8-29 daysleep

It took me many different places, like most dreams. I worked through part of it, clawing at a mountain with others. Then it became an evangelism conference, or revival. I sat a long ways toward the back with Beth. The place was packed with well groomed college aged kids like the types I didn’t like at OBU, mindlessly smart & certain. I scoffed at them, scoffed at the order of service. Laughed out loud, loudly when there was a joke & if any turned their heads to see who was laughing behind them, I met their eyes until they looked away. Once, I laughed when the speaker wasn’t meaning to be funny & it lead the crowd to laughter – thinking they should laugh also.
The next night I rode to the conference with Rich Miller from the boat job, & Andy & some young attractive skinny girls. I asked Rich about work, 3 weeks on 3 off etc. & catching up on different people. When we got there I was starving, standing in the foyer my stomach was eating itself. I had two uncooked hot pockets or pot pies rapped in their clear packages in my pockets. Some one mentioned beer & in our hands appeared two packs of beer to drink afterwards with the girls. We took the beer out to the trunk.
Later I went back out to the parking lot by myself to put my potpies in the trunk also, trying to imagine what the night would be like with these skinny girls that would be drunk after two beers. I pictured our dingy room where we were staying & wondered where the girls would sleep & thought that it wouldn’t bother me if one crawled in bed with me.
When I reached the car and popped the trunk there was an elderly woman standing there. She had silvery hair & astute, keen eyes. “You probably think I don’t know you.” She said. I smiled & said something, stalling, quickly trying to figure out who she was. She knew Mom & Dad & had something to do with the Utah-Idaho, Southern Baptist Association. Maybe her husband was one of Dad’s long time friends. “You think you can come and go and no one will recognize you . . . but I’ve seen you over many years. I know who you are.” I looked at her squarely.
“Who am I?” I asked & I gave her my full open face, trying to be unhidden, my lip twitched once or twice as I waited.
The question made her stop & she looked at me, purely, sincerely, like for the first time, she was considering the question & coming up with an answer. Without an ounce of meanness she said, “You’re a liar. That’s what you are.” I put my arms on the back of the (truck now) & leaned my head on my forearms, staring at the ground, in a position one might use to vomit or spit long strands. “You never dealt with your cousin’s death,” she said.
“What do you do?” I asked, knowing I hadn’t written what I needed to write but other than that what could I do?
“Well,” she said, “I am impressed you made it out of that. There was enough tears and crying there to fill up a room, wasn’t there?”