Posted by: normanlgreen | October 20, 2012

Dream, October 18, 2012 all tension, no release

Dream, home, 6:15 am

Must leave a house where I have been visiting. While I gather my belongings, a woman enters the room and invites me to a theatre production.

We go to a building that has two functions: the basement houses the theatre, but the upper floors are a museum of erasers. Back in the middle 1800s through the 1920s, this had been a factory that manufactured pencil erasers. While digging up the back yard, workers discovered thousands of cubic yards of gum erasers. Since the discovery, they have carefully excavated, cleaned and categorized an amazing array. There are models that would fit on a modern pencil, while others are more than 2 feet across. I look out a window into the yard and see workers in period costumes as they dig in the earth, molded rubber bits most of an absurd size, are revealed, sifted from the dirt and carried away in wheel barrows.

We leave the building and walk a curved path built of reclaimed brick from the archeological digs. On our walk, one of the creators of the show joins us – he will be performing with a small band after the musical ends.

We enter the modern lobby of the theatre. Wayne takes tickets that are purchased from two women seated at a table next to him. My date is surprised and embarrassed to discover that I have to pay to get in. I assure her that I am happy to give this little support.

We enter the auditorium – not permanent seats, but stackable chairs sloppily arranged near the playing are. There is no raised stage, but a few square yards with table and chairs. A superscript projection screen shows the lyrics of the songs as the couple of actors sing their parts. The show does not hold my interest. My friend and I leave the auditorium. Now there are as many people on-stage as off of it.

The woman drives us away in her car. Rain begins to fall, and the passenger window is poorly fitted. It leaks. I wipe away the water with my finger tips as we drive past a 1960s shopping center that sits down in a sunken lot — university district in Little Rock. At this moment I realize that this is how the woman and I first met, that she took me into her car during a rain storm. I had been very young, perhaps in my early teens and homeless. There had been some question at the time as to whether we were to become lovers. Now, decades later, the question has returned to the steamy car.


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