Here’s a dream from last night.
A disused porch is reduced to a passage from the kitchen at
the rear of the house to the yard; we rarely play there any more. There’s not
much of the house that I’ve ever known, just the kitchen, though I know it
well. My brother G is excited for a party at the house tonight. The party is
soon and I’m anxious. I can see that no preparations have been made, and the
house is fragile and worn, barely standing. People shouldn’t come here. They should go elsewhere.
The kitchen is clean and presentable. I stand in its door
looking at the mess on the porch. For the party, we can just close the door, but
that would block access to the yard, and it’s better to have people outside the
house. I start to move broken furniture and withered plants to open a path. The
junk can be pushed aside so no one thinks to bother it or explore beyond it.
I find a ball of flowers on a strand. It occurs to me that I
can unravel the ball and drape the strand over the junk, making it look
deliberate, like a festive ruin. My mom is at the kitchen door, saying this is
right, that’s how it used to be done. I’m angry and bothered. Let’s not think
this can be fixed, I think, only made a temporary passage. It’s still a bad
idea that people are coming.
My brother pushes into the porch, making his way to a sink
in a corner near the yard, disrupting piles as he does so. He wants to wash up
and brush his teeth. He’s oblivious to disrupting my tasks. I’m annoyed but
keep it to myself. I’ll wait until he’s done to resume. He’s using a
complicated electric toothbrush that is filthy, its parts stored on a plywood
shelf more suited to a garden shed. He’s talking over his shoulder, excited
about the party.
In the corner, I see a small toilet with water in a
disgusting bowl. The seat is partially covered by a glass shelf holding a
withered plant. I think that I could cover the shelf with more junk so no one
sees the filth or tries to use the toilet, but I find myself moving the pot to
clean the shelf and the toilet bowl. It’s not useful but at least it doesn’t
look repulsive. My brother lifts a foot into the bowl and flushes, repeating to
wash both feet. Now I think I should removed the glass shelf so those who use
it won’t be injured. Someone standing could piss into the small space left by
the shelf, but no seated person could use it. A woman, oblivious to me, sits on
the shelf and uses her fingers to direct her stream into the space. I think,
well, if that’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.
My brother and the woman leave. I clean up after them,
resenting the extra work. A friend of my mom’s sees me cleaning the parts of my
brother’s toothbrush and offers to give me a new one. I resent her intrusion
but reply politely that I don’t need a new one, I’m only cleaning an old one.
She replies that I need one as well. I take it, thanking her, and return to my
task. She suggests I try out her gift. I begrudgingly examine it before
admitting that I don’t understand the attachments. She shows me how it’s used
and, I admit, it’s nice to use. Only now I need to clean the shelf, which I had
intended to skip. I try to group the items I find: toothbrush components,
shoeshine kit, sewing items.
People wander into the porch as I clean. A large man in
black pants and a cheap white shirt looks around. I know he is providing
security for the party and I feel love for him; still, I want him to move on.
Hearing a noise in the yard, he pulls out a handgun, pointing it into the
darkness. I’m annoyed that his will keep him on the porch. The noise is
revealed to be children playing in a field beyond the yard. The man puts away
his gun.
I move to the next corner, crowded with untended plants. Two
kids in fairy costumes join me. I move them away from fragile, dry plants,
offering them a narrative detour in their play, indicating another area where
they can explore. (This is the only interaction I initiate in the dream.) I
notice a small sprig and move away some weeds to plant it. Now I’m weeding the
pots and sweeping up around them.
I remember the strand of flowers, still a ball attached to
the parts I’ve already draped. I return to lifting it over potted trees. The
lower leaves are just about my head; above are spindly dead branches. Mom
returns to the door behind me with friends. They encourage me to lift the
strands over the dead branches, reminding me that this is how it used to be
done. I feel another surge of anger. I can’t make this how it was or better it,
I can only make it more passable. Still, I stretch to raise the stands higher
and see that it does look nice.
The kids are playing in the yard. I can hear guests talking
and laughing in the kitchen behind me. I’m alone surveying the porch. I’ve
tidied it completely. Nothing new or fancy, just clean, lived in, cared for. My
brother joins me, happy. He tells me I’ve done a good job, adding he’d never
before noticed that the floor slanted. Of course not, I think: no one had ever
bothered with upkeep so no one has seen this space in our lifetimes. There’s
nothing I can do about the sloping floor, I think, as though to a rebuke.
Anyway, I like the way it sags. As my satisfaction in the completed tasks gives
way once more to anger, I decide to wake up, though I’ll miss the party.
Waking, I remain in bed, eyes closed, revisiting the dream,
holding the anger and then letting it go. I reflect on these words: let go of
the things people take from you.