Dream of:
22 May 2005 (3) "Nefarious Act"My mother and I had gone to the Gallia County Farm in my white 1999 Escort, which my mother was driving. When she pulled into the driveway at the bottom of the hill behind the Farmhouse, I jumped out of the car and she continued driving around to the milk house. I walked up the hill to the Farmhouse. At the top, I was surprised to see cars parked all the way around the Farmhouse to the front and down the hill in front to the bridge over Symmes Creek. There must have been 20-30 cars, including quite a few old Volkswagens. I wondered what was going on. A Volkswagen convention crossed my mind.
I walked onto the back porch, found the back door open, and walked inside into the enclosed porch area. The door to the kitchen, however, was closed. I was about to retrieve the key from the hiding place, when I noticed the key already sticking in the kitchen door. The door was even cracked open. I was so surprised to see the key in the door, I wondered if I myself had stuck the key in the door just now and had already forgotten; I couldn't seem to remember.
I pulled the key out of the door, pushed the door open, and walked into the kitchen. When I heard a noise in the living room, I realized someone must be inside. I concluded that the person in the house must have left the key in the door.
A door was closed between the kitchen and the living room (a door which normally wasn't there). I headed for the door and pushed it, but something on the other side was holding the door closed. Suddenly the door opened, and a black-haired man ( around 30 years old) was standing on the other side. He was wearing a tee shirt and had a burr hair cut. I realized he was one of
my step-mother's sons, either my step-brother Henry or my step-brother Alex. I looked at him and asked him whether it was Henry or Alex, then I said, "No, let me guess."I thought he was Henry, because I thought Henry was the youngest (but I couldn't remember for sure which one was youngest, I had never taken the time to learn).
Several children were running around the living room, which seemed smaller than usual. And everything in the living room was different. All the old furniture had been taken out and replaced with new cheap-looking furniture. I asked my step-brother if he were living there, and he said yes.
I realized what had happened: my father had obviously let my step-brother move in. I wasn't sure -- maybe both step-brothers lived there. Obviously my step-brother had taken over the place. He seemed a little embarrassed, but he was not impolite. I said, "Well, how do you like it here."
He replied, "Just fine."
I almost replied snidely, "I can imagine," -- because I knew his moving in and taking over was a great deal for him -- but I didn't say anything. Of course his presence made me unhappy, because I had once thought I would someday live on the Farm. But the Farm had slipped away due to my father's pernicious machinations.
I asked him how many people lived there. He stopped, thought, then replied, "Nine."
Another man came down the stairs from upstairs and stepped into the living room. Apparently the man was a friend of my step-brother and was also living there. Clearly my days on the Farm were over. I saw, of course, that I would not be spending the night.
The present situation reminded me of the stock market. Sometimes a good deal to buy stock presents itself, but if the opportunity is not seized, the deal evaporates. Such was the Farm. My opportunity to live there had evaporated. There was no point in regret. I would just move on.
I had stored some of my possessions upstairs. One whole wall was covered with bookshelves and books. I needed to see about hauling everything away (if everything was still there) as soon as possible. Possibly my father had thrown everything out or burned it. If my father had destroyed my property, it would be no great loss. Still, in my mind, the destruction of my property would constitute a crime.
I opened the door to the stairs and started walking up. If my stuff was still there, I would take as much as I could now in the car, and come back for the rest later. If my stuff was no longer upstairs, I would come back down and ask my step-brother if he had helped in "the commission of the crime." I would probably never do anything about it; but at least I would let them know they had committed a nefarious act.
Copyright 2005 by luciddreamer2k@gmail.com
