experience with my rubber version in his waking world, I was just an archetype thing, an unfilled
role that his dreaming mind used as a player in the nightly sanity balancing games. For ever so
long I’d been dreamed of, like part of the furniture of his life, but that’s when I became someone
who could dream of dreaming.
It was somewhat like learning to blink my dream eyes. I could see in his dreams; my eyes
worked, though they wouldn’t close until later on. I had to study how that blinking thing was
done from the records in Rufus’ memory first. After a time I became accomplished enough to
dream myself awake, but that was quite a bit later still.
His dreams were always fun. I got to be damsel and wench and fly like a lady cape from Rufus’
shoulders (he always thought ‘linus’ when we did that, and that’s a topic for my future
researching—what’s linus?) and help him in his daring heroics. In his dreams he began to let me
speak, to give him advice, and to praise him, of course. Beaver was there too, like a target we
aimed for upon homecoming when morning threatened.
The thing about the Beaver is, he isn’t really my Beaver at all. You probably heard that song the
band did called ‘Heidi’s got a Big Brown Beaver’? Steen just wrote that to tease Rufus, and he
got the last laugh by recording it. Well, the Beaver is just a piece of fur; it isn’t alive like I am
more petite than he is, so it’s just too small but it feels sooo nice that he uses it for a pillow. He’s
just the Beaver, and you have to ask Rufy why it’s a he. My guess is that he thinks he ought to
have one. And there’s spunk in the Beaver, lots of it that will probably never come out, but the
beaver fur never smells bad, like my rubber does sometimes before it needs a wash in dish liquid.
Now that’s magic right there.
Steen tells me a ferret smells a bit like the Beaver does. I wouldn’t know because I avoid them,
as well as cats. Cats can see me and freak out. Ferrets see me, too, but they’ll just walk right
through my sparkles like I’m not there anyhow, even if they’ve just been looking me in the eye.
And of course they are death on rubber.
Why am I made of sparkles? you might ask.Because everything is made of them, even material
things, and that’s a silly question. I just am what I am. It’s a good thing to be composed of the
sparkles because if I were not, it might worry me when the rubber me pops.
I had nothing to judge by at the time, but the tiny amount of time Rufus sleeps is packed with
action, just like he tries to make his waking life. And for ages I had only existed during those
times, with quiet limbo in between. It was eventually boring, and I guess that I longed for more
stimulus than his dreams were providing.
So one morning I followed Rufus back to his body and next to him on the bed was—me. The
rubber me. And I was somewhere else, somewhere in between. This is very important. It set me
free. I had a feeling I could be that cold stretchy solid if I liked, but it was limp looking after the
dream fun, and I didn’t like. I watched him waking up and folding me up tiny and stuffing me
into a little sack to go in his suitcase. Now that would definitely be boring!
I stayed where I was bobbing along as little sparkles, far more flexible than even I had been in
dream. No, this was definitely preferable to folding myself into some boring solid. But Rufy
seemed to be good at it. I just hung out and watched him. He moved his warm, fragrant
mammalian meat, scratching it, yawning, bathing. I hovered and smiled my little oh-ah smile and
wondered if he even knew.
He looked around a few times and saw nothing. Something told him somebody was there, but I
didn’t feel like trying to see if my voice worked yet. This new sparkly life was too novel and
jump back down the slide into his dreams, though I could have. They seemed like a confinement
simply because I knew more about being in them. I watched him sleep instead.
I’m calling it watching but actually in the human world I was blind. What I call sparkles should
possibly instead be called sparks, or prickles. I had charge, like a balloon you rub with fabric has
charge. I could ‘see’ Rufus best, and early days I had no eyes that worked. I ‘saw’ with my
Now I have five eyes. The ones on the tips of my breasts picked up sensation from the human
world first, but the signals didn’t make much sense to me. Eventually though, all the attention
Rufus paid them added up and began to spread to other parts of my rubber consciousness, until
all of me was awake and knew darkness from light, cold from hot, empty from full. And that
came in quite handy for dreaming, certainly.
The first of my eyes that noticed colors were the ones on either side of my nose. It was if the
sparkles going faster than others, or closer together, danced into surfaces, and in between the
surfaces was light. All at once I was aware of something beyond the spectra I ‘saw’ with my first
set of eyes, the ones in my breasts.It came in through those two lenses there and converged into
one image, just as it did when I lived in Rufy’s dreams. I saw spaces and volumes and things in
your world, although they were blurry the farther away they were from Rufus himself.
