I don't recall ever before having a vivid dream about my father. I dreamt of him last night though, maybe because the anniversary of his death looms so large this year, its being January 20. Actually this dream is about my father, he didn't make an appearance, his presence only spoken of.
In casual conversation, G. B. mentioned that he had seen my father in the city of Troy, and my father had told him he was living there now. I was shocked and rushed to tell my mother and the rest of the family, in separate encounters. Each one already knew he had left home and had moved to Troy. Somebody even reported that he had been seen walking with a woman. I was shocked. I was the only one who hadn't known. The consensus was that he hadn't been happy, especially since one of those bitter marital arguments about nothing: something about " a line," but I couldn't remember what it signified.
It would seem odd that nobody knew he was leaving, or had left, but then I realized he didn't own anything, pretty much just the clothes on his back. (I didn't think of his car or his fiddles.) I went upstairs in our old house and looked through that familiar small brown dresser of his, always against the bedroom wall at the foot of the iron bed. Opening the drawers, I saw some hankies, some papers, a few pairs of new socks and some type of 2-toned brown shirt or vest. It was remarkably similar to the shirt that Dr. D. wore in the ophthalmologist's office yesterday.
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