It was a common motel of the 1950's Mom and Pops' style, a drawn out one-story string of identical rooms; clean, but grossly outdated. But it did have a seperate building housing a bar and dance floor.
I was there in our tiny room in the hills, spending my weekend alone while my husband hunted deer with his friends. I'd thought I'd go shopping or even do a liitle sightseeing during this free time on my own, but I ended up spending my days reading and napping. I was enjoying the solitude and the freedom to be lazy.
On our final day there, my husband was due to join me about Noon. It was thought we'd have lunch and then head for home. But Noon dragged onto 2:00 and then 2:00 unto 3 PM. Some women would be worried that there'd been a car accident or -- God forbid -- even an accidental shooting. But I knew the pattern all too well; it was alcohol that was delaying his arrival.
Feeling restless, fretful and starting to get angry, I threw on my jacket and went for a walk about the property. I poked my head into the barroom, but he wasn't there. Well, there goes lunch for two, I thought, and wondered if there might be a diner nearby.
As I returned to the parking area in front of the rooms, I saw a man working on a truck. He was placing decals on a side of the pick-up; many depicted fish of various types while others were more elaborate and included people fishing from boats.
I told the man I liked the look of the decals and asked if this was a hobby of his, and he said yes. He shared that he often did decals on others' rigs but that this was his truck. He was an "easy talker" and I was enjoying our chat, forgetting for awhile the predicament I was in- awaiting an overdue husband and seeking somewhere to eat. Eventually, I asked the man if there was a diner somewhere near-by.
He said the motel offered bar food but there was a diner in town, about a 10 minute walk away. He added that he'd be happy to walk with me, if I'd like. I agreed. As we turned toward the street, he lit up a cigarette. In the midst of my negative frame of mind, that cigarette called to me and I asked if I could have one. He said sure, handed me one, and held the lighter for me.
As we continued walking side by side, smoking and talking, it seemed natural when he and I locked arms, chatting away and heading toward the diner. I told him how I had been 7 months quit before I smoked this cigarette and how I would now have to give away a precious cross because of my relapsing. He seemed moved by my story yet turned to me with a curl at the corner of his lips and suggested I give the cross to my husband. We had a good laugh over that.
Then I asked if he would take the cross. He hesitated, explored my eyes and then said yes. As I handed it to him, the reality of the situation suddenly hit me. Issues of safety and the appearance of infidelity loomed. I told the man I had changed my mind about lunch, thanked him, and turned away. He called me Ma'm, said he understood, and handed me the remaining pack of his cigarettes.
When I got back to the motel it was almost 4:00. My husband was still not there. I heaved a heavy sigh, looked into the pack of cigarettes, and saw there were three left. As I was debating whether or not to smoke another, my husband walked in, obviously drunk. I felt my anger flaring.
In this dream, what did I do next??
[Dreams are funny things... the events just unfold and take us down avenues we'd never imagine. We can't be held accountable for the paths our dreams take; after all, they are the work of our subconscious mind. However, Freud tells us to pay attention to our dreams as they represent wishes we have concerning our lives.]