Thursday, August 11, 2005

Lunch with Mom & Dad

The last part of a much longer dream... most of which I can’t remember, but it involved a lot of family business and a lot of driving around.

Mom and Dad had come to visit and their visit was almost over (in the waking world, Dad passed away last year). We were in Old Sacramento, near the railroad museum when we said our goodbyes. I was going to go home and do some errands but decided to get some lunch first.

Mom and Dad had walked toward the part of old Sac where the sidewalks are boardwalks, like an old west town. I was wearing my bicycle togs but wasn’t riding. I got in my car - a huge white Buick Park Avenue station wagon (!) - and drove across a gravel parking lot toward the same area. It had rained recently and the car slogged through big deep muddy puddles. The parking lot was empty, so I pulled into a space by some wooden stairs that led up to the boardwalk. Mom and Dad saw me and stopped to wait.

Dad was wearing a black suit, white shirt and a tie. He was also wearing a very severe expression. Mom was looking forward to doing some shopping and when I walked up to them I said, “Have you had lunch yet? Do you want to get something to eat before shopping?”

We agreed to have lunch. We were right across the street from a pasta place, but I didn’t want pasta because I’d been eating a lot of pasta lately. Directly in front of us was a place that sold these sort of Mediterranean wraps. There were brushed silver metal doors over the counter where you ordered, each door labeled with an ingredient you could have on your wrap. One ingredient sounded particularly good to me - I forget exactly what but it might have been lentils. We decided to eat there.

Inside, an ex-football player was making a speech to the crowd of people eating. It was a homophobic tirade. At one point he said, “Gay people don’t deserve a childhood!” This absolutely incensed me and I walked around the restaurant counter to confront him.

I was furious and although he was much bigger and younger than me, I was ready to fight. I didn’t care that I’d probably be injured, I just wanted to beat the crap out of this jerk. Very uncharacteristic of how I’d react in the waking world. I grabbed a black metal bar from - like the leg of a cash register or some sort of machine and was ready to bean him with it when I woke up with a start... heart racing, troubled and and unhappy. As I was waking up I remember saying, “God, I’m depressed.” It was like the physical fight was an inevitability I had to confront but just could not bear.