My second wife Carolina (who strikingly resembled ex-wife Louise) and I had just moved into a house in Portsmouth. (The small house appeared to be the same one where an old girlfriend, Jan Hughes, had lived when I had been in the tenth grade. She had been the first girl to let me put my hand in her pants.)

As I was standing in front of the house, looking across the street, I noticed a flock of 20-30 white chickens in front of a neighboring house. Curious that the chickens would be running loose in town, I moseyed over to the neighboring house to have a better look. Once I reached the house, I was surprised to see quite an assortment of animals – white pigs, white ducks and a black goat. I reached out my hand to try to pet the goat, but he pulled back. I also noticed a swarm of ants on the sidewalk. The ants appeared to be part of the menagerie, and I specifically noted that they weren't dangerous fire ants, but smaller ants that probably didn't bite.

I realized why all the animals were there: this was some kind of day care center for children, and the animals were kept to entertain the children. Even the ants were part of an ant colony which the children could watch. Harboring the animals seemed like a good idea to me.

An elderly man and woman who ran the house walked out and spoke to me. They told me my wife had visited them the day before, and they related a rather bizarre story about how my wife had started an argument with someone at the house. The police had been called and my wife had been arrested.

This story was a bit upsetting to me. At the same time, I was intrigued that my wife had been arrested and hadn't told me about it. I turned and hurried back to my house, anxious to confront my wife with the story.

She was standing in the front room when I walked in. She acted coy when I asked her about having been arrested. I wasn't angry. Instead, I began to feel aroused by the whole incident. Being arrested seemed out of her character, and the thought of it made me want to make love with her. I suggested that we escape to the bedroom. She was willing and we headed down the hall toward the back room. The only problem was that we had two children also in the front room, and I didn't want to leave the children there alone. I hesitated to take the children back to the bedroom with us, but I decided they were so young, even if they saw my wife and me making love, they wouldn't know what was going on, and would never remember it.

***

My wife, the two children and I were in a car which my father was driving along curvy country roads, headed from Portsmouth to the Gallia County Farm. My father was driving quite erratically and much too fast. I had noticed that he had seemed to be having mood swings lately. Sometimes he seemed bloated and lethargic, hardly able to move. At other times – like now – he seemed manic and nervous, full of energy. When I mentioned my observations to him, he just ignored me, and began telling a story about the Farm.

He said that the field behind the Farmhouse had recently caught fire, and that all the grass had started burning. The fire had traveled so quickly, it had almost reached the tobacco barn at the top of the hill behind the Farmhouse, but fortunately, the fire had been stopped, and no serious damage had resulted.

As he continued speeding down the road, I suddenly remembered I had loaded some boxes of my belongings in the back of the vehicle, which had a rear-end like a pickup truck. I looked back through the rear window and saw two large boxes in the back. On top of one box lay a thick folder which contained pages of dreams which I had written. Suddenly the folder flew off the back and off the side of the road, onto the other side of a barbed wire fence, landing in a field.

I screamed to my father that he must stop – I couldn't leave my dreams out there in the field. After he pressed on the brakes and came to a stop, I jumped from the truck and ran to the field.

When I reached the folder of dreams and picked them up, they weren't lying in the field, but inside a small white room which looked like a classroom. Two other people, a man and a woman were sitting in the room. I immediately recognized them – they belonged to a group of people who regularly came together to talk about their dreams. I was only tangentially involved with the group. Although I had participated in the group before, I didn't lend much importance to it.

I certainly didn't have time to stay there right now, even though I knew a meeting was supposed to take place in a little while. A clock on the wall said it was ten till eight, and I knew the meeting was supposed to begin at 8:30. Obviously several more people would show up before 8:30. I quickly mumbled that I couldn't stay now, but that I might return later.

The man and woman were already talking about a dream. One of them held it up in front of me – the dream was neatly typed on a piece of paper. They said the dream contained a "truism," and I stopped long enough to agree with them. I even mentioned that I had often found that dreams contained truisims. But actually, I wasn't even sure what a "truism" was. The word wasn't one which I normally used. Although I thought a "truism" had something to do with the "truth," I wasn't quite sure.

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