Dream of: 18 January 1998 "Struggle To Escape"

Late at night, I had returned to the Logan Street House. My father and my mother, living in the House, were asleep in the front bedroom, while my sister, also living in the House, was in the middle bedroom. I lay down on a couch in the living room, intending to sleep; but no sooner had I lain down, than I heard my sister turn on the television. I stood up, walked into my sister's room, and asked her to turn off the television. My sister, fully clothed and talking on the phone, refused to comply.

I walked out of my sister's room and entered my parents' room. By now they were awake, and I asked them if they would order my sister to turn off the television. I mentioned that it was 12:30 at night. When they indicated they wouldn't ask my sister to turn off the television, I turned and walked out of the room. Miffed, I decided I was simply going to leave. I walked to the front door and opened it. Just as I was about to walk out, I heard my parents getting out of bed, and I could tell my father was angry. My mother caught me just before I walked out and he asked me where I was going. I said, "I'll probably go down on Front Street," where I knew of an old warehouse in which I had previously stayed.

I walked outside and headed for my Toyota Corolla, which was parked in front of the House. Before I could reach the car, however, my father roared out of the House and overtook me at the curb. Extremely belligerent, he demanded to know where the "stuff" was. I was uncertain what he meant, but I thought he might be referring to some beer. Earlier in the evening, while I had been away from the House, I had drunk a six-pack of beer, and I still had the smell of beer on my breath. But I didn't have any more beer left, so I didn't have any "stuff" which I could give him.

I was having trouble seeing my father because my hair was long, hanging below my eyes, blocking my vision. I feared my inability to see might become a problem: if my father hit me, I might not be able to see to defend myself. My fears were soon realized because when I didn't respond, my father attacked me and started a fight. After a short struggle, despite the impediment of my long hair, I knocked him down and screamed at him that he was a big bully. My mother and my sister walked out of the House and watched us. As my father lay on his back in front of me, I thought of pounding him in the face a couple times, but I refrained. I didn't want to fight – I just wanted to get away from him.

I turned away and headed toward the corner of the street, but I had difficulty walking, and by the time I reached the corner, I was crawling on my hands and knees. Just as I had reached the corner, I heard something behind me and saw that my father had walked up behind me and was pointing a gun at me. As I looked at him, he said, "Stevie, you're dead."

Although he seemed a little shaky and unsure of his aim, he pointed the gun right at me. I looked back at my mother and sister, hoping one of them might stop him from shooting me. My mother's mother Leacy was also standing nearby – I thought maybe she could stop my father. If I could just crawl around the corner, I might be able to escape. But my limbs felt so heavy, I could barely move.

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