Dream of:19 July 1982 "Crazy Indian"
While inPortsmouth, I borrowed my mother's car and drove to Columbus, where I was planning to move. I went to a two-story house, in which I apparently had lived once before in a room in the basement. I entered a side door and walked upstairs where I found several empty rooms. I walked to the end of the hall and into a clean room with red carpeting, into which I decided I was going to move. I walked back to the car and began unloading my belongings, carrying them up to the room.
After stacking my things around the room, I picked up one of several phone books which were lying on a dresser with a large mirror; I thought I would call Buckner. Since he had lived in Columbus for a while, his phone number should be in the phone book. After looking through the "B"s and being unable to locate Buckner's number, I turned the book over; it was a Detroit phone book. I looked again on the dresser and saw a Cleveland and a Columbus phone book. All the phone books were thin, not like the large thick ones which one would expect to find for those cities.
I thought perhaps Buckner and I could get together and smoke a marijuana joint later. It was Monday morning; I thought Buckner had been in Portsmouth over the weekend, but that he would have returned by now to go to work. Then I thought, "Well, he might be at work, too."
Before I called him, I began thinking of all the things I needed to do. I thought, "First, I've got to go down and talk to the landlady and tell her I've moved in. And I still have to take this car back to Portsmouth."
As I walked downstairs, I remembered that the house was owned by Mrs. Dossier (my landlady for a few months in 1982). I also remembered that when I had moved out the last time, I had owed her two dollars for a telephone bill which I had never paid. The memory returned to me all at once: I should have paid her for the telephone bill. But then I remembered that Mrs. Dossier had talked withLeah and had told Leah that I also owed her money for rent and other things, which was untrue. Perhaps I had been precipitous in moving my things in. But I thought, "Well, I'll be able to handle her."
I walked around downstairs until I found Mrs. Dossier. She was in the bathroom; I called, "Mrs. Dossier."
She answered, "Yea, I'll be out in a minute."
When she came out, she looked younger and thinner than I remembered her. I asked, "Well, you remember me?"
She said she did. I didn't tell her I had already moved my things in, but said, "I'd like to move in upstairs."
She hesitated, as if there was some reason why I shouldn't be able to move in. She mentioned that she didn't want someone in the room who was going to eat tomatoes there. I told her I wouldn't be eating anything in the room. I planned to attend the university and I was going to get a meal ticket and eat there. There was a refrigerator in the room where we were, and I told her I might keep some snacks in it to eat in the room. Apparently when I had lived here before I had been in the habit of eating in the room, and had caused some kind of mess in the room, which had made her unhappy. Finally after we talked for a while, she agreed that I could move in.
Another woman who was apparently living with Mrs. Dossier walked into the room. After that, still another woman who was apparently a maid taking care of the house came in. Mrs. Dossier walked over to a pantry and reached her hand inside as if looking for something. When she pulled her hand out, she was holding some brown mold growing in there. She looked at it and threw it down on the floor. Then she reached in, pulled out another handful of the mold, and likewise threw it on the floor. I was unsure what she was looking for.
She walked out of the room and a fellow who looked like a Mexican walked in. He began talking and I asked him where he lived. When I asked him if he lived downstairs and he said no, I was afraid that he also lived upstairs. But when I asked him if he lived upstairs, he told me he lived next door in a house which Mrs. Dossier also owned. Apparently he was a handy man. We talked and I realized he was an American Indian. He told me he had gone crazy for a while, and apparently had been locked up for a while because of it. Now, however, he didn't seem crazy. He used a peculiar word for crazy which I didn't understand at first.
As I talked to him, he spoke Spanish, but I spoke English, not seeming to grasp that he was speaking Spanish. But then I began speaking in Spanish and he began answering in English. Finally he asked me in Spanish what I thought about the state of the country. I replied, "Creo que es en un estado de conservatismo ahora, pero creo que habra una honda de liberalismo en el futuro. Y ese conservatismo es en todo el mundo ahora, pero eso va a cambiar."
Finally I decided to leave and ordered a cab. When it arrived I got in with some luggage I had. It seemed as if I was in Waco, Texas, and I told the driver to take me to an airport at the end of Valley Mills Road. As we travailed, I began watching the meter. I had thought it would only cost three or four dollars. But it went to five and then six dollars. I noticed some buses outside, and saw a bus station on the right. It was Sunday. I told the driver to stop, thinking I might be able to take a bus. I asked him how far it was to the airport. He said it was about 20 miles. I thought, "Well I just can't afford to take a cab for 20 miles."
He pulled into the bus station. The total was around six dollars and seventy five cents. I gave him a ten dollar bill and he handed me back the change. I thought about giving him a quarter tip. Suddenly I realized the driver was the same fellow I had been talking with at the house. Thinking I would be seeing him again, I handed him a dollar for a tip.
I had quite a bit of luggage with me, which I unloaded from the car. I carried it into the bus station, hoping I would be able to find a bus to the airport. But when I walked inside, no one was there. It was completely empty. I did however see a counter where it looked as if there might be someone. First I busied myself with getting my stuff inside.Dream Epics Home Page
Copyright 2003 by email@example.com