About 20 years ago I started having a recurring dream that is so realistic and unsettling to me that I am almost relieved when I have it again because I somehow feel that as long as I continue to have the dream, no one has yet died.
Here it is – if anything or anyone seems familiar, speak up. Who knows, we could save a life or two.
I am standing on the side of a street right off of the road – looking across at a large two-storied older home that has a wrapped around front porch and the front steps lead out to the corner. I feel that it is around 10:00 a.m. and the day is cloudy and sometime in the fall. I somehow know that I am in southern Illinois; maybe it is because the weather is still warmer or maybe because of the small town feel. Either way, suddenly as I am stepping off onto the road, a small maroon pickup truck pulls up and parks right in front of me. I see the license plate and it is an Illinois truck plate with a maroon E, C and 9 on it. I don’t see the rest of the plate before I look up at the driver just getting out of the truck. I follow a young African-American man across the road to the house. He has on faded jeans and a light blue t-shirt. His converse are white but dirty.
Suddenly, he is already in the house but I am just walking up the steps. I can feel my weight on the steps and they are gray, just like the porch. The paint is chipping everywhere. I look up and I see the front screen door. It is bowed out as if it has felt so many hands pushing it open. I grab the small metal handle and open the door without knocking. I can hear an older woman crying somewhere in the home. She is so heartbroken. I know immediately she has lost someone so close and dear to her.
I turn to my left and walk into a large living room. There are pictures and figurines on the television and bookcase. I look at a few of the photos. In one photo I see a beautiful African-American woman that is dressed in purple and smiling a beautiful smile for the camera. I know that this is the woman crying. I hear her now and what she is saying. She is telling the young man that I followed into the house to leave, and that he is the cause of her pain. She is telling him that she knows it is him who killed her baby. I see another picture on the television and it is of a young beautiful girl holding and laughing with her younger brother. I know immediately that the young girl was murdered.
I open my eyes and I am standing at the bottom of a high levee. The sky looks as if it could rain any minute. When I look down, I see the young boy that was in the picture with the beautiful murdered girl. He is playing in the dirt and I am standing right behind him. He has on jeans and a red and blue striped t-shirt. I can see the band of his underwear and that one of his shoes is untied. I am trying to look around his shoulder to see what he is doing in the dirt. It looks like he has drawn graves in the dirt and is putting sticks that look like crosses on each grave. He looks up suddenly as if he hears something and when I look up I see the maroon truck coming. I am terrified for the little boy. He knows the young man killed his sister.
Suddenly I am at the top of the levee. I am standing behind the young man and I see that he has the young boy cradled in his arms. It doesn’t look like the young boy is moving. I try to reach out to him and he suddenly turns around and sees me. I can see the surprise on his face. He is shocked but somehow I am more afraid of him than he is of me. We are standing face to face with each other. He has a shorter haircut and light-caramel skin. His eyes are a lighter color brown and he is wearing a thin gold chain under his t-shirt. He is slim but well built.
Before I can do or say anything he pops the boy out of his arms and into mine. And then he pushes us both off of the levee. I can feel the weight of the boy crush me as we roll down to the bottom. I feel every mound of dirt and rock that resides on that hill. When we stop, at the bottom, I look over and I know the boy is dead. I wake up.
The Bad Example 