River of Air

I had my first dream about the house on Church Street.

It was night and I was in the drive way sleeping next to someone in the bed of a pickup truck. I was warm and cozy and I was marveling at how I felt safe enough to sleep outside exposed to the world.

There was a storm coming and people came out to the street. I got up and looked up the street toward Castro. There was an enormous river of icy, cold wind flowing through the sky above the street. Like a river, except the cold wind was moving from a lower point to a higher point. Like a waterfall in reverse it flowed towards us but then rose up over our heads. The whole river was moving closer too and soon the low point would be on top of us. I didn't like the look of that.

The power, violence and chill of that river of air was frightening. I started up to the porch calling to the others to take shelter, when a rouge wave of the river broke off and attacked the house next door to ours. It flowed low to the ground and pushed into the house under the floor boards. A great roar and sparks started pushing out of the house. Then Kaboom the house blew up in flames.

I went to the phone and dialed 911 with shaking hands. I told them what had happened and they kept asking me more questions. I kept trying to get off the phone so I could go next door and see if the people were all right. I wanted to bring them blankets in case they were in shock.

Finally I got off. It was daylight and the house was mostly burnt up. I had been on the phone so long that the ashes were cold. The fire inspector was there and we went into the remains of the kitchen.

There was a whole wall intact and on the wall were these plaster protrusions. The patterns were repeated around the circumference of the room. One pattern was a woman's head stuck neck into the wall. The long hair was wrapped around and tucked into a large graceful straw hat. The other was a circular protrusion with a symmetrical ring of triangular bits sticking up from the rim (think of a king’s crown.) I said, I love crown molding,” and the fire inspector agreed he did too. Since the house was burnt up he wanted to know could he take one as a reminder of the lost art. Marlene said sure and reached up to grab one of the crowns and twisted it off. I was uncertain about this, since it wasn't our house and we didn't have permission. I was right, because just then Claude walked in the back door looking angry, “What are you doing with that,” he said.

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