Dream, dream, dream

My Wednesday night men's group is talking about dreams this week, and they say that writing them out makes it easier to see what's going on. These three dreams occurred within a few days of each other, so I'm thinking of them as parts I, II, and III of a single narrative in somebody's bildungsroman.

I.

I have company at a house where I am a visitor. A bunch of people have dropped by all at once, some of whom I recognize from long ago in college, so I have to scramble a bit to find a place for everyone to sit down. Since I don't even live in this house, it was tricky, but we find an upstairs room with enough chairs. I asked everyone what they would like to drink - water, juice, beer - and everyone wanted beer. Luckily the fridge was well-stocked with several kinds of beer, so I brought two different brands in tiny bottles. Then everyone dispersed to different parts of this big, rambling, multi-story house. My son Jessi Golly showed me around, since he was more familiar with the place, and when I found the bathroom, I was joined there by several other people who live in the house.

II.

I'm taking a bus ride with a young girl in my care, and she is pushing the boundaries of safety, which is annoying the surly female busdriver. At one point I look up from my seat and the girl is leaning out the window to touch a passing car, and I quickly pull her back in. A minute later she's leaning even further out, fully extended so she is putting her weight on the other car. I leap up, but too late, as the car passes the bus, and the girl falls to the ground, sliding along the pavement. Miraculously, she is okay, but the bus takes off, leaving us both to walk.

We pass a roadhouse bar with a few suspicious characters standing outside, but they appear to be harmless as long as we ignore them, except the last one, who spits over a barbed wire fence in our direction. As it gets dark, we hitch a ride with the first car to pass. The next thing I know we've arrive safely at our destination and go to sleep in the upstairs room of an old house. During the night, Jessi arrives and unrolls his sleeping bag in the hallway, smiling.

III.

Jessi and I are in Capetown, South Africa, getting ready to board a train going north. The station is a large, busy place with travelers, porters, clerks, and baggage going here and there. We don't have much time, but we do have our tickets. I go back to my car, parked outside the station, to get some clothes, and on the way back I pause to fold and carry them properly, knowing I'm using up precious time, and when I get back to the station, our train is pulling out with Jessi on it. I walk outside and up a long stairway, just in case there's a way to intercept the train, and I watch the train traverse a long hill as a crowd of people go about their business. When I return to the station to try to find out when the next train leaves, the clerks have either left for the day or don't speak English, but Flipper, a friend from my office, is in the station and helps me figure out what to do next.