Taking, or accepting, responsibility

Copy­right 2005 Ben S. Pollock

Fri­day, Jan­u­ary 28, 2005: Recall­ing a dream is not where I want to go with Brick. But what the heck. It’s a Brick. It doesn’t go any­where until heaved. That’s Krazy Kat’s down­fall, he real­izes just as he sees one head­ing toward him from Ignatz Mouse, too late to duck.

It’s from two nights ago, but it wants to stay in my mind. For­tu­nately it’s short.

Scene is “our” kitchen, though not a house we’ve had in wak­ing life. My wife is there, and Dad is too (though he died in 1985 and why am I not yet dream­ing of Mom who passed two months ago?) Our cat Tiki is at our ankles (In real time, Tiki is a res­cued stray, very strong, a mouser, birder and who knows what else (a neigh­bor once saw him kill a rab­bit) yet is extra­or­di­nar­ily affectionate).

It is night, and on the glar­ingly lit kitchen floor is a rel­a­tively large scor­pion. It is fist-size and cream-colored (as opposed to finger-size and brown).

I decide to cap­ture it so Tiki won’t. He’d get stung, hav­ing never seen one; scor­pi­ons are essen­tially non-existent in the Ozarks, that’s what I’m thinking.

End of dream. Don’t know if I caught the crit­ter or killed it or took it out­side, or how.

What I do know is the odd feel­ing I’ve been left with, that I was the only actor. My wife had no sug­ges­tions, and nor­mally she’d be vol­u­ble in such a cir­cum­stance. My father just stood there, but wasn’t this the sort of event that dad­dies take charge of? Tiki was in no rush to inves­ti­gate the intruder, not like my clever tom at all.

Never mind any sym­bol­ism or par­tially recalled mem­o­ries that may be part of the under­stand­ing of this dream. What I do know is that “it” was all up to me. –30–

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