Notes From My Journal: Chapter Forty

Notes From My Journal: Chapter Forty

It is June 24, 1974. My new bride and I enter a strange house. We are lost and ask the occupant for directions. The owner of the house, a middle aged dark haired man, tells us that we are way off the beaten path. He invites us to stay the night with him. After we accept his offer, he tells us that my bride must sleep in a chair in the den. I have to sleep on the front room couch. Our host will sleep next door in another house.

We have not yet consummated our marriage and dislike the prospect of separate beds. We both feel that there is something sinister about our host. As soon as he leaves, we switch beds.

I am lying in the den chair clad in my pajamas thinking of my bride in the next room. I decide to sneak into the front room. I go in and lay my head in my bride’s lap. She strokes my head and asks if we can make love, now. “We better wait a few minutes. He may not be asleep yet,” I tell her.

A surge of unseen power permeates the room. We are both frightened. “Let’s get dressed and get out of here,” I tell my bride. I breathe a deep sigh of relief as we walk into the den for our suitcase. We discover that the old man has returned. His hair has turned to snow white. His face is old and wrinkled. For a moment, I am very frightened. I take a step toward our host and watch him shrivel into a corner in terror. He grows older before our eyes. From both hands he dangles cheap toys toward us. “Please stay… Please stay…” he begs with out stretched hands.

It flashes through my mind that he must suck the life out of the young women who lie in his den chair. “We were lucky to escape his grasp,” I tell myself.

It is a couple of days later. I’m walking through the streets of Philadelphia with my father. Some kind of disaster has occurred. Our home has been destroyed. We are looking for a place to spend the night. As we walk through the red brick building lined streets, I realize that we are deep in the ghetto. Without words, my father and I communicate to each other that staying here in unsafe. The winter evening is coming on. We speed up our pace trying to reach a better section of the city before dark. Every so often, a teenage black steps out of the shadows and attempts to engage my father and I in a playful boxing match. Each time, we brush him off and quicken our pace. We know that to reach our goal, we must pass a green Sears sign. The sign appears in the distance and we hurry toward it. No word ever passes between us during our walk, but we are in close communication the whole time.

It’s later the same night. I’m at a house near the ocean with Alex and several other friends. It suddenly occurs to me that I have spent a whole month here without once going for a walk on the beach. I leave the house and hurry toward the beach that is a hundred yards away. As I climb over an outcropping of rocks that block my path to the water’s edge, I discover a huge hanger. Inside are a number of people who are milling around a number of aircraft, motorcycles, and cars.

I walk to a twin engine Beech that belongs to Alex. I check the oil and find it several quarts low. I see an oil pump not far from the aircraft. There are several young men working near the pump. When I ask, “Who does the oil pump belong to?” One of the men says that it is his.

When I return to the house, I find Alex at the bathroom sink. “Do you have any oil for you plane?” I ask. He tells me it’s up for sale like everything else, and that I’m not to worry about the oil.

A couple days go by. I’m sitting in my old house in Willows. From my front room window, I watch two back teenagers chase a third boy. They take something from him, tease him awhile and then give it back. As I continue to watch, they chase another boy. He gets into an automobile and they take his keys away.

In a short time the number of boys outside has increased to half a dozen. They are harassing everyone who walks by. I wonder if I should go outside and chase them away. I think maybe I should call the police. I do nothing, just sit and watch.

When I look at the driveway to the side of the house, I see the used Henry J convertible that I just bought parked there. The boys are in the car looking through books and pamphlets on the back seat. I rush out side to chase them away. They are gone in a second. I stand and wonder if they made off with some of my valuable junk.

Another day goes by. I’m walking down a narrow path with Anne, Alex, and Sara. The path turns into a narrow stream. We step carefully from rock to rock trying to keep our feet dry. We come to a tavern and duck inside. At a table we order a round of beers laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

It’s later the same day. I’m in a crowded Philadelphia tavern. I’ve made a special trip to town for a visit with my parents. My father and my Uncle Lee are on the knees involved in some kind of gambling game, a combination of dice and matching coins. I watch from my stool with my brother, Sonny. My father seems to be turning up the best hands. Yet, each time as he is on the verge of winning, Uncle Lee turns over the winning coin. My father wages more money with each bet. As he does, Uncle Lee confidently matches each wager knowing in advance that he will win. I am sure that my uncle is cheating, but don’t know what I should do.

My brother leans toward me and in a low voice asks if he could borrow some money. “My friend Rick has a home in the desert. He wants me to come stay with him for a while. I need six dollars for cab fare.”

“Will six dollars be enough to take a cab all the way to the desert?”

“That will be enough. Rick is meeting be part way.”

A loud voice proclaims that Rick doesn’t really have a house in the desert, that Sonny doesn’t go to dances and things with him, that Sonny makes up these stories just to impress me. I can tell by the look on Sonny’s face that what the voice says is true. I turn to the bar tender and ask for four glasses of beer. He sets a glass in front of Sonny and me. I carry a glass to my father and Uncle Lee. They express much thanks for my thoughtfulness. I discover a third party with my dad and uncle. I go back to get my beer and give it to him. I still fee anger at my uncle because he is cheating my father.

Looking at these dream fragments from 2011, I see that my unconscious is telling me that there was much in my past that was still unsettled. The fear and indecisiveness that I felt back then came from buried ‘I’s that were exerting psychological pressure on my every day life.