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    1. Packing to Leave

      by , 07-16-2014 at 10:48 PM
      Type: Procedural
      Perspective: Character, adolescent boy


      NLD: I'm a young boy with no parents who has been raised by relatives, perhaps an aunt and uncle. They've been very stingy, working me hard and giving me the minimum that I need to survive. Now I'm about twelve and they've decided that I'm old enough to strike out on my own, so I am preparing for the journey. It is winter, so I know that I'll need to pack carefully: I'll need a bundle light enough to carry but with the necessities to survive. I've already prepared most of it, and now I'm consolidating. I have a little backpack with my journal and a suede pocket with a zipper that holds my writing implements [RL: I have one like this], and a few more things I deem essential. I had a Hello Kitty riding glove in the backpack, a single one for the right hand, sized for a child's hand, and I realize it isn't essential—it isn't even mine—but sentimental; it belonged to a girl who was my best friend. The thumb is split at the seam and she lost the left-hand glove so she let me have it as a memento. But as I pack things from my room I come across a similar glove for the left hand, slightly different in color but with a matching Hello Kitty pattern. I wonder at first if it's the lost partner of the first glove, but the different hue suggests that the match is coincidental. Still, I decide that I can put them together and give them back to the girl. I won't have a memento of her anymore, but at least then there will be one less thing in my pack, and maybe she'll be able to use them again. They still look usable, even worn as they are.

      I have a big heavy box, a long rectangle, with heavy glass partitions. I know I'll never be able to carry this, but the first part of my journey will be by wagon, so I'll load it on board and try to use up or trade away the contents before I have to go on foot. I forget what the original contents of the box are, but there are some empty spots and I also have a few bottles of beer, a light brew in clear glass bottles, so I'll consolidate by putting them in the empty spots. So now I have the heavy long box, my little backpack, and a bundle containing my clothes and bedding. Once I get rid of the heavy box, I'll be able to carry the rest. But I still need to worry about food.

      There was another whole side plot earlier with my uncle, and me lying on my back in the water of a pool or pond, and him having compassion and perhaps even offering to let me have breakfast in the big house before I go, but I can't remember this well.

      From the building where I was packing, which is on a hill next to another building (the big house where aunt and uncle live further off to the right) I go down the hill to the stable where I've been working. I've been working as a farmhand ever since I got big enough, but still being a young boy and small for my size, I've been able to squeeze into a tiny spot between the other hands on the seat of our crowded wagon. I figure the fact that I don't take up much room will come in handy when taking the wagon out.

      I go through the stable saying goodbye to the animals. I also come across another girl I know (not the one I was thinking of earlier), a dark-haired, slightly older teenager leading a dark bay horse. I tell her I am leaving and we say goodbye. I wish I had something to give her, but figure she knows that I have very little and won't hold it against me that I didn't give her a parting gift.

      In the back of the stable I say goodbye to a big gray rabbit who is in an empty open stall, then a few minutes later come across a little white rabbit at the bottom of a bucket with a few inches of water in it, so the rabbit is half-submerged. I worry that it can't get out [RL: this comes from the fact that I've found deck lizards in a bucket in my garden in this predicament a few times], so I reach in and lift it out. I want to take it over to the big rabbit where it might find a friend, but as I'm carrying it, it bites me. Being a wild rabbit who is undoubtedly frightened at being handled this is understandable, and I don't mind, though I worry that it might be carrying rabies or some other disease. The wound is on my thumb [RL: I have an old scar from a real rabbit bite there] but doesn't look deep. I set it down quickly and watch as it hops straight over to a bowl of cream that the cats have left uneaten in a bowl and consumes it all ravenously. I am somewhat reassured that it doesn't look rabid; its actions now seem very deliberate. I reflect how well-fed the cats are, that they would not even bother to finish this bowl of cream, compared to the little rabbit who doesn't even naturally like cream, but is probably devouring it because of such great hunger and thirst. I go back to the big rabbit and wonder if I can get him any food or some stalks to chew; he doesn't seem interested in the hay in this stall, but there were some larger, sweeter stalks, like corn or sugarcane, over where I found the little rabbit, so I bring some over.

