Dream of: 11 September 2005 (2) "Ironic Story"

Carolina and I had traveled to a small county (it reminded me of Rockwall county) just east of Dallas. I was driving my 1999 white Ford Escort. We rode along the shore of a large lake boarded with resorts. We were planning to spend the night at one of the resorts.


Carolina and I were in the county court house of the county. We needed to transact some business here, and we were standing in front of a counter. Several people were behind the counter, among whom was a lady judge (about 30 years old), who was talking to the others. The judge was slim, attractive and well-spoken. 

She was talking about a case over which she had just presided. I recognized the case as being similar to sexual assault, but not exactly a rape case. In this case, the defense had made some sort of motion, and the judge had simply thrown the case out. The judge also mentioned the prosecutor, whom the judge did not like. The judge had held the prosecutor in contempt in another case, and she hadn't wanted him to file this sexual assault case. 

I was familiar with this particular kind of case and I knew that a special quirk of the law could be used in this case. When the judge paused in her voluble speech, I spoke up and told her she had made a good decision. I mentioned that only a couple weeks earlier, in Dallas, a judge had handled a similar case and had found the defendant innocent "not withstanding the verdict," even though the jury had rendered a verdict of guilty.

Even though I sported long hair falling over my ears, the judge could obviously discern from my speech that I was an attorney. I introduced Carolina and myself to the judge, and I held out my hand to shake. At first I didn't think the judge was going to take my hand, but then she took my hand, shook it, and told me her name was "Garcia."

I told her this was my first trip to this town, which I called "Chandlerville." When the judge corrected me and said, no, we were in "Taylorville," I felt stupid because I hadn't correctly remembered the name of the place. To make pleasant conversation, I told the judge I hadn't planned to be in a courthouse while here. The judge amiably spoke a few more words about the courthouse, then stepped away.

I reflected that I should have told the judge that there was no difference between small towns and big cities, that all the action was in the courtrooms. But I hadn't said anything.

Another woman who was a clerk stepped up to the counter and spoke to me. She asked me about my "wealth" and whether I had married Carolina for her wealth. I told the woman I hadn't married Carolina for her wealth, but now I was staying with her for her wealth. I said Carolina hadn't been wealthy when we had married, but now she was wealthy. I even thought to myself that I was now projecting an aura of wealth, even though I rarely tried to give the impression that I was wealthy.

When the clerk stepped away, I reflected that Carolina and I had a little money, but we weren't really wealthy. For instance, we were only driving a little Ford Escort, and we were only going to stay in this resort for one night.

As Carolina and I prepared to leave the courthouse, I suddenly thought about how everything which had just happened here would make a good basis for a novel. The story would describe how two people like Carolina and I had journeyed to this resort to spend the night and how we had met someone in the courthouse. I envisioned several scenes converging. One scene showed the man who had been the defendant and gone free in the sexual assault case. In another scene the man would be plotting out a new crime, and somehow Carolina and I would become the victims of the new crime. Ironically, after we had congratulated the judge for letting the defendant go free, Carolina and I would become victims of the very same fellow.

I could even envision a map of the town and the different locations where the scenes would unfold. I thought I should write down the facts immediately. 

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