Dream of:
24 March 2002 "Stolen Scissors"As a black-haired boy (6-7 years old) and I were standing in the narrow space between the
29th Street House and the neighbor's house on the eastern side – the two-story white frame house – I looked through the window of the neighbor's house and saw a man standing inside near the window. He was a plain-looking fellow (about 40 years old) and slightly overweight. With a pair of long dull-gray scissors he was cutting up small pieces of red cloth. When he finished, he laid the scissors on a table in front of the window and walked away. Charmed by the scissors, I stealthily raised the window about fifteen centimeters, reached inside and picked up the scissors. Noticing that the door to the room was being opened, with the scissors in hand, I crouched down, and the boy and I gingerly slipped back into the 29th Street House.After the boy and I had walked into the living room and sat down on the floor, I began cutting some things with the scissors. Abruptly, the neighbor-man walked into the living room. I immediately hid the scissors under my right leg. How could I have been so stupid as to have the scissors out in the open where the man could see them? When I asked the man if I could help him, he said something about needing some pants. He was wearing a pair of black dress pants which were zipped-up, but not buttoned at the top; obviously the pants were too small for him. I stood up – taking care to keep the scissors hid – and walked into the bedroom as if I were looking for pants for him. When I returned to the living room, the man was now dressed in a blue pin-striped suit. I asked him where he was going – (perhaps to a funeral?) – and he replied that he was going to Chicago for a week. He was preparing to leave right now. I still didn't understand why he had been asking for a pair of pants.
I asked him if someone would be watching his house for him while he was away; I acted as if I might watch the house, all the time thinking that I would like to sneak into the house to look around. I doubted I would actually take anything – I would be too worried about getting caught; but I would like to look around the interior of the house. The man didn't answer; and the way he was looking around made me fear that he already suspected I had purloined the scissors. Finally he left.
I walked to the bedroom and looked through the window toward the man's house. His window (the same window from which I had taken the scissors) now seemed to cover the whole side of the house so I could see the entire room. One wall of the room was covered with shelves filled with knick knacks – mostly glass and pottery – which were a bit effete for my tastes; obviously the man was a collector. Small porcelain book-ends of varying designs predominated. I now wished I could return the scissors; but the window was no longer open. Maybe I could just leave them on the front porch or in the backyard; maybe he would then think that he himself had absent-mindedly laid down the scissors. I would carefully wipe off my fingerprints.
The boy was also in the bedroom with me; and then
my mother walked in. I asked my mother who the boy was. She said his name was Eric. He was somehow related to me, but I had never met him before. He was sitting at a desk and looking over a piece of lined-paper on which he had written the symbols for certain stocks. I recognized some of the stocks, many of which I thought should be sold short. The stock "KLAC" caught my attention. The paper showed that KLAC was currently commanding a price of $100 per share. In my opinion, the stock was definitely over-valued at the price. But most of my attention was focused on the boy; I was amazed that such a young boy would be interested in the stock market.***
Carolina and I were in a store which resembled a Kmart or Wal-Mart. People were standing in line to receive a coupon good for $2. Carolina and I also got in line; but a woman soon walked up and told us that Carolina and I wouldn't receive the coupon. We stepped out of line and remained silent a while. Then we started to complain to the other people standing in line about how we had been taken out. I was miffed. We complained that we were the only ones who had been taken out of line. Soon a thin black-haired woman (about 50 years old) walked up and grabbed me by the arm. She said someone wanted to see me in the back of the store. I pulled away; I was worried that I might still be carrying the scissors which I had taken from the neighbor's house; if someone searched me, the scissors might be found. I told the woman that I would wait there and that whoever wanted me could come to me. The woman walked away. A few minutes later, a man came walking toward me from the back. Apparently he was the manager. I recognized him immediately: he was the actor Drew Carey. He was quite short – about 30 centimeters shorter than I, and he was almost bald. He walked up to me and handed me four one-dollar bills. He also handed two dollars to Carolina. Obviously he thought we had been mistreated. As he stood in front of me, I bent my head over and kissed the top of his bald head. I hoped he wasn't worried about AIDS from my kiss because I didn't have AIDS. I felt so happy, I blurted out, "I love you Drew."
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