Dream of: 09 August 1997 "Powerless"
While in the front bedroom of the Logan Street House, I decided I would like to buy some marijuana, then suddenly remembered I already had some marijuana. I had recently purchased a couple small baggies of pot, but I was unsure what I had done with them. I had probably left them in a pair of blue jeans which I had been wearing. I picked up a pair of jeans lying on the floor and felt in the pockets. Nothing. Suddenly a sense of panic seized me: I might have left the marijuana in jeans which would now be in the laundry room; my mother might be getting ready to wash the jeans.
I opened the door to the bedroom and looked down through the living room and kitchen to where my mother was standing in the laundry room and I saw her holding a pair of jeans in her hands. My father (about 40 years old) was sitting in the kitchen at the table, right next to the laundry room. When I saw my mother handing something to him, I knew instantaneously she was handing him the marijuana. I hurried toward them, and sure enough, when I reached the kitchen, my father was holding two baggies of marijuana. Obviously angry, he began talking about how much marijuana was in the bags, trying to decide if there was an ounce. It looked as if there was less than a half ounce in each bag, so all together I figured the two baggies would contain less than an ounce. My father was trying to determine whether the baggies contained more than the legal amount. Apparently, in Ohio, less than an ounce of marijuana was legal. He muttered something about his possibly turning me into the police if there were more than a ounce. Infuriated by his statement, I made a nasty remark to him. He seemed to back off the idea of turning me in, but then he said he would simply destroy the marijuana. That also made me angry. After all, the marijuana belonged to me, and I didn't think my father had any right to tell me what to do. I recalled once before, when I had been young, my father had found some of my marijuana and had destroyed it. This was different: I was much older now and this was none of his business. I wanted my marijuana back and I said, "I'll just buy more."
He seemed to pause and consider what I was saying. He asked me if I thought marijuana was harmful for me, and I answered, no. At the same time I noticed a black-haired fellow (probably in his late 20s) sitting at the table. I had met the fellow before and I rather liked him. I didn't know whether he smoked marijuana, but I knew I had never smoked with him. He seemed neutral in the debate between my father and me, as if he were just weighing both sides without taking a position.
Suddenly I heard something behind me and I looked around to see a flood of people coming through the front door of the House and entering the living room. I immediately saw it was a troop of my relatives. I looked back at the two bags of marijuana lying on the table. The black-haired fellow adroitly scooped up both bags and slipped them into a pocket on his vest (he seemed to be wearing a pair of bib overalls with vest pockets). He had made the move so quickly, no one had seen what he had done -- I was impressed with his action.
I turned and walked away from the kitchen, through the living room and past my relatives. The whole family of my uncle Liston (my mother's brother) was there. I hadn't seen them in a very long time and I almost didn't recognize them. I saw one boy who looked like one of Liston's sons (either Roger or Raleigh or Robin), but I couldn't remember what each of them looked like. Besides, this boy was probably only about 12 years old and I thought those boys of Liston's must be much older than that; so I concluded the boy could be none of them. I didn't know who the boy was. I looked for Liston but then I suddenly remembered Liston had died. I hadn't even gone to his funeral, and I regretted that. I was sorry to remember he was gone.
As the people flooded into the kitchen, I glanced back at my father and realized he was crying. He had his hand over his face so no one would see, but I saw. I realized that he was crying about me, and that I could probably solve this problem between us if I would simply go over to him and hug him, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I didn't want to see him so upset, but I was powerless to go to him.
I also noticed my step-cousin Katrina (from my father's side of the family) there. She looked about 20 years old. Katrina's presence meant that relatives from both sides of my family were gathered there. I had never seen that before and thought how strange it was. My relatives from my father's side were so different from those from my mother's side.
I walked on into the front bedroom and shut the door behind me. I didn't want to talk to all those relatives. I just wanted to be alone, but I didn't want to seem as if I were trying to avoid them either.
I began thinking about what I had said to my father about marijuana not being harmful for me. I hadn't told the truth because I did think marijuana was harmful. What I should have said was what I believed, that marijuana was only minimally harmful and not nearly as unhealthy as people thought. Since I had felt my father had been attacking me, I had been forced to defend myself.
I began making up my bed and trying to decide what I would do now. I might simply go out and buy some more marijuana. There again, my father was involved with the situation because I was presently working for him. I had been away from Portsmouth for awhile and when I had returned, I hadn't had much money, so I had started working for my father. I thought he was wrong if he thought I couldn't get a job on my own. After all, I was a lawyer and I could work as a lawyer if I wanted. I hated the thought of doing that; I really didn't want to work again as a lawyer.
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