Posted by: normanlgreen | April 28, 2013

Dream, April 28, 2013 Prison Break & Gravity’s Pull


Dream, home, 2:40 am

I have been in prison for as long as I can remember. The other men locked in the red brick walls are patient and forgiving of me. They know that I am developmentally delayed and probably innocent of the crime that sent me here. My best friend is a guard dog, a German Shepard.

The sky is a uniform afternoon gray, as are the boiler suits in which prisoners are clothed.

The dog and I play in an alcove between three buildings. She slobbers on my hand. I like it and let her do so again. We get the idea to run. We charge into the main courtyard where downcast men with rakes redistribute gravel, leaves, and twigs. They look up from their work. They jerk their heads to silently signal us to keep running. None of the men call out, none change expression, but all indicate which way to turn as we run through the maze of brick walls.

We round a corner, my partner at my left side, and enter the main avenue leading into the prison. For the first time, I see that there is only a drop bar across the entrance, not a full gate. The bar has a stop sign mounted to it. The sign has red reflectors at the edges of the white lettering. Past the bar stands a bus – the sort that brings all prisoners – I can almost remember arriving. The accordion door to the bus is open, no driver in the seat. I wonder if the engine is running, but cannot tell from this distance.

With each step we take toward the bar and the bus, gravity increases. Our progress slows. Even the dog – strong, true, and loving – struggles against her growing weight. I hear my breathing: puff on the exhale, wheeze on the inhale. Its labored rhythm makes me doubt our chances of success. The guards will hear, and they will stop us. I see the city past the gate-bar, the backsides of tall commercial structures. I strain to breathe but keep its rhythm. I cannot breath less without passing-out. We are drawn closer to the gray road with each step.

The noise of the cat scratching on the bedroom window wakes me. I struggle to break out of the breath pattern established in the dream.

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