Posted by: normanlgreen | September 15, 2011

Dream, September 9, 2011

Dream, home 6:10 am

Gordon has driven to town on a job and meets with me for a few minutes. I take him to an agency to show him where I have receive counseling.  We park the car on a triangular lot formed in a median where several streets meet – the lot is too small to be of use for anything else. I put some money through the slot for our parking space.

We cross the street. In the lobby many kids are milling about, some with parents. There is a table with a green plastic surface and with one inch squares scored onto its surface. There are white plastic squares. These loose pieces have been arranged in three columns – two close to each other and one to their right with a couple of spaces between them. I rearrange them into new configurations. One of the therapists comes to tell me that I have just undone some work she had been doing with a small group of children. She is not upset.

We have come to tell her of someone we have observed. She insists that she can work us in for a session for each of us. She ushers us from one waiting room to another. There stands a small woman in her seventies wearing a floor length rain coat. She has much to say to everyone – a combination of inscrutable wisdom and utter gibberish. We each take a seat. The counselor who took us in assures us that Denise, the older lady, really likes us, and we should not be concerned. Time passes, and I fall asleep. It has grown dark outside. My meeting never happens, but the clinic is closing and a gentleman takes us to a van that will drive us to the parking lot. I know our parking time ran out long ago and expect a ticket. As Gordon and I sit in the van, the driver has to make his way through crowds of kids in costume preparing for a Puccini opera — one of them holds a sandwich board announcing the show. I worry about how late Gordon will be driving home to Seattle. I ask about how his family will react. “Yeah,” he says in a weary voice, “They will be worried.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: