Dream of:
14 June 2002 "Eviction"I was sitting on the carpeted floor of the room where I was living in a big old frame house. The room was bare except for a small television on the other side of the room. On the television was the mayor of the city giving a press conference. The mayor had spent the night in the high-rise hotel which was right next to this house. In the news-conference room were seated the players of the city's basketball team, all dressed in their game clothes. The mayor was complaining about the noise which he had heard in the hotel the night before. He said he had been awakened six times by people hollering out the windows. I wasn't that interested in what he was saying.
It was almost 1:30 p.m. I had slept in this room last night, but I still hadn't left the room all day. I was waiting for
my father to leave first. I hardly ever saw him, even though this was his house and I had been living there for years; it seemed he wasn't there most of the time, even though he also lived there. This morning, however, he was there; I could hear him in the next room. I wanted to avoid seeing him; we didn't get along well and I didn't want a confrontation.Finally he walked by the door to the hall – a ponderous double-door sliding-wood type. He was headed toward the door on the porch – but he stopped and walked into my room for a moment. He was carrying a small child and from his belt were hanging four or five small toys. He didn't look like himself. He was short and thin, with black hair, probably no more than 35 years old. He looked displeased to see me sitting there in the middle of the day.
He asked me why nobody seemed to pay any attention to my sister. I thought for a reply, then said it was probably because she always seemed to be angry about something. He seemed dissatisfied with my response and he said something snide to me. As he turned to leave I hollered out to him that he could pay some attention to someone; that he never had time because he was never there. He immediately became angry; he set the baby down and lunged at me. We began violently wrestling. I hollered at him that this was ridiculous, that I was 49 years old and that he was 60; to be fighting was insane. But even though I was the stronger, he didn't let up. I grabbed his head and beat it against the wall until he managed to break free and head to the door.
He didn't look injured. He screamed at me that I was going to have to move out of the house. After I hollered back that I wouldn't leave, he picked up the baby and slammed out. I began to worry: this was his house; if he wanted, he could have me evicted. Seeing my name in the paper as having a lawsuit filed against me for eviction would be embarrassing. But I was determined not to leave.
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