Dream of: 07 August 1995 (2) "Self Help Service"
I was sitting in a room with perhaps 20 desks, with a man sitting in every one. It appeared we were all lawyers and were busy with legal work. However, whereas the others didn't have anyone else with them, three people were gathered standing around my desk: Carolina, her mother Paz, and a teenage boy. The boy, like Carolina and Paz, had dark black hair and brown skin, and was clearly their relative. I thought perhaps he had come with them from their native El Salvador when they had originally come to the United States.
The three of them regularly accompanied me when I was working, even though I suspected the other lawyers didn't think it was proper for them to be with me. However, even though I myself wasn't always thrilled by their presence, I realized they were actually a great asset for me and helped me in many ways.
As I continued working, the boy had strolled over to a pay phone on the wall and had begun talking with someone on the phone. Hearing part of the conversation, I realized someone was complaining about something the boy had done, and that he might be in trouble. Listening closer, I realized I was also involved in the problem, and I strained to hear what was being said. Gradually I pieced part of it together. Apparently the boy had set up a telephone line by using my name. The line was supposed to be used to provide medical advice to people who would call in. The boy referred to the line as a "Self Help Service" for medical problems. But now the people who had set up the line for the boy had apparently become aware that he wasn't I, and they were confronting him.
When the boy walked back over to my desk, I grabbed him by one arm and led him out of the room. I sat down in a chair in the adjoining empty room and he sat down next to me. By now I was rather angry with the boy for having used my name without permission. Rising to my feet, I jerked him up to his feet and told him that he should remain standing until I told him to sit.
I looked into his dark eyes, so dark in fact that I could distinguish no difference between pupil and iris. Although there was something hauntingly beautiful about the eyes, I didn't feel I had time to languish upon them; I wanted answers as to why he had used my name the way he had.
Copyright 2001 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com
