DISCLAIMER: Ballykissangel, Peter Clifford and Assumpta Fitzgerald are property of Kieran Prendeville and Ballykea Productions through World Productions. "When You Dream" is by Barenaked Ladies from their album Stunt. Characters and song are only borrowed, no royalties are being gained.

When You Dream

by Mearain

Peter Clifford stood by the bassinet, staring down in awe at the tiny life that had been borne only days earlier. There, amongst the blankets and stuffed animals, lay his son, his newborne son. He still couldn't believe it. A child. He had a child. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at the boy, thinking of all that was in his future now. The days devoted to playing catch in the grass; teaching him how to fish; making cookies with him. It all seemed like such a wonderful dream to him. A wonderful, mesmerising dream.
When life just begins, my sleeping new son
has eyes that roll back in his head
They flutter and dart, he slows down his heart
and pictures a world past his bed
It's hard to believe
As I watch you breathe
Your mind drifts and weaves

How could he now be the father of a child? It still seemed incomprehensible to him, but deep down inside, held firmly down in his soul, he knew that he was a father, a man that not only would be able to devote his life to the woman he loved, but also to the son that he now had. The baby took a breath, his tiny fingers clutching at the teddy bear that was almost the size of him. His tiny eyelids fluttered, opening slightly, then dropping again.

~I wonder what he's dreaming of?~ Peter pondered, propping his elbow on his knee as he leaned forward on his chair, watching with intent concentration the movements of his child.

When you dream what do you dream about?
When you dream what do you dream about?
Do you dream about music or mathematics
or planets too far for the eye?
Do you dream about Jesus or quantum mechanics
or angels who sing lullabys?

~What are you going to be when you grow up?~ he wondered, smiling as the tiny baby stretched, kicking his little legs a moment before settling back into his dream-filled sleep. ~Maybe a famous writer. Or a musician,~ he mused, tilting his head to the side as he watched the child. His son looked amazingly like he did when he was a babe; the same dark hair and bright, clear eyes; the same slightly buttoned nose and thin little lips.

"Whose personality are you going to have?" he asked, his voice but a whisper as he reached out to adjust the bear his son had grabbed a hold of, tiny fingers grasping at the fur.

His fontanelle pulses with lives that he's lived
With memories he'll learn to ignore
And when it is closed, he already knows
he's forgotten all he knew before
But when sleep sets in
History begins
But the future will begin
The baby shifted again, this time reaching for his father's finger, almost as if he knew he was there. Peter smiled and let the babe wrap his tiny little digits around his forefinger, feeling the warmth of the child's skin against his, the softness of it. Amazement and wonder filled him as he sat there, watching the child part his lips in his dreams, tongue darting out for a moment then disappearing again.

What could a child so young dream of? What beings are created within the mind of a week old child? Peter pondered those thoughts, imagining that maybe his newborne son was reliving lives that had been lived, returning to times in the past for fleeting moments while his modern body slept. He'd always heard the stories of past lives and the repressed memories that so many claimed to have. Could that be true? Was his own son reliving memories that he'd forget about when he awake and laid eyes on his parents? Or were they not past lives at all but the creative imagings of a mind fresh to the world? But could a child so young truly dream with ability that adults have? Peter didn't know that answers to any of his questions. All he knew for sure was that he loved that tiny child beyond comprehension.

When you dream what do you dream about?
When you dream what do you dream about?
Are they colour or black and white Yiddish or English
or languages not yet conceived?
Are they silent or boisterous? Do you hear noises
just loud enough to be perceived?
Do you hear Del Shannon's "Runaway" playing on transistor radio waves?
With do little experience your mind not yet cognizant
Are you wise beyond your few days?
When you dream what do you dream about?
When you dream what do you dream about?

"Penny for your thoughts."

Peter turned his head to find the loving smile of his wife and the mother of his child. Assumpta tilted her head, studying them both.

"Pardon?" he asked quietly, returning her smile with one of his own, filled with love and devotion to the only woman he'd ever loved.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, moving to kneel by him, her own eyes dropping to gaze at her son, seeing the sleeping child holding tightly onto his father's finger.

"Oh," he said, looking down at his son as well, his free arm wrapping around her shoulders, his lips curving into a pleased smile. Nothing  made him feel happier than having the woman he loved and his child with him. "nothing."