Dream Journey

Dream Journey

I'm on a train traveling south. It's some kind of commuter train with lots of men in suits and brief cases. I know it's a short trip, but I'm not sure where I'm going.

Suddenly, the train jerks to a stop, rocks back and forth, and then lurches forward. Everybody's asking what's wrong and whining that they'll be late for appointments. No one seems to know what's going on. I look out the window and see a vast expanse of open farmland. Two speeding commuters are racing side by side in the same northerly direction. Were going back, back to where we came from, I tell myself sure that everything will be all right.

The countryside slows down and merges into the out skirts of a California city. Signs outside the window flash "Modesto." This is my stop I'm thinking, but I'm wondering if I'm at the right section of the city. Your stop may be the next one, I'm telling myself as I retrieve my brief case and exit the car.

I walk off the platform and look for a sign of something familiar. I think I recognize some buildings in the distance skyline. I'm coming up on a few city houses huddled together outside a factory district that seems to stretch for several blocks. I spot an elderly looking man, who looks like he might be the stationmaster. "Is there a shuttle run from here to center city?" I ask noticing that I've picked up the wrong brief case. This one is more modern and expensive than mine.

The stationmaster tells me there are a couple lines that run into the city. “There are companies there where you can get an equity loan, or low interest credit cards. But the next train doesn't leave until four- thirty," he tells me.

"I want to get there by five o’clock," I tell the master wondering if I could walk.

"I don't think you want to venture into those streets," he answers stroking the small kitten on his arm. It seems to me that we are not in Modesto. This more like the outskirts of Philadelphia where I grew up. Or, maybe Oakland where I drove cab in the seventies, I’m telling myself

I'm still trying to figure where we are. "Can I make it to... ahhh, Sears by five o’clock?" I ask.

" 'Course you might make it all right. The whole thing depends on the kitten," he tells me lifting the feline to his face and kissing it.

I'm two or three blocks into the city streets wishing that I had waited for the train. There or groups of city people mostly young black teens playing in the streets. One group runs right in front of me. I wonder if I should turn back. The oldest of the three boys stops and asks me what I have in the bag. He wrestles it from my hands as the younger boys approach. The bag falls to the ground and opens. It's an older bag than mine, and empty inside. "Yea, now you don't want it," I say in a joking way as the boys race off. "When you thought it was full of money and drugs, it was different," I call thinking it's not worth carrying all the way to my destination, but maybe if I keep it I can trade it back for my own.

I walk a couple more blocks into the streets still not sure if I should continue. Two young blonde headed girls dance towards me. "Oh you're my long lost uncle come to rescue me out of the slums,” says the young budding teen in an actress voice. The younger girl mimic's her. It flashes through my mind that she might be trying to lure me into a trap. I wonder how much money I have in my wallet. The young actress dances closer and puts her face in mine. "My rich uncle come to rescue me," she sings and flashes her blue eyes. " Come and dance with us," she sings as her and the younger girl slide down a side street. Temptation enters my mind, but I tell myself, "No... no, I have to finish my journey."

I'm on the other side of center city, now. I'm walking though a tiny town in the San Joaquin Valley. In a couple blocks I pass The Exit Club, a grocery store, a gas station, another grocery store, a post office, a drive-in- bank, two churches, and a neighborhood park. On the other side of the school grounds I'm back in the country again. I follow a dirt road through acres and acres of grape vines, pass row after row of truck crops; a picker's bus slows down and parks at the side of the road across the way. Then, I come up on a stand of almond groves. Almond trees stretching all the way to the inner costal mountain range some sixty miles across the valley...

I’m back where I belong. I’ve finished my journey, I tell myself.