Thursday, December 28, 2006-10:01AM EST
The mother was quite adamant about how men do not respect women they have any kind of sex with but especially oral. Sex with men was like having your very self stolen and kept as a cruel souvenir of robbery. Once inside you, you can’t get them out she says.
Last Night’s Nightmares
My uncle and grandfather slept in the same room, the room everyone called “the middle room.” In the middle of the night, before bed, the grandfather and uncle laid on the floor in the hallway just outside that room looking over the balcony down at the rest of the family. The grandfather talked about how some in the family are gay. He had his hand on the belt loop in the back of my jeans and said that sometimes you can tell because that gay person won’t let anyone else in the family have “any.” I turned to him on the floor and said, “I am not above killing an 87 year old man.” We argued back and forth a little bit with him acting all hurt that I would threaten his life. He then went into the middle room to sleep while my pedophile uncle told me he was trying to somehow bring up the fact that he wanted to give me an inheritance before he died.
Note- it is my uncle that is a pedophile not my grandfather. My grandfather was “just” silent when he knew his grandchildren were being hurt. I have considerably less anger for him than anyone else in the family. Both of these people have now died. The grandfather died this year and the uncle didn’t die soon enough for my satisfaction.
The mother, my sister and I were flying above the city in a helicopter going home. The sister and I were on the back of the chopper on some sort of homemade backseat. It was a wooden seat with no seat belts or side rails. We passed over beautiful areas with flower and rock gardens. I pointed out to my sister that I often dream about the rock garden at one of the houses we passed over. I told her about how the garden is inside and has rocks set up in bins like candy in the old Woolworth stores. Blue rocks, green rocks, mixed crystals, semi-precious stones all divided into bins. It’s a beautiful dream I told her. There are different herbs and mosses growing, lots of earthy greens and rust colours in the house and a water can that never has any water just empty mason jars waiting to water the herbs. The chopper kept flying and we were about to go over an even more beautiful area that shows up in my dreams. It’s beautiful only because of the lions that roam the area. It’s like an African plane with huge, beautiful lions sitting on rocks and hiding in long armed trees. The part of the dream that is not so pleasant is when you see a malformed or disfigured lion hunt and kill a human that had the nerve to attempt to pass that stretch of land. Just before we got to that area the sister decided she wanted to let go of the side of the seat to hold her arms out and feel the wind through her fingers. I knew she would fall but I said nothing. (I’m not sure if I wanted her to fall in the dream or what but I never told her not to let go. It’s almost like I wanted her to fall.)
The sister let go and did just fine at first but then she fell forward and down. I could hear her scream a horrible frightened scream. I sat in my seat holding on the same as before, not stronger or lighter, just like before. The mother yelled out her window to me, “where is your sister.” I pointed down off the side of the seat. I couldn’t say anything. I don’t know if it was fear or what but I couldn’t say anything.
In real life part of my anger with the mother is that she hurt my sister. I hate dreaming about her being hurt. I hate hearing her scream in my head. I hate that she hurt my sister and my brother.
In real life she shows up unexpectedly and I never want to consider for even a moment that today she is safe enough to open the door for. Hey Mama, have you met my dog’s K9’s?
Captain My Captain
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