DREAM

 

 

I had a dream… I had a dream about a crazy homeless man…a dirty crazy homeless man and I think it was in my apartment. He was hurt, he had a bandaged head and arm and trying to tell me he wasn’t always like this. He had a diary with scribbles and pictures. Turns out for a little while in his life he was kinda famous, almost someone of consequence, at least as the world saw it. I tried to peek at his diary, I tried to look at the things he’d written. I could see the scrawling on the paper but I couldn’t make out the words. He was a dirty crazy homeless man, and he was in my apartment…I think.

 He caught me looking so I scrambled to flip to the pages with pictures. At first, I thought they were actual photographs like in a photo album, but when I looked closer, I realized they were paper clippings that had been cut out and stuck on. Random pictures of him posing for shots, doing things. It was a scrapbook of his life.  For a little while he reminisced, he told me how he used to be someone …someone of consequence…his words stuck with me…he used to be someone of consequence, he mattered, at least for a little while. People knew he existed, and he was real. Now he was a dirty crazy homeless man. He kept talking… I kept looking at his diary…tracing the edges of the paper clippings that he had stuck on to the pages of his diary. The pages were hard and crinkly, like how paper gets when it’s been wet and then dried. I wondered how this diary had survived with this dirty crazy homeless man.

Something flashed, I looked up. The dirty crazy homeless man was standing by the window with his arms wide open staring at me. He had a halo that was blinking in and out. I realized he had pulled down a light bulb that was still attached to its wires and he was using it as a halo. He waved about, opening and shutting his mouth each time the light blinked in and out. Like a lighthouse in the rain. I noticed it was raining outside.  I hoped he wouldn’t get electrocuted; I didn’t want to have to call someone for help. Then I would have to explain why there was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. I didn’t want to have to explain.

 He must have seen it on my face, he got embarrassed and started freaking out. I was scared and he was freaking out. He knew he was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. That he was freaking out and I was scared. That it was not ok, he was not ok, nothing was ok. So, I told him what I had been doing. I told him its ok, I’m on vacation so it doesn’t matter. I told him how I hadn’t slept in 4 days, how I was broke and anxious and freaking out too. So I had told myself I could have a few days off. I told myself I could give myself a break. I could go on a bender if I wanted. Just for a day or two, just a little vacation from reality. So its ok that he’s a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment and its ok if I’m tired and hungry and scared. He stopped and looked at me, then he pulled out a foil wrapped roll from his raggedy jacket and gave it to me. I think it was an old burrito. He sat down and looked at his diary. He flipped through the pages, I looked at the burrito. I didn’t want to eat the dirty old burrito, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I looked for a place to put it down… you know, for later. I sat down next to the dirty crazy homeless man. I was tired and hungry and scared and he was freaked out. He told me he used to be someone of consequence and I told him I was scared.