Dream of: 05 October 1995 (2) "Inventing A Story"

I was sitting on the floor of a room which resembled the Waller Street Room (a room in rooming house in Portsmouth, where I lived for a month in 1977). Walls was also in the room, as well as Jeff Hurley and Weinman (both had been my classmates in junior high school; Jeff drowned in the seventh grade).

I had come to Portsmouth several days earlier, and the four of us had been together constantly during that time. Mostly we had been smoking marijuana. When we had started smoking pot after I had first arrived, I had thought that smoking pot once might be alright, but once I had started, I hadn't stopped.

Walls had a rather large pile of pot lying on the floor and even now Walls handed me a pipe filled with pot. However the pot in the pipe wasn't lit; instead, a lit joint was stuck down into the pot. When I took a hit off the pipe, trying to pull smoke from the joint through the pipe, nothing came through. Finally I took the joint out of the pipe and tried to take a hit off the joint, but the butt end was all torn up so that taking a hit proved difficult. I did finally manage to get an unsatisfactory hit. I passed the joint to Weinman and he passed it on until the joint was passed around the room several times.

I was surprised we had ended up wasting so much time smoking pot. I had been talking with Weinman by phone before coming and I had thought he had been using his time for something else: specifically, playing music. I hadn't even known he smoked pot, but since I had been there, it seemed that smoking was all we had done. However, I still hoped to connect with them musically. All three of them had musical talent and had belonged to rock and roll bands. I had hopes that I might also be able to play music and that the four of us could form a band. The problem was that I didn't know how to play anything.

However I did have my flute with me and I pulled it out. I knew that Jeff also played the flute, and that he was somehow able to play the flute like a guitar. When I asked him how it was possible to play a guitar chord on a flute, he said he would simply play three notes in a row on the flute. I placed my fingers on the flute and tried it a few times. It didn't seem difficult and I thought I could get the hang of it. I even thought if Jeff and I were to stay in that room for a year and if he would teach me, I could master the flute.

Finally we all stepped outside and walked around. I told the others I hadn't gotten high even once from all the pot we had smoked. I wanted to return to the room and smoke more until I got high. I thought maybe the only way I could get high was to mix some alcohol with the pot. It seemed I had some inner need of intoxication which I hadn't yet reached.

As we continued walking, I realized only Walls and I were left. In fact, I began to think I had imagined the whole episode with Jeff and Weinman. I abruptly realized that Jeff couldn't have been with us because Jeff had died many years ago, back when I was in junior high. He had drowned one summer in a swimming pool when he had dove into the pool and hit his head on the bottom.

I thought more about Jeff. He had been a lot like me and he even looked a little like me. We both had blond hair and basically the same kind of physique. I had always liked Jeff and I thought we could have been good friends, but I recalled that Jeff had become close friends with Wood (another junior high classmate), who had lived much nearer than I to Jeff. I wasn't close to Wood, and I now recalled I had never even offered any condolences to Wood after Jeff had died. Wood had always seemed somewhat withdrawn after Jeff's death.

The more I thought about what was happening, the more it seemed as if I had not only imagined the earlier episode, but as if I were still inventing what was taking place, as if I were making up a story. I had crossed a street and left Walls on the other side. As I continued with the story, I could still see Walls, but what concerned me more now was that Walls had a large lion (which I called a tiger) for a pet, and the lion had crossed the street to come over to me. I lay down on my back and the lion circled around me. The lion was supposed to be tame, but I could sense that it was going to attack me. Although I knew I was just making up everything in my mind, I still didn't want the lion around me, and I hollered at Walls to call his tiger.

I also knew Walls had a small .22 caliber hand gun. Finally I saw how the story would end. The lion attacked me by biting my leg, and Walls shot it (although I didn't actually see Walls shoot the lion). My attention was now focused on my leg, which (although I felt no pain) was bleeding from a long gash. I pointed out to Walls that I was going to need 20 stitches. I thought that 20 stitches was probably an exaggeration, but I did indeed need medical attention.

Since Walls seemed unconcerned with my injury, I invented a man and his wife and child who came walking down the street. I knew them and I asked for their help. Although the man didn't seem particularly concerned, he said he would take me to a hospital. Since his car was parked at some distance, I had to limp along toward it. He didn't offer to help me. I thought of leaning on him, but I didn't want to do that. I thought I might have to crawl part of the way, but even though I was having trouble walking, I never felt any pain.

I could now see how the story was going to end and I put together the last scene. I was looking at a hospital with perhaps 20 floors. I focused in on one window in one of the upper floors. That was the window to the room where I was lying. I would stay in that room in the hospital until I recovered from my wound.

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