Things That Scare You in the Night

That trickster death and the lack of world peace

Do you remember the scene from “Ms. Congeniality” (funniest movie of all time, I say) when undercover detective Gracie Hunt, posing as a beauty pageant aspirant is asked about the focus of her platform should she be chosen as the winner?

All other finalists had demurely whispered, “World peace.”

Sandra Bullock, in her role as Gracie Hart, robustly replied, “Stronger crime laws.”

Seconds later, she also demurred, “And world peace.”

In a seemingly endless dream, I argue non-stop with my immediate neighbor who insists he’ll build a large community building for his church immediately adjacent to our already stunningly close homes.

And not just adjacent. Half on my property too.

I’m not even sure it’s actually my home.

An older wise looking woman lives there and the steps to the front door are precarious rocks placed one upon the other.

But I argue as though it were mine.

Various movements take place during the dream, but it all revolves around the need to stop the building before it begins, the angst stirred within me, and the impatience I feel toward this man.

My cat jolts me awake at 3:38 am, demanding to be let in for an early morning snack.

Climbing back into bed after serving her needs, I feel happy the dream has been interrupted. I don’t like that man and his community-building idea. I don’t like that icky dream.

But then I think, “How can we ever achieve world peace if I cling to negative emotions toward an imaginary person in my dreams and feel aversion afterward too?”

As I lay there, seeking sleep once again, my left armpit begins to hurt—not intensely, but enough to get fearful thoughts going.

“What’s this? Could it be a sign of a heart attack? Is this the beginning of pain radiating down the arm? Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that individual-size cauliflower crust three-cheese pizza for dinner.”

I have no history of heart problems to explain my fear.

I lie there for another thirty seconds.

“71 and alone. Maybe this is it.”

I don’t mind being alone. But you don’t get a second opinion about whether to call for help.

That part is hard for me.

I never want to bother anyone in the middle of the night or start a scene that involves flashing red lights or startling alarms.

One time, when I had intense chest pain (it was an allergy-like reaction to a fire ant bite), I didn’t call for help. I took some meds and hoped for the best.

I know. That attitude could prove dangerous.

Another thirty seconds go by. I get up and take an Ibuprofen.

No pain equals no fear of death. A good solution in my mind.

I want to be at peace when death arrives—a high standard that’s not easy to reach.

And right now, I just want to get back to sleep.

As I approach the bed once again, my second cat, who’s sitting on a narrow side table across from the bed, throws up some liquid on the cloth runner as though she were part of a perfectly timed drama.

I let out a quiet expletive. She scurries off the table and rushes for the front door just in case there’s more to come out of her tiny throat.

After cleaning off the soiled spot with a wet paper towel, I neatly fold the edge of the cloth back over a metal relief of Ganesh (a protective deity in Hinduism and Tibetan Buddhism) so it has air to dry out.

I couldn’t cope with removing all the decorative items, finding another place for them, and taking off the cloth too.

Sorry, Ganesh, but it’s the middle of the night. I promise I’ll wash it tomorrow.

Still alive! What a relief!

I put my head back on the pillow. And I make a prayer for world peace.

Afterward: The dream turned out to be prophetic.

The next day, I found out my community association is secretly about to break ground for a pavilion housing 2,000 mail boxes at the end of my street. 2,000! That would turn my street from a quiet paradise into a freeway.

A resistance movement has sprung up. We’ll see!

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