When no one came to our rescue

I dreamt that AM and I were in Baton Rouge, and we needed to go to the Walmart on Siegen Lane. We went there, parked in the parking garage, and went inside. Once inside the Walmart, we were a bit confused because the layout was different from the one here. So we just walked to the back-left corner (as facing the store) and found that there was an area that looked as if it were under construction, and behind that plastic wall were a collection of cubicles. There were office workers working in the cubicles. I felt like maybe we shouldn't be in that area, so we went out to try to find what we were looking for, but we could not find it. We walked up to the front of the store, where the checkouts were and a large open McDonald's right before the checkouts. I kind of wanted to eat at McDonald's but I didn't say anything, and we went back out to the car.

When we got there, we found that we were unable to leave because a truck was blocking us. Except that the truck was mostly on top of our car. No sign of the owner of the truck. At this point, I tried to figure out what to do. My first thought was to contact the building management (there was a small office building connected to the Walmart, and you had to walk through a corridor to get there). I asked a middle-aged couple if they knew who managed the building and they looked at me like I was crazy. So I walked into the corridor and found a small plate near the floor with the management company's name on it. I noted that down, but then decided it would probably be a better idea to report it to the police.I didn't have the police phone number in Baton Rouge, and I didn't want to call 911. So I looked up the number on my phone and dialed.

The first time I called, I got a business in Connecticut. Apparently the phone number was wrong, or I had misdialed. So I tried again, and this time got the police station, but they were only open to take calls on Tuesdays and Thursdays until 5:30 PM, and it was a weekend and 5:35 PM, so could I call back on Tuesday? I told them no, that we only had one car and I needed it right now. They hung up on me.

AM, at this point, opened the car and sat in it, because it was getting a bit cold outside. When I saw this, I told him to get out of the car, because the weight of the truck on top of it could crush it at any time. He reluctantly got out of the car, but not before getting our guns out of the glove compartment, and handed mine to me. Just in case. I took the gun and put it in my pocket, and tried to call the police back again. This time, no one picked up.

There was more of a crowd at this time, people coming and going. No one seemed to care that there was a truck on top of my car. We decided we wanted to sit down, so climbed up to a grassy area that was half-inside the parking garage, half-outside, and sat against a concrete block. A bit later - perhaps around 7 pm - a yellow truck came into the parking lot, skidded a bit, and landed in a parking space. I told AM that this is probably how our car got in such trouble. Not a minute later, a red truck came in, did the same thing, but toppled over on its side. The owner got out of the truck, swearing, and went over to confront the guy in the yellow truck. A crowd formed around them, and they started fighting. They also had guns. Suddenly we all realized we weren't safe and people started to lie down on the ground. I grabbed AM and we hid behind the concrete block, as low to the ground as possible, which was kind of useless considering we were about 12 feet above where the action was going on. When people started getting up and running for the exit, we decided to do the same thing. We jumped down from the wall and lost ourselves in the crowd. We got through the door, outside the Walmart, and at that point we were safe. But we had left our cell phones on that grassy area, so after the excitement died down, we went back out to the grassy area (from the outside of the Walmart) and picked up our phones, which were still lying there.

I figured no one was going to come fix this problem unless I called 911, so I finally did. The 911 operator sounded bored, and when I told her that there had been an accident and I needed someone to come handle it, she asked if anyone was hurt and I said no, so she told me it wasn't an emergency. Instead of arguing, I hung up the phone and decided to try again, but this time when I called 911 the phone just rang and rang. Finally I did reach someone else, but they couldn't understand what had happened and after all this time - perhaps now it was 9 at night - no one had come to help us. At this point, I realized my gun was missing, but figured it was probably for the best, because if the cops came, I didn't want to have an unlicensed gun on my person, and I didn't know how to shoot it anyway. AM was getting excited about the idea that we would have a rental car that insurance would pay for, and I told him not to give up just yet, that the police would come and fix the problem. I did understand that the car was probably undrivable, but at this point, the police HAD to come. If they didn't, it was a failure on my part.

Bits and Pieces

I have to start writing my dreams down again. I need to remember these things, I know it. Sometimes I don't write them because they are a bit shocking even to myself. But I should still write. Shouldn't I?

Here are a few things I remember:

From the summer, silk sheets and a round blue bed. Negotiations. Superficial beauty and all the things that surround that. What is it that is wanted? Not all that glitters. It is funny how in my dreams and in real life, I end up wanting the same things.

In mid-fall, I found myself writing a novel in my dream. In order to write this novel I had to spend time in a Victorian mansion to find out what it was like. I lived every word of the stories that I wrote, beautiful, historical, romantic. What would life be like after the novel was published?

Last night I dreamt of a large house, perhaps early-mid 20th century, with peaked ceilings of wood and the most beautiful chandeliers, one of which I knocked down with a long metal rod and had to clean it up. It was not my house. AM and RS were still roommates and it was their house. They shared a room that had twin captain beds with navy blue bedspreads. I felt less bad that I had destroyed their chandelier than that I was clumsy.

Everything in my dreams is more sophisticated, more refined, more dark and mysterious, more mahogany, than the life I experience (less orange though, usually.) It is the world of Sherlock Holmes and a thousand mystery novels. It is crystal chandeliers, magnifying glasses, fragrant oils, analog, wood and metal, no plastic, urgent skies, reassuring humidity. It is time to think and to write, no hurrying, conversations of truth and beauty, authenticity, and trust. It is the world I believe in, the one I want to make real. But does reality have time enough for this?