Dream of: 05 July 1987 (4) "Cohesiveness"
I had become acquainted with several young Hispanic women (probably in their early 20s). Their luscious brown skin, dark black hair and brown eyes captivated me. I liked one in particular: shorter and stouter than the others. She had a shapely body and prominent large firm breasts. She had a childish round face and seemed quite innocent. I spoke with her briefly and then we separated.
Some activity was taking place and it looked as if a party of some sort might occur. Several people were bustling about and one woman in particular seemed in charge. With little introduction, the woman informed me that she was going to conduct an auction or sale, and that I would be able to pick one of the women I had seen earlier to be with me.
When the woman opened a door, one by one the women stepped out in front of where I was seated, into the lawn area, apparently the back yard of a house. A man was with each woman. I presumed the men were the boyfriends of the women, but the men quickly disappeared from sight, apparently acquiescing in the show.
The women, seeming happy and gay, lined up almost as if in a chorus line. They didn't seem inhibited about what was taking place. I was unconvinced the show was anything more than a farce. It seemed ludicrous to think I could simply choose one of the women to be with, especially since I had just seen their boyfriends with them.
If I had my choice, I would choose the same dark-haired, brown-eyed beauty with whom I had been talking earlier. When I caught her eye for a moment, it seemed perfectly clear we both wanted to be with each other.
I walked into the house where the festivities were taking place. It was the House in Patriot (the home of my maternal grandparents when I was a child). The woman conducting the auction of the women was definitely in charge of the activities. She seemed concerned about obtaining the funds to buy provisions for the party, and she had still not given up on obtaining something from me, even though I hadn't bid at the auction.
Carrying several things in her hands, she approached me. She had a gallon of milk and she said someone had contributed $5 in my name to buy some milk. I wasn't particularly pleased that milk had been bought in my name, but I didn't say anything.
I was sitting in the front living room when, through a door, I saw Newton (my old law school professor) and another college professor had entered into the kitchen of the House, obviously there for the party. The professor with Newton was wearing a long black robe, such as might be worn at a graduation ceremony.
I wasn't particularly happy to see Newton, but since he was there, I supposed I would have to talk with him. Since I wasn't wearing a shirt, I scurried over to the bedroom to look for one. I found a couple of my white shirts, but they were dirty and wrinkled. Some shirts with thin dark vertical stripes on them were hanging in the closet, but they weren't mine. I thought they probably belonged to my cousins, my uncle Liston Jr.'s sons.
Too late. Newton walked right into the bedroom where I was. I crossed my hands across my chest and said, "You just enter into a man's boudoir?"
Newton stood in front of me and we began talking. He was obviously looking at my bare chest, sizing me up. I wished I were more muscular and a bit leaner around the stomach. He had stubble on his face from not having shaved for a few days.
He seemed happy enough to see me. I wondered if he planed to continue teaching at Baylor Law School and someday become dean. I figured he probably did.
He inquired about what I was doing. I intensely disliked this type of questioning. I told him I did a few criminal cases when I was appointed by the court. It was hard for me to talk about the law work I did, since it was basically unimportant to me and I just did it to provide myself with enough money to survive.
My real passion was my dreams and writing books of dreams. My thoughts turned to the book of dreams on which I was working – the book in which my ex-wife Louise was to be the central character. I was debating whether I should tell Newton about the project. And should I tell him he had appeared in some of my dreams? Actually, I would like to show him the dreams in which he had appeared. I was unsure whether I should bring such a thing up to someone like Newton. It was doubtful he would understand. Nevertheless, I looked around me for the black notebook which contained some of my dreams, thinking I might show him some dreams in which he had appeared. Finally I decided – what difference did it make? – I would tell him.
I began by simply telling him I was writing a book and I mentioned he was in the book. He asked if it was a book of letters – letters which I had written. Since he had become a professor at law school, he had come to realize law students sometimes published their letters, some of which contained mention of him in them. I said, "No. It's different. It's dreams. I write my dreams."
I told him I had written thousands of dreams. He seemed interested and said, "Fantastic."
He seemed to like the idea. I explained that I had been working on the project for years and years and that I had written hundreds and hundreds of dreams. I explained that the book on which I was presently working centered around Louise. I told him the law school was part of the story. I said, "Since Louise and I were in law school together, the law school entered into the story much."
All the while I was talking, my eyes kept glancing around the room trying to locate my black dream notebook. I didn't see it anywhere. Where was it? I was still debating whether I should give Newton the dreams in which he had appeared. I told him he had been in about 20 of my dreams.
I continued talking about the book saying, "It lacked cohesiveness. I needed something to bring it together. Because I couldn't just lump it all together I've been working on it for years and years, but I needed something to pull it together. And the thing that finally pulled it together was Louise."
Newton repeated the word "cohesiveness"; he seemed to agree. He seemed excited by the idea of the book.
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