Dreamed 1977/4/3 by Wayan
THE LAST THREE WEEKS
My girlfriend Kay tests pregnant. Plans to get an abortion, but just before the appointment she picks a huge fight with me and doesn't go.
In her next rage, she throws a ceramic teapot in my face and breaks my nose. I just push the cartilage back straight. It keeps going crooked over the next couple of weeks and I keep popping it back. After three weeks it seems to be healing almost straight.
Kay deals with breaking my nose by simply denying it! I'm just exaggerating. "I have a right to express my anger" she says.
Her right sure has funny timing: every time she has an appointment at the clinic, a big rage just happens to pre-empt it...
Camping in the city park, Kay tells me bitterly "I have a plan. I'm going to Berkeley, rent a room, and leave you. By 2-3 PM I'll be out of your life". I wish. But I doubt it.
Right to doubt it. She starts packing, shifts to quarreling, and we end up still here. Stuck in a Motel 5--worse than a Motel 6. Horrible allergies to something here.
Watch TV: see Bergman's "Scenes from a Marriage". It's unhappy, but... I'd rather be them than us.
NOTES IN THE MORNING
This dream, like others at this dark time, warned me to quit being a stoic Tomato Fatalist and leave Kay, or I'd die. Mrs Sharp's opening shot is of course Kay breaking my nose. Would I start hitting back if I stayed?
I overruled the dream's warning because I'd been taught you never abandon a pregnant girlfriend--no matter what.
What happened? I stayed fifteen months more. Kay went on sabotaging the abortion she said she wanted, had the baby--we were homeless and living in a van by then--and was forced to arrange an in-family adoption when her clinic realized the baby wasn't safe. Soon as she gave up the child, I left. I never considered raising him alone; two years of constant vigilance had nearly killed me. I was emaciated, shaking, and shitting blood. My convalescence took years.
Looking back, it's ironic I felt I was at the end of my strength. What came next was the worst year of my life. But I'd been warned.
The doemare? Dreams themselves--and the shy creatures in them, who slowly nursed me back.
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