The other night or shall I say, about 4 in the morning, I awoke from a dream hearing my name called. While in the dream, and might I say it was a good one but one I can’t remember now because, I heard my name called once. That alerted me that I should stop watching the dream and listen for what came next. With my name it’s pretty easy to do.
The first time I heard Da Juana, as I said, I became more alert but the dream was still going on behind the person who stepped in front of the screen in my mind. I’ve had that happen before. As soon as they said Da Juana the first time, I glanced at the person and started to wake up. When they said the “Da” part of my name, it was in the dream. The “Juana” part had me fully awake. I even looked around to see if anyone else was in our bedroom. The girls were sleeping and so was Claude and it seemed that I was the only one up and only because someone wanted me to hear my name called.
That would have been all of it except for one little thing. My father and I have a standing Saturday morning date where we rehash the week. I don’t usually gossip but he and I don’t leave many people out from our weekly chats. And I do call him at other times but Saturday morning is our time.
Anyway that’s when he told me a few days before, about the same time, he’d woken up from a dream hearing his name called, yes, you guessed it, twice, partially in the dream and partially while he was awake. Now my daddy is gifted too but it scares the holy bejeebers out of him. He is a minister after all.
It bothered him so badly that he mentioned it to my younger brother who told him that it was our grandmother talking to her son. Daddy had occasion many years ago to tell my brother about a headless man in overalls that he’d seen at my house. It upset him so that he called up the stairs to my stepmother thinking what? That she might have skipped down the stairs without her head and perhaps put on men’s overalls so that she could scare him. By the way, that was just a man who liked to be around our house and guess he just lost his head. I never asked him. But my daddy didn’t tell me what he saw even when I asked and knew. He told my younger brother.
The other morning though, he told me. I know what my eighty-eight year old father is thinking but I hope that’s a long time away. He’s my friend. Though we would still have our Saturday mornings, it just wouldn’t be the same.