I am driving through the country with L__, and I seem to take a wrong turn onto a potato field, or some such thing. I find myself driving along its left edge, with my driver's side wheels rutted along a swale filled with horse manure.
At some point I get out of my car, and see there is a crazy man bearing on top of me, hurling chrome-plated meat cleavers and other sharp shiny utensil at me. I push L__ ahead, and keep dodging the sharp, shining missiles he is throwing at me. At one point I am sure he is going to get me, but I notice that his aim is not very good, so I turn to confront him. He charges right up to me, whereupon I give him a good hard kick in the nuts. He starts to crumble, so I give him a few more shots, and a few more, (at this point I am aware that I am kicking my blankets), until he is out of commission.
L__ and I get back into the car, and I manage to make it out of the field, across a road, and into a sleepy little town, and go from door to door, asking which way is out of here. The people respond sleepily, and don't know or do anything much to help us. Then I notice my car is being towed away by a large vehice-transport truck. My car, which is black and upside down, with red safety lights flashing from its undercarriage, is on the to top level of the truck. And then I see that L__'s vehicle is also being towed behind.
Finally I encounter a man, large, big gruff guy, maybe in his early 60's, with a trimmed beard, who immediately takes charge of the situation, much to our relief. He starts drawing a diagram, a map of exactly how we can find our way out of this predicament and onto our destination. Then he gets back my car (by now my father's 1956 Pontiac) and L__'s vehicle (which is by now a yellow school bus) and shows us the forbidding area to the east (rimmed by steep, ragged, imposing peaks, yellowish in color with large patches of snow), and to the west (a sunny patch of country road). Of course we decide to take the country road. I am delighted to see the old Pontiac, after so many years in my father's garage, starts up right away and is ready to go.
We are in the final stages of leaving, having been FOUND, when I wake up. One of the rare dreams in which I actually find a way out of again and again the same situation, after so many years.
I broke down and cried when I woke up the next day and heard about the tragic events in Connecticut. As I recalled this dream, I couldn't help thinking about the parallels - the madman, the small town, the school bus.
This dream seemed to offer a little hope, a ray of light, at the end of all the indescribable suffering, for those little lost ones, and those who have to carry on without them.
