Posted by: normanlgreen | January 1, 2012

Dream, January 1, 2012 three corpses, three cities, three appointments


Dream, home, 9:08 am

There are three dead bodies found at my old house in Houston. Though I don’t remember having killed these men, I feel guilty that they are laying about and am concerned that authorities will find the corpses and I will be in trouble. I dig three shallow graves in the yard between our house and that of the Hill’s, next door, to the West. While filling in the graves, covering the black plastic that wraps each body, I remember that this has happened before in a dream from the past. I decide to mark the grave of the one man who is buried back by the garage, near a fence that surrounds a garbage can niche. I don’t have a proper cross, but someone abandoned the one-armed post that used to dangle a realtor’s sign. The weather has stripped away all of the paint, so it is a dull gray color with wood grain. I stand the post into the last six inches of the grave and balance the horizontal arm against the six-foot fence, in an attempt to get it perfectly vertical before I stabilize it with the fill dirt. I think: this will lead them directly to the first corpse – it won’t be long before they have uncovered them all.

The phone rings in the house – a dial phone mounted to the wall with a long curly yellow cord. A young many I have not seen since he and Addo were kids has called to announce a visit. The visitor is the son of a Rastafarian friend from Little Rock. He has spent the last few years in Jamaica and now wants to reconnect with Addo. Just before he hangs up, he tells me that he will go to the old neighborhood to find us. He rings-off before I remember to tell him that no one he knows still lives near our old house. I take off on foot to intercept him – though I would be a state away in the waking world.

I must stop by the rehearsal space where a friend prepares a children’ show. The director is in a dither trying to coordinate many last-minute adjustments. I poke my head into the wings to see a mini-troupe of five-year-olds with beaming smiles in their pudgy faces, tap dancing to a yankee-doodle number. Back in the green room, actors are slumped on dim couches, resting or gaining concentration. I remember the visitor so creep out the back door.

The house I leave is a stuccoed cracker box from the post-war building boom. It would be indistinguishable from its neighbor were it not a slightly different shade of lime sherbet green. Both of the twin houses are on postage stamp lots of brilliant green grass – no fences divide them from the surrounding city. I round the houses, careful not to step on the grass, then walk up the street half a block by which point it has become thoroughly urban.

A huge boulevard dead ends at the sidewalk on which I walk – this may be New Orleans (Canal Street?) At the point where the two streets meet, there is a bus stop with bench and a little brick box building of 12 foot square. Seated on the bench or on the low wall behind the bench – a wall that separated us from the river bank – are a few street men all with their own street hustles going. They look sidelong at me as I approach, but I am paying more attention to a young man with a lion’s mane of Dreadlocks, well-maintained and bleached by the sun. I think this may be the kid from Addo’s youth and I start to approach him. At the same time, one of the con men calls to him. I am unsure for a moment.

Just then, the door opens into the little brick structure on my right. An arm reaches out. It pulls me inside. Therein a laughing Doctor wrestles me to a standstill. We know each other and have a semi-professional friendship. He reminds me that I have been avoiding my treatment for weeks. I hem and haw and never quite fess up to the fact that I have been avoiding him. He tells me of the last patient he had in this sunny little office – one room with windows on three of its four sides. There had been a man in his twenties who had been similarly forced into an office visit. The Doctor had insisted that the patient needed a shot. The patient had resisted,, convinced that this was some trick that would render him defenseless.

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