What is the first thing that reaches your mind when you hear the word “dream”? For most, a dream is merely a story that happens in your head when you sleep. A dream is a thought; it is not real. Furthermore, children have intense dreams formed in their complex little heads. In these dreams, they can fly high above the clouds, create havoc with their pet dinosaur, or be royalty. Although these are crazy stories that only children dream of, I believe that they are more than possible to achieve. My dream… is to be happy.
A dream is sparked from a core memory. As a child, I gaze out the front window and see angel-like beams shine through the hazy atmosphere. In these rays of light, I can observe the dew drops on the blade of every grass. The water droplets were now just as pronounced as the vibrant violet irises beginning to bloom. Although we plant various flowers every spring, the irises appear to be the ones that emerge yearly. When I finally view my Madre’s rusty truck, I dash out the door with my naked feet thrashing against the cracked pavement. The moment I step outside, my lungs fill with the crisp, musky air that has engulfed everything in sight. I reach my arms around her flabby belly and squeeze tightly. “There’s the birthday girl!” she exclaimed as she grasps a bag containing glittery sparkly tissue paper. Inside the bag, there’s a stunning, pale fairy doll that wore a layered indigo gown and shimmery wings. The back of the packaging had a hand-written sticky note that said You have to spread your wings to know how far you can fly. I love you, my pretty little fairy – Love Madre.
After rushing inside, tying up my silky long hair, washing my hands, and setting the cherished doll in my toy box for later, I am eager to create the most outstanding birthday breakfast ever (in my opinion.) My Madre wants to be my assistant but I would like to show her that I can do it myself. The tremendous legs of the kitchen chair are being hauled against the delicate tiled floor to gather elements from the pantry: flour, baking soda, salt, the slightest bit of sugar, and some honey for later. In the icebox, I locate the milk and butter and then arrange them
beside the other ingredients. I leap onto the counter with my bare toes and gape the wooden cabinets open. My fingertips wander until I sense my precious sterling bowl and cast iron skillet. The back of a knife glides over the measuring cup several times, guaranteeing the precise quantities. The tan dough is jumbled into spheres, placed in the skillet, then into the hotbox. I wait. The timer hollers my name and I dart over with the red mittens already on my hands. A giant puff of smoke fills my face as I take the pan out and set it on the counter. I drizzle the sticky golden gue over these steaming hot lumps of bread. As I slice one open, I know I have perfected my Madre’s biscuit recipe.
This is my core memory that resembles my dream in life: being happy like a young child. It is as plain as that. Happy, to me, is being content and treasuring the simple moments. Sometimes moments like these may feel like a dream, but these moments are real, have shaped me into who I am today, and nurtured me to learn who I want to be. I want to be a wife, a mom, a gardener, a cook, a baker, a bee-keeper, a weatherman, a hairdresser, a fairy, independent, and shoeless all at the same time. Although a birthday morning for an 8-year-old girl might sound loud, spoiled, chaotic and eventful, for me it was tranquil, joyous, loving and simplistic. That is the kind of life I crave to live. There is no better time to achieve one’s dream than in the moment.
BY BRYNNA TAFOYA
Brynna Tafoya is a student at Meeker High School whose work was submitted to the HT. This space is underwritten by a local organization through The Lyttle Project.
