I was at a gathering of some sort, like a family gathering, only it wasn’t my family. There was a woman there that I called “Mom,” but she didn’t look like my mother, she looked like Sally Field with graying hair and spectacles.
The people in the living room and the kitchen were making a terrible mess, getting food all over the place, and I was the only one cleaning up after them. Every time a piece of food fell, I felt like I had to pick it up. I would talk to the people sometimes, but only in disagreeable exchanges.
There was a lot of other weirdness, including a baby in a bag of apples that could talk (the baby, not the apples), but I don’t think that stuff mattered much.
I finally saw this one woman in a black coat. She was tall, red-haired and athletic-looking. She grabbed me and pushed me halfway out of a nearby window. Apparently, she thought I was someone who had committed a horrible crime, I guess she was some kind of cop, and she was trying to prove my guilt.
I called for my mother (or for Sally Field, at any rate), but she didn’t come. I asked the cop if she had done something to her, and the cop replied that she was dead.
The cop was looking at my recent self-made cuts, and she opened my shirt to see the scars on my chest. She said something like, “You do this to get high? You do this to forget about what you did? You cut and do drugs because you feel guilty?”
I tried to tell her I didn’t do drugs, I told her I’d only smoked marijuana once. (Which was true – I only smoked one joint in my life, the time I hooked up with that couple from FetLife at a local motel. But that’s not really part of this story.)
The cop started mentioning the names of all these other drugs, and I kept telling her that I didn’t know what any of them were, that I’d never taken them before. She didn’t mention my drinking, which I thought was odd, but since she wasn’t bringing it up, I didn’t, either. I kept trying to tell her that I didn’t feel guilty about anything, that I hadn’t done what she thought I did, but she wasn’t buying it.
That was when her partners appeared in the hallway. I think there were two of them, a woman and a big guy in a red hoodie.
The guy said something like, “If she’s a witch like her mother, she’ll burn in the sunlight.”
Then I realized – or maybe I’d already known it was there, I’m not sure – that the red-headed cop must have put something on top of my head when she pushed me out the window. She took it off now, and I felt sure that this would prove my innocence. But, much to my surprise, the top of my head began to smoke.
The cop let me fall out the window, I guess she thought that would kill me, but I fell to the ground slowly and hit with hardly any impact. This was the first time I was saved in the dream.
The cops appeared as if by magic. They had come to finish me off. The guy in the red hoodie lifted a scythe to cut off my head, but just at that moment, a huge red wagon (just like a Radio Flyer) appeared in the street, and a voice called for me to jump in. So I did. This was the second save.
The guy in the red hoodie chased the wagon with the scythe, trying to catch me. The wagon crashed into him and threw him off balance, but he got up again and followed after me. The wagon hit him a second time, knocking the scythe out of his hand. Third save.
I looked and saw that the wagon was headed for an opening between trees. It crashed through the trees and into a river. I knew that the cops were following, I think I could hear them yelling.
In the river, the wagon immediately began to sink, but before it did, I came to an overpass. A man who looked just like Christopher Lloyd from the movie Dennis the Menace held his hand out to me and pulled me up onto the overpass. Fourth save.
The man led me to a narrow street nearby. Suddenly I found myself walking a small dog on a leash. The river ran next to the street.
Now it was dark, and I looked at the closed doors on my right-hand side. An outdoor light came on, illuminating the back door of a dilapidated-looking place. The light was the last “sign” (the last save) in the dream. When the light came on, I knew the dream was almost over.
The most significant thing about it all was the rapidity with which the signs took place, like blinks of an eye, even though it takes longer to write them all down. It was like riding a rollercoaster. Well, I guess the Radio Flyer part really was like riding a rollercoaster.
Now, the door under the light opened, and a teenage boy appeared. He told me to come in.
There were plastic containers littering the steps that led down to the door, and the boy began moving them so the dog could get through. I handed the dog to the boy and asked, “Is my mother here?”
The boy said something like, “Yeah, I think so,” and I glanced into the place, trying to catch sight of the woman who looked like Sally Field.
Ever since the wagon appeared in the dream, there was a song playing in my head. It was a song that doesn’t actually exist, as sometimes happens when I’m dreaming. But it had a clear melody, and I can still remember it.
It only had two lines that kept replaying. I’m not sure about the last word of the first line, but I know that it rhymed with the last word of the second line. It was either of these:
This is my blood and this is my bone
This is my blood, I won’t let go.
This is my blood and this is my soul
This is my blood, I won’t let go.
I guess it doesn’t make much difference, either way.
I don’t usually get many signs from God, I sometimes envy my mother because she has occasional visions, so this was out-of-the-ordinary for me. But I did feel better when I woke up, like the dream had been a genuine message that I wasn’t alone.