In Dreams

Childhood memories tend to fade and then come back at the strangest moments. Except in dreams, where they're always present. My strange dream was spending the night at a friend's house, in fourth grade, and remembering the holes in the ceiling.

His dad was angry that night and his mom had locked the door. I don't know if he was drunk. I don't remember if I heard him beating it down from upstairs, though I must have. I don't even remember what he looked like, except that he was huge---even by adult standards, even taking into consideration my tiny body back then. I can't recall how much shouting there was. All I remember were the holes everywhere the next morning, and my friend sighing at yet another weekend.

His mom was there, the next morning, but not his dad. I am not sure if she was alright or if she was wearing a lot of makeup. She acted like nothing had happened. I didn't really understand what had been going on.

That was the first and last time I ever stayed over at his house. Everything about the memory is a little fuzzy after that. Something about eating ice cream for breakfast...the things kids remember. Poor kid, my friend back then. Even then I could tell it wasn't the first time. If I had been older, I would have done something---I would have called the police, or I would have sucked up my courage and confronted that huge, angry man. That son of a bitch would be in jail, and maybe I could have sneaked a black eye in with a frying pan or a two-by-four. But I wasn't, and I didn't. And I completely forgot that terrifying, faceless brute.

Except in dreams, when I realized---along with the recovering the conscious memory---that he had been stalking me the entire time.

Preliminary postulation

The objective here is to use this as a venue for ideas. If I am reading or writing something with a more academic or political bent, that involves some time or research, I plan to deposit the article here.