Dream of: 17 April 1994 "Mosaic"

When my wife Carolina and I awoke around 10 a.m., I realized I had overslept and I hadn't made it to somewhere I was supposed to go. I was in charge of supervising a small class of two or three people for an hour and a half two mornings every week. Although nothing was taught in the class, and nothing really happened there, I was still supposed to be there, and was being paid for my time.

When the phone rang, I told Carolina not to answer it. The answering machine clicked on and rattled off my message. I then heard Kennon (a Texas attorney who worked for the Dallas/Fort Worth bankruptcy trustee's office) speaking on the other end. Kennon apparently was my immediate superior in the job I had with the small class. After he heard my message, he obviously thought he had hung up the phone on his end, and he began talking to someone in the class about me. He said I wasn't at home. I thought to myself I could still race to the classroom, and they would just think I had been on my way when they called. But I decided I simply wasn't going to go.

Kennon continued to speak. He didn't seem angry that I hadn't shown up; he expressed an understanding tone in his voice. He told the other person that I had recently experienced a serious misfortune, had had a lot taken out of me, and probably hadn't been able to work well since that time. I thought to myself that I should confront Kennon about talking to other people about me. If he denied he had done so, I could play the tape for him.

I immediately knew what he had been talking about – I was under investigation for murder. I was in a serious situation; I began thinking back over the circumstances, but my thoughts were extremely vague. The murder had been committed on the previous Friday, only a few days ago. But already my memory was foggy. I was only sure that that I was completely innocent; I had in fact not even been near the murder scene.

The murder had happened about 10 p.m. I vaguely recalled I had been with a couple other people that evening, and that we had all decided to go home about 10 p.m. I tried to retrace my steps that night, but I couldn't remember much more. I told Carolina I needed to write down in detail everything that had happened to me that evening so wouldn't forgot it. I also told her I thought I was going to have to hire a criminal lawyer. I didn't like the idea of spending money when I was innocent, but decided I was just going to have to do it. Even though I hadn't yet been arrested, I knew I was a suspect, and thought I couldn't take any chances.

Carolina and I had gone to a large banquet where perhaps 100 people were sitting around tables draped with white table cloths. Immediately upon entering, I felt a coldness from the others in the room, as if we were being tolerated but weren't welcome. We were apparently the last ones to arrive, and with difficulty, we finally located some seats on one side of the room. When we sat down, I felt ostracized and removed from the others.

Carolina and I soon turned our attention to the meal. Only the dessert concerned me: we didn't have any. The other people had varying kinds of desert, and I was most interested in a rich, strawberry shortcake which some had. However, I didn't want to ask for any. The others had apparently begun eating before we arrived, and some were already eating their deserts. When I noticed some of the others going to a counter and asking for more desert, I thought that was the solution to our dilemma. I headed to the counter to get some strawberry shortcake for Carolina and me.


I was seated at a rectangular table in a small room. Six or seven other people, including Carolina, were also sitting at the table. Everyone except me was busy working. I was watching the round clock on the wall, and at five minutes before four, I told Carolina that she and I could go. I knew the others had to continue working, but that Carolina and I could leave at four.

But before I could stand up, a woman (probably in her early 30s) came into the room and pushed her way past the others to get to me. She sat down in a chair on my left and spoke with me. She acted as if she knew me. I looked her over, trying to figure out who she was. She seemed as if she might be familiar, but I really had no idea who she was. Finally I asked, "Who are you?"

She replied, "You're blunt."

She seemed hurt that I hadn't recognized her. She then explained that she had once worked for me years ago. She said I had been selling real estate at the time. She had now come to ask me for a job selling real estate.

I wasn't sure what she was talking about. I thought I recalled my father having sold real estate before. I might have been involved in it at one time, but my memory was hazy. But I certainly didn't remember this woman. I quickly told her that I didn't sell real estate. I told her I had become a lawyer, but that I wasn't even practicing law at the moment.

As I spoke, I thought about my practice of law. It seemed as if I had worked hard as a lawyer for six years, saved some money, and then quit. However, I could resume again at any time if I wanted to. I didn't like the prospect of working again, yet liked knowing I could if necessary.

The woman seemed downcast at my news. I asked her name and she said her last name was Morris. At first she had seemed somewhat attractive. But when I looked more closely at her, I saw that she was quite overweight.

I pointed to one man working so assiduously at the table. I told her the man had connections in the immigration department and that he had recently told me there would be some job openings there. I suggested she talk with him.

I then arose, and without further ado, with Carolina, headed out of the room. But just as I was leaving, something on a table caught my eye. Someone had been working on a mosaic made of small three-centimeter tiles. The work hadn't progressed far, but was quite intriguing. Many different-colored tiles had been cemented together in a peculiar form. I passed my hand over the work, feeling how level the tiles had been laid. It didn't appear to be the work of a professional, but was impressive nevertheless.

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