Eunice’s dream


hound dog

 I remember my mama said old people don’t dream.

But I knew that couldn’t be right; she also said the dog was chasing rabbits whenever he kicked his legs and whimpered in his sleep. I figured if a dog could dream of rabbits, so could old Mrs. Hopkins, or my grandma, or that old guy who sits at the JBs all day with a cup of coffee, the one whose chin is always shaking like he’s got the DTs or something.

I told mama so. “Old people do so dream, they’ve just got to.” She just whacked me upside the head, said “Get out of here, go bother your brother for a change.”

I remember the first dream I ever dreamed. I was reaching my arms up over my head. There was a stuffed monkey floating in the air; he had a red hat and suspenders. When I finally caught him, I looked down and saw I was floating about three feet up out of bed. Then I fell hard and woke up on the floor.

When your mama says dumb things like dogs can dream but old folks can’t, you can’t help but question the accuracy of almost anything anyone says. I was always in trouble for dreaming, for telling my dreams, for talking too much, and most of all for doubting more than half of what I heard on any given day.

On the 17th of August I walked over to Mrs. Hopkins’ house with a box of shortbread, a ham bone, and a jar of artichoke pickles. My mama regularly sent packages to Mrs. Hopkins, even though she wasn’t as poor as my own grandma. I had a feeling this might not be real Christian – not feeding Mrs. Hopkins, but letting our own grandma do without a treat once in a while, and then saying flat out that she couldn’t dream about it either.

I had a piece of shortbread and some lemonade with Mrs. Hopkins and then sort of fell asleep on her front porch.

I dreamed my grandma was lying at my feet. Her feet were elder smiletwitching, she was making little yip yip noises, and she was smiling.

“Grandma’s chasing rabbits,” I said in my dream. And sure enough, grandma got up off the porch, went running across the front lawn, hopped the fence and tore out after a bunny like she was the best hound dog a man could have.

I said “Grandma, stop, you can’t catch rabbits.”

She did stop – surprised me. She came back to the porch and looked me in the eyes.

“You think, goddamn you, just because you’re young, you think your old granny can’t hunt as good as any man? You just watch me.”

She turned around and left again, quick as that.

bunny

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2 Responses to “Eunice’s dream”


  1. 1 Michael July 21, 2006 at 5:38 pm

    Teresa your site is salve for saddle sore skunks like me! I especially love every last thing I see on here, put particulary each and every piece.

  2. 2 Ellie July 31, 2006 at 12:16 pm

    I love that the granny seems as if she could really kick some ass.


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