Goodbye to a good friend

This morning both Sammy and Boyce came over.  They had no idea I was cleaning out the house, and promptly told me that if I’m planning on keeping things secret from them I shouldn’t write it on the blog.  So even though I could have been sad that they found out, I was more thrilled that they were reading this.

Sammy and Boyce didn’t like the fact that I kept dodging the question as to why I was cleaning out so much of the house.  I told them it was something that had been coming for a long time, and I certainly didn’t need all this stuff.  They didn’t like it one bit though, and when Boyce saw me put a few of my dream books into the trash he was clearly unhappy.  I told him those books were beginners’ stuff, and I could write something much better.  I don’t know if he believed me, but it’s true.  Here are four rules to dream interpretation that are never mentioned in dream books. 

1.    Knowing the person is crucial.  Few, myself among them, can interpret a stranger’s dream.
2.    The symbol is less important than the dreamer’s emotional attachment to the symbol.
3.    How the dreamer tells the dream is as important as what the dream was.
4.    Sometimes people don’t want to know what their dreams really mean.  Large men don’t like to be told they are filled with self-loathing, most likely due to latent homosexuality.  Trust me.

Rachel worked as a receptionist for a government agency, and a couple times I stopped by to see her.  Based on how she responded when her co-workers asked if this was her boyfriend, I could tell she knew I was always going to be smitten with her, but I could also tell she never really knew how much I loved her.  Once, in order to distract from the awkwardness after the boyfriend question, Rachel told me that her co-worker had just had a crazy dream the night before.  She told the co-worker, her name was Ashley or Abby, and she was about seven months pregnant, that I was a great dream interpreter, and Ashley-Abby got all excited and the three of us sat down in the break room.   Ashley-Abby told me her dream, and as she did so I watched how she would stutter a bit and not make eye contact with me.  The dream was about having her baby, but then it getting smaller and smaller until she found it floating peacefully on a tiny raft in an aquarium.  When she asked what the dream meant I looked over at Rachel.  In what Boyce calls the most compassionate move I ever made, I said, “I’m sorry I need a bathroom.”  And when Rachel said, “Cyrus, are you okay?”  I screamed, “Please stop talking and tell me!”  Rachel pointed down the hall and I ran to the bathroom.  I waited inside for about ten minutes, then, when I looked out the door and saw Rachel and Ashley-Abby weren’t looking, I ran down the stairwell to the street.

I waited all day for Rachel to get off work, and not just so she would give me a ride home.  When we got in the car she asked if I was feeling okay now, and I told her that her friend was going to miscarry the baby.  Rachel didn’t talk to me for the rest of the ride until I got out, and that’s when she told me to get out.  She didn’t even talk to me for two weeks until finally she called.  Crying.  She didn't have to tell me, and I didn't want to make her tell me, so I said, “The bright side is I got it right.”

Anyway, giving those dream books away made Boyce uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable when the wrecker came to take away the Camaro.  I thought Sammy was going to have a fit.  I told them it needed to go, and since I had called the county’s bluff many years ago, I was going to have be the one to do it. 

The guy towing it was clearly confused when he realized how light the camaro was.  “No engine!” I shouted as Sammy ran out to him.  The two of them talked for a a few minutes, and Sammy was clearly pleading with him.  The driver just pointed up to me though, since I was the guy who called him.  I told Sammy and Boyce though that it had to go.  Sammy went back to the driver, talked with him a bit, and then came back.  “Ok,” he said, "so it’s getting towed, but the guy said we could all ride in the cab with him if we wanted.” 

The driver didn’t even mind that there weren’t seat belts and we were all crushed into the cab together.  He was clearly dejected about something, and it only took a couple miles towing the Camaro before Sammy asked him.  Apparently, the driver’s son had earlier been cut from the football team, and it was still only summer practices.  Football was not only the son’s dream, but the father’s dream too.  So much so that the son’s name was John Elway Wrigglesworth.  Apparently, John Wrigglesworth was a great football player.   When Boyce asked what happened, he said John Elway was too fat and the school wouldn’t let him play because they were afraid he would have a heat stroke. 

Sammy seized the opportunity and said, “So what do you say about not taking this car to the dump?”  The driver just shrugged.  “So could we take it someplace else?”  The driver again shrugged.  So Sammy gave him directions to Dr. Jonathan Keegman’s office.  When we got there, the driver asked where he should put the Camaro.  We all said anywhere in the parking lot.  Boyce asked the driver where he’d like to put it, and the driver said he’d like to put it up those school administrators’ asses.  Boyce said that would be tough, but how about something nearly as good: “Leave it right there on the sidewalk."

That driver must have channeled his hate right into Dr. Keegman’s building, because not only did he get the Camaro up on the sidewalk, but he got it blocking the front door, too.  The driver took pictures of us on our cell phones leaning on the Camaro.  We also popped the hood and got some pictures sitting where the engine should be.  By the end even the driver wanted a picture, and he got in the driver's seat and stuck his middle finger out the window.  I'm not sure who he was giving the bird to, but he was finally smiling, so we cheered. 

We stopped at Arby’s on the way home and Sammy got the driver some lunch, telling him John Elway could come whenever he’d like some free fries.  “If he’s too fat to play football, let’s get him so fat he explodes all over those administrators.”  The driver thought that was funny, and started flipping the bird again at no one in particular.

After Arby's he dropped us off back at my house.  Sammy and Boyce still weren’t happy that I was packing things up, but they were pretty pleased about what happened to the Camaro.  We all agreed to go early to Dr. Keegman’s office and watch from the bushes.