Dream Journal
I stood in a parking lot full of cars with a teenage boy and a girl. She was short and soft, he tall and lanky. They stood near the hood of one car, both of them staring into the windshield, his arm around her waist. I wondered what they were waiting for.
Then I was in a small house with a black man. The lights were dim, and the owner of the house came home but he didn’t see us. We were ghosts.
I walked around a table and knocked something to the floor; the man jumped. I picked up his coat tree, laden with jackets, and s hook it in front of him. He couldn’t see me, and the floating coat rack freaked him out. He heard a noise in the basement and went to check it out.
The black man and I huddle on our knees in a corner of the room with our faces on the dark wooden floor to hide from him. I heard the man come back into the room but I dared not look up at him. He stepped closer to us and said, “I can see you!”
I jumped, sure I was caught, but the black man grabbed my arm before I could knock something over. The man was kneeling behind us staring at the floor. I presumed he had found a mouse hole, so I put my face back on the floor.