Telling the Truth

The key to speaking clearly and directly in situations of danger is simple, isn’t it? Forget about survival. My own, that is.

Which brings me to my recent nightmare. Here’s a short version, followed by what troubles me about this nightmare.

I’m at an event I agreed to lead. It’s late in the evening. D is with me. I’ve never been here before, and I don’t know anyone around the table. They don’t seem eager to be there.

A couple of men, black and white, come in and sit in a row of chairs facing the table, not pulled up to the table. They look unhappy, determined not to cooperate with me or with the group, which includes D, other men, and women.

I begin the rehearsal. Of what? I don’t know. It’s supposed to be a musical production. The group’s energy is low. We’re doing all right until a man at the table says something out of order. I call him on it. He backs down, unhappy.

Two or three more men walk in to join the men not sitting around the table. They’re all glaring at me. One becomes even more disruptive with comments and threats.

Before and during this time, I walk around the house. Body parts are lying here and there. After the entrance of more men I take a break and walk out on the back porch. I feel uneasy. I look around and see the partially dismembered body of a woman lying there. Fully clothed, no arms, and I can’t see her head.

I adjourn the meeting and leave immediately with D, who is driving the car. We’re on a deserted road with few street lights. We’re going to our overnight accommodations, at the end of a long driveway. D misses the driveway and quickly pulls off the road.

The car behind us zooms by and comes to a screeching halt just in front of us. The driver gets out. There are other men in the car.

The driver walks back toward the driver’s side. I recognize his face (one of the men not at the table) and tell D not to put the window down, and to sit on the car horn. Just as he does this I wake up, my heart pounding, afraid for my life.

Things I don’t like about this nightmare:

• I haven’t a clue why I agreed to do this, or what the musical program is about.
• I see body parts lying around the house even before I begin the meeting, but say nothing.
• I’m being intimidated, especially by the men on the row facing the table.
• I never speak directly to the row of men.
• I go on as though things were normal, even after seeing a dismembered woman’s body on the porch.
• I don’t consult with anyone, not even with D, about what might be going on and what to do next.
• My focus is on the row of men glaring at me, and on my survival.

Creative rewrite coming next!

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 November 2017
Image found at pinterest.com