Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Spider Tangled in Blonde Hair and Mentally/Physically Handicapped Man in Army Fatigues

I'm standing in a bathroom. All white; white tiles, white fixtures, big white bathtub. There is a girl with long  blonde hair sitting in the tub, laying with her knees bent and just barely sticking out of the water. We're talking (can't remember what about) and I see a large, hairy, spiny, dark brown spider on the side of her right leg, just above the water. I can see the ripples just barely touching its legs. I can see it's reflection shaking in the tiny waves.
Trying not to make any sudden movements, I tell her quietly about the spider. "It's a big one." I say.
She thrashes violently in the tub and the spider falls into the water as she's flailing. It is floating, legs spread far apart to keep it at the surface.
She can't get out of the tub fast enough and I watch the spider as it floats and tangles itself into her long, wet hair.
She's tearing at her scalp, trying to shake the spider free without touching it. She's pulling her hair out in chunks but the spider keeps getting more and more tangled.
I don't help her. I just stare. I don't want it to get on me.

Time Travel

My mother and I are driving on Pulver Road in Burlington
(my ex-husband lived on that road and I called him for some information yesterday so that's why it was that specific road).
We're driving at night and there aren't any streetlights. My mother is driving and I'm sitting in the front passenger seat when I notice movement on the right shoulder. I see a shadow moving and to the right, down near the ground, I see quick single bursts of bright light. As we get closer, I see that it is a man, fully dressed in green jungle camouflage with strings of bullets crossed over his shoulders in the shape of an 'x'. He has the calf-high walnut brown leather lace up boots; his pant legs tucked sloppily inside. He has a camouflage "fisherman's" hat on, covering his head and concealing his face from my view.
In his right hand, hanging with the barrel just above the ground, I see that he is holding a large gun. I don't recognize what kind (I'm not familiar with guns) but it's a gun that the bullets neatly wrapped around his torso would fit into. (Think, Rambo).
I see the gun, dangling from his hand,, with his index finger on the trigger. As he steps, the gun shoots the ground.
I rhetorically ask my mother, "Why is he doing that? Why is his finger on the trigger?" And I start to dial
I get the voice mail box (If you call 9-1-1 in Everett, chances are, you'll have to leave a message...true story).
I'm trying to express the urgency of the situation in my voice while also trying not to work myself into a panic. We slowly drive by him and he raises his head, then his eyes to mine and starts to lift the gun.
The gun is BIG, he struggles to lift it with his one hand. He swings it to get momentum. (Think, Texas Chainsaw Massacre).
We drive by as time moves in slow-motion. He brings up the gun, and shakily aims it in our direction and fires several shots, none of which strike our car.
I look in the mirrors as we pass him and he keeps walking, slowly limping along as if nothing had happened. He walks along the road until he comes to a house with a bright light shining through a picture window with the white wooden blinds closed within.
I call 9-1-1 again and try to describe what I'm seeing.
The man, stumbles down a small embankment into the yard. The grass is green where the light is on it and the dew on the tips is reflecting brightly. He drags his dirty leather boots through the grass, towards the window and puts the funnel-shaped barrel of the gun (now turned into a musket) against the glass and waits.
(Even though I'm technically in the car still, it's as if I'm standing right behind him to his right).
I see the shadow of a man, walking towards the picture window. I can make out a baseball cap and what might be suspenders over a button down shirt in his silhouette. I tense my shoulders as I see his hand shadow reach toward the blinds.
The gun goes off. The glass doesn't shatter, or break at all, but the man's shadow falls back out of frame.

Time Travel

My mother and I are driving on S. Front Street in Clear Lake (the street they live on). It's dark and raining and I see the man again. Same situation; he's walking, almost limping along clumsily. He's shooting the ground as he steps. We drive past slowly again and he turns to look at us.
I'm instantly terrified. I replay the other moment when our eyes met in my head. I feel dizzy.
I call 9-1-1 from my cell phone and get someone on the line.

Time Travel

I'm in the living room at my parents' house and I'm frantically telling my father what my mother and I had witnessed. I tell him I saw the man outside on the street before we got to the house. He goes to the kitchen, into the front room, and looks out the window on the main door.
The flood light kicks on as the limping, dragging man trips the sensor.

Time Travel

I'm in my old bedroom. Looking out the window into the front yard. The light outside reminds me of dawn; light pinkish with orange highlights. He's walking toward the front porch, which is to my right. I have a musket in my hands now.
He's shooting carelessly towards the front door. Arms swaying, torso twisting.
I gently, gently slide the window open. Trying to simultaneously break the air-seal while he fires shots, so he can't hear me open it.
I open it slowly, and place the wide barrel against the screen.
I'm wondering how the bullets will act; does this gun shoot one round at a time? Will I have to reload immediately after? Will it shoot pellets like with a shotgun? Do I have to be at a closer range to hit him?

Then I wake up.

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