WE’RE TOGETHER ON AN OLD FARM, one with a huge barn. We’re buying it. I say, “In New England, we build a woodshed connecting the house and barn.”
We enter and it’s a banquet hall, where she stands apart with a group of girlfriends. Sees a fire door and opens it. The alarm doesn’t go off. Instead, she’s in an anteroom, facing another door.
Told of the dream, she replies, “That’s good! I wasn’t afraid to open it.”
SHE’S WITH A NUMBER OF FORMER boyfriends and lovers, but knows it isn’t really them but someone else; each time, one would strip off his face like a mask. In time she identified the Lover as me, not by my face but by my HANDS.
AT THE MOTEL, I’M FLIRTING with two or three women. Maybe more?
As they pass each other, there’s friendship, not jealousy.
I’m supposed to run one – a newer one – to the airport, but each time I go out to the car, something else is missing from the dashboard. Speedometer, clock, etc. Stolen, stripped out overnight, while we slept. Not the hubcaps or battery, but the interior – controls – until I cannot drive anywhere.
Jnana's Red Barn 