      Next I plan to feed the chickens. I have a shallow rectangular tray that I take back up to the building on the hill to prepare some foods, like cut up tomatoes, a hard-boiled egg for some reason, other vegetables and fruits. As I exit again carrying the tray, I'm standing for a moment just outside the building distracted by my thoughts when I feel someone press something into my left hand. It's not money, it's segments of something that has the texture of nuts. [Not any substance recognizable from RL.] I look up and find a tall young man with a dark beard [odd how often this archetype appears, I've never known someone with these features in RL]. He says his name is Keith, and this is for the food—he abruptly grabs a handful from the tray. I have the impression that he is starving but too honorable to just steal from me, so he has offered this token payment, but won't risk rejection by asking for the food. I feel sorry for him—and realize that I might soon be in the same boat, as he looks like a traveler—and offer, "Would you like any more? Take the hard-boiled egg." I figure that will offer him better nutrition than the handful of grapefruit or somesuch that he has grabbed in his haste. He thanks me and takes the egg and a few other things, and leaves.

      As I continue down the hill back toward the stable, I reflect with satisfaction on the fact that I was not frightened or startled by his abrupt appearance, but kept my cool and even managed to be generous. I also remember two other occasions earlier when guys stopped by hoping for food in a similar manner. (I think this was a false memory, that is, I don't think these events actually occurred at any point earlier in the dream, they are just something I was "remembering" at this point.) I realize that all these hungry travelers probably means food is scarce on the road, and I'm going to have to deal with this very situation soon. It occurs to me that hard-boiled eggs might actually be a good thing for me to pack; they won't last long, but in this cold weather they might last two or three days, and they'll be great nutrition. However, that had been the only egg on my tray. How could I get some more? Would aunt and uncle let me have them? They're just eggs, but they've been so stingy in the past. Still, they did offer me breakfast. I hope they meant it; I should eat a big breakfast before I leave. I ate little yesterday and nothing so far today. What if leaving on a full belly meant the difference between life and death, adding another day before the possibility of starvation? But maybe they'd be more likely to let me have the eggs if I brought them myself to the house and only asked if I could boil them. I can probably get some from the hens in the stable: it's morning, some of them might have lain already. Could I even boil them myself, and avoid asking aunt and uncle altogether? But I'm not sure how I would start the fire, or find the pot to boil water in.

      I set down the tray, and the chickens start eating. While they are occupied, I check their nests. Sure enough, I find an egg... and another... and another. Three eggs in this nest? This worries me actually—why hadn't the eggs been collected for the past few days? They should still be good to eat, but—had aunt and uncle been intending to let them hatch? If so, they might be angry with me for taking them; once they cooled down (they are still warm from the heat of their mother) they would no longer be viable. I'd better wait and ask, maybe the girl I ran into earlier will know. Also, are these even hen eggs? They are a bit larger and bluer than I would have expected. Could they be duck eggs? Without the fowls in their nest it's hard to know. But duck eggs might be better to bring, oilier and more nutritious, even if they taste a little odd. I go a little farther and find another bank of nests that I think are those of the chickens; so I conclude that I was right about the ducks; the chicken eggs are also about three to a nest.

      I table the egg question, but there's something else I need, something that is in the building next to the one I live on on top of the hill. I call up and say I am from a radio station, HKWAN—the stable does double as this radio station so I am not lying about that, but fibbing a bit by suggesting I am an employee of it calling on official business—and ask for the password to get into the building. I wince a bit as I ask, knowing that the girl will never give it away to someone calling up on the phone, and sure enough, she says she can't. But then I realize, of course I still know the password to my own building, and maybe I can get what I need from there? I no longer remember what it was I thought I needed though, and around this point the dream ends.

      Updated 08-02-2014 at 10:51 PM by 34973

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      non-lucid