Saturday, September 1, 2007

Dreaming in blue

Last night, I had one of my recurring dreams where I'm trying to call the police to catch a threatening villain, but the phone call, or my strained plea, somehow doesn't get through.

It occurred to me for only the first time today that the dream is due to a subconscious lack of trust that God will protect me. Either that, or eating chocolate cake after dark.

Usually the phone call doesn't connect, or there's some kind of trouble on the line. Last night, the problem was on the precinct's end. I might as well have been phoning Mayberry.

"A man got into a fistfight with my friend and I subdued him," I breathlessly told the officer. Neither the man nor my female friend were too happy about this, by the way. "Please send someone over. We're in the convention center across the street from Weinstein dorm."

There is no convention center across the street from the 10-story brickfront concrete box where I lived for four years off Washington Square Park.

"You got a nice voice," the officer replied. "Have you ever done harmonizing?"

Baffled, I sputtered a thank-you. He gave the phone to another officer. I could hear him say, "She's got a nice voice. Me, not so much ..."