The other eye, in my forehead, grew later on, so I will talk about it and my extra mouths as they
come up during my explaining of how I grew. Like blinking, they took new skills to work
No, in early days I ‘watched’ through the sounds and the prickles of proximity to Rufus, tagging
along and listening to his thoughts and feelings, trying to make sense of this “life” he had, away
from his dreams, of me and other things. I had to guess at what was meant from the things
having appeared in his dreams! How funny that his mom and dad were meat like him and made
noises into one side of Rufy’s head from far away, through some little device he held up. In his
dreams they were big as buildings.
Anyway, that’s just an example. It’s called phoning, I know that now, duh. The point is that I
didn’t know how to exist apart from him yet. I was like a Heidi appendix of him or something
for except to be Rufy’s handles. That sort of thing. The eyes were a big help when they started to
work. And I have to admit, the things he does for a living are EXCRUCIATING.
Like a complete innocent I tried to follow him onstage. Without flesh I can’t stand the noise and
the power of it. Maybe I couldn’t even if I had flesh. I understand some can’t. It’s one of the
ways to kill a cat, in that cruel joke people make. Oh how I wished for a time that he would only
play quietly with his lute and not with those Virgens! It forced me to let go of him and be on my
own. Not dream. No Rufus. Just poor sound strafed Heidi in shock, in between, a long way
above, looking down on that sea of energy called a show. The humans who love to be in the
midst of loud music and big crowds are strong. I think it keeps them from getting inhabited by
parasites from other places.
So it was good I had to do it, exist on my own, in some ways. It made me realize that if I wanted
to be with Rufus, I’d have to talk to him, for one thing. He had to be certain I was there or he
might destroy me by accident, doing some stunt with sounds and lights in the name of his art. I
remember I flew back to the pile of dirty laundry on the tour bus that smelled so comfortingly
like him and tried to talk. I don’t think I managed it, even though I was pretty good at talking in
dreams by then. Of course, I also didn’t know the alarm clock made sounds but was not actually
talking, and couldn’t be expected to answer me. And Beaver? Oh it nearly broke my heart when I
realized Beaver wasn’t alive here. I felt alone! Rufus simply had to perceive me or all my dreams
would be for nothing!
all over, my blue eyes rolling and protruding. He wasn’t all perforated from doing his show; that
is what was reassuring me.
“It was such a shock to hear the Virgen Steel,” I explained through my open mouthed moue. I
kept one flap of hand folded onto his lapel. He didn’t want that, so he turned it into feathers,
harder to hold.
“We need a new drummer ASAP,” he confided. “Jimmy’s on downers or something; he’s
holding the tempo way back. Wait a minute—you heard Virgen Steel? How? I don’t dream
them, Heidi; I get enough of them awake!” Rufy’s dream self had been morphing into a rooster
really examining me.
I stayed me. I felt him trying to think me into a mermaid, think me purple, but I just blinked with
my new alive looking eyes—I’d been practicing—and stayed Heidi. He was quite surprised.
“What is this?”
“I followed you home to your life.” My dream voice was a squeaky bubbly thing Rufus had
imagined out of the rubber Heidis in that life. It’s never improved much. I want it to be more like
Goldie Hawn’s. “It was really different than this. But going on stage it was so loud I had to run
away to your bed and wait for you to dream.”
I saw him looking afraid—of me! And my goodness did that hurt. It was like he’d run his rapier
into me and shredded me. I found out that my ability to cry in dreams was very authentic at least.
My face crumpled up like a sphincter and my mouth twisted all over itself and my chest pointed
downwards and wetness fell out of the creases, under my ropes of yellow poly hair. I started to
in his bed, only this time it wasn’t for him; it was for Me. Me, his Heidi; he wanted my head to
puff up full and my mouth to untwist and for me not to cry!
Then I took a deep sustaining breath and smiled up at Rufus. Our eyes met and we said hello in
our hearts. Yes, I was his same Heidi, the one he had soothed himself with so many times. I
could still love him even if I was my own self. In fact, I could love him a gazillion times as
much. Then we made beautiful love in our shared dream.
The next few days, whenever Rufy looked around like that, when he seemed to sense the tingle
of the vibrating of my sparkles, he would say aloud, or in his mind, “Is that you, Heidi?” Until I
was able to answer him in a way he could hear--and feel.