Oh, My Beautiful Blake

When I was a little girl, I had a foster-brother named Blake. Blake, it seems, had a very strong effect on my psyche. I hadn't seen him since I was ten, but as a young adult, for several years in a row, I had a recurring dream about him: In the dream, we were always in the woods at a beaver pond, and Blake would always be crouching next to me, with his hand on my shoulder, pointing out all the natural beauty, all the little hidden miracles, saying: "look, see ...?"
This beaver pond existed in real life, and this nature scene actually took place, among many other scenes. Blake was my guide to the natural world, my nature boy. We were always in the woods, hiking down woodland paths. My "favorite thing" at that time was collecting sap, with Blake, from buckets hanging off Maple trees, in order to make syrup -- that his family eventually sold in their campsite store. We would spend hours together in the woods, in the Adirondacks where we grew up, collecting sap and bringing it to this make-shift lean-to in the woods where we would empty it all into a vat and give it a first boiling. Moments that stick out in my mind with great clarity are moments where Blake would crouch down very close to me, put his arm around me and hold me close, whispering, "look ... follow the sight-line to the end of my finger. See that bird? See it? Right there?" And sure enough, there would be some beautiful woodland creature that I'd never seen before. Magic. That's what it felt like whenever I was near Blake. Pure magic. He was my first crush; My first love. I was only ten, and Blake was 16. In my eyes, Blake was not just a good-looking, energetic teenager, but an Adonis, a Greek God, and I had a colossal crush on him, adoring him in a way that I've never really adored anyone since.
The only time that I recall seeing Blake "with a girl," -- I was of course jealous. (Is this a normal reaction for a ten year old?) The two of them were outside, behind the house, on a swing. I was determined that they should not get too close, so I kept making animal calls out of my bedroom window: hooting owls, mewling cats, barking dogs, etc. -- anything to break up their moments of intimacy. This makes me laugh so hard -- he must have though I was so annoying.
Blake pops up linguistically for me all the time. My lexicon is peppered with things he used to say all the time: "humongous" instead of huge, "beautimous" instead of beautiful, and "discombopulated" instead of broken. And every time I call a child or a small animal "buddy," I'm aware that I carry Blake with me in my heart every day. When I had to leave Blake behind because I was moving to a new town, I was broken-hearted, devastated, it was truly traumatic. But I couldn't express my love for him at all. I was afraid to -- because everyone and everything that I have ever truly loved has been taken from me forever. I remember the last time I saw him on the school bus that morning. He said "Goodbye, buddy" and held out his hand for a handshake. I was frozen, a repressed foster-child who could not express her feelings at all. I didn't say anything to him, and I regretted it my whole life. Then, a few years ago, when these recurring dreams started happening, I decided to find him. I found him, married with children, and I stayed with him and his family for the weekend, and I told him, finally, after all these years - how I had felt about him back then -- about how much I LOVED him -- with the pure love of a child. Then, I left him and his family in peace, and I haven't see him since. The dreams stopped.
I still dream of him from time to time, -- not the same dream anymore-- they're always different now, and last night the dream was quite vivid. He looked like his old teenage self, maybe a little older, but dressed in a business suit and looking a little scruffy around the edges. It seemed there was some concern, in the dream, that he might be about to do something harmful that was out of character, but I spoke straight from my heart to his, and then he put his arm around me like he used to do, (which always sent me into ten-year-old ecstacy) and he said something that I can't quite remember, but instinctively I knew that he was saying he was going to "make love" to me (and I was going to be very glad) ... some dreams you just don't want to wake up from. (Actually, I interpret this dream from a Jungian standpoint, to mean that the masculine, action-oriented side of my psyche is now kicking and and about to manifest some cool experiences for me -- that I will love!)