Dream of: 22 September 1996 "Black Sons"
I was riding on a large bus, filled mostly with black men. We were all apparently going to some kind of demonstration or march which was being held by black men coming from all over the country. Although I was white, I was also going to participate because I had a special connection with the black men: I had two black sons. Or at least I had two young black fellows who were very close to me in some special way. It was possible that I had adopted them. They were 14-15 years old, and were now sitting on each side of me on the bus.
Although I had at first felt comfortable being on the bus with the black men, as the journey continued, I detected a marked change in their attitude, and I sensed that they were becoming more militant against whites. In fact I was beginning to feel more and more isolated among them, being the only white in the group. It was ever more clear that if they wanted to harm, or even kill me, once we were off the bus and taking part in the march or demonstration, it would be easy for them to do so.
My apprehension further increased when the bus finally stopped and I began pulling on a blue coat. My coat was fashioned so that there was a button at the end of the sleeve to button it. When I put my hand into the coat sleeve, and my fingers hung up on the button, I realized I could best put my hand through the sleeve by squeezing my fingers into a fist. However as I accomplished this, one black fellow saw me and began severely criticizing me for rolling my hand into a fist. His criticism was so sharp (and he seemed to have the approval of the other blacks), I decided immediately that I must try as quickly as possible to separate myself and my two young wards from the rest of the group.
Thus, when the bus finally came to a stop, and we all filed off, the two boys and I quickly stepped over to the side away from the other black men. The boys were likewise alarmed and worried. There was no doubt as to their allegiances: although the boys were black, they thought of themselves as my sons, and were as anxious as I to leave the other black men.
I looked around to get my bearings. We seemed to be at a truck stop along a lonesome stretch of road. I noticed another white man and woman walking nearby and I approached them, wondering if they intended to be a part of the march. But as soon as I spoke to them, I saw that they were poor and illiterate. The man quickly told me he knew nothing about the demonstration, that he was simply looking for work. I let them pass on, realizing that it was best that I not be seen talking to other whites, lest I arouse the suspicions of the other black men gathering nearby. Yet I didn't know what to do. Perhaps we could seek temporary refuge in the truck stop until the blacks had moved on.
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