most comfortable, and to appreciate the bonds they hold or have held with the living and passed.