Word Sounds

   Dr. Tommy Martin, of FB Shorts fame, says that food sounds are real, as applied to uneaten  food, and maybe so, and maybe the same principle applies to unspoken words. Just as the leftover food cries out to be eaten, words left unuttered cry out to be, if not heard, at least released. Dreams are typically not the substance of any welcomed conversation, regardless of Elaine Benis' s recounting the tale of George Washington's wooden teeth.

 Anyway, here's a dream that will not leave my mind, un-exhorted:

  A man approached from the long driveway of a  house I've never lived in outside the dream, and he asked if he could have some arrangement that was at the bottom of the driveway. I guess it must have been some type of flower box or such. At first I was going to say take it, but I liked its being there so I told him where he could get one of his own, for free I think. He didn't know how to get there or do this, so he asked if I would help. I agreed. He seemed like  a simple person, otherwise well, but he had extreme difficulty trying to communicate, so I had to intercede. When he spoke, he made a deep growling-type sound which accompanied his words, rather off-putting to all those in the area. After many and varied machinations, we finally succeeded in resolving the issue at hand.  So I hoped anyway.

   I had already decided that I would not ride with him in his car, so I would drive him home. The trip turned out to be far from a simple rural drive, but a  tortuous  and twisted route until we reached his home. His home seemed almost like a cave, whose interior housed many individuals. One was a child who needed to go to school and another was an older woman who seemed to want to relocate to another place, what she called her real home. The child's school, which we eventually found, was in a downtown urban area, almost like chinatown. I felt relief at finally accomplishing my mission when I dropped the child off, but then the grandma, forgotten til now in the backseat, spoke up, saying she wanted to go home. But she didn't know where in this crowded section of town she lived. We stopped at place after place, including at a diner with outdoor cooking where the streetwise chef tried to direct us. 

I didn't know where I was or how to get out of the situation to get back home. The growling echoes of the man's voice were consuming my senses. All seemed gone wrong. Then the phone rang. Thanks, Snookie.