I had the strangest dream

For Fathers' Day, Dorothy took her father to Six Flags. I insisted they enjoy this day by themselves. I would be in the way. Besides, he's not my father.

So I had an egg sandwich, read the paper, and took a nap. For those 2 hours, I had the strangest, most vivid dream. Have I been watching to much "Medium"? This was so detailed that I woke up at the end in the dream and was so upset that I wouldn't know how it ended only to discover I was still asleep but that the me in the dream was the one who woke up. I awoke 10 minutes later with the same feeling of wishing I knew how it ended, regretting that I could not finalize what I was trying to complete. Feel free to interpret.

So I'm sitting at a desk in an office which faces another desk with a view of the outside. Big plate glass window looking outside to a typical neighborhood in "The Hill." On the street a man discards his clothes and starts to puke. When I look at him again, he is eating a raw chicken and puking more. My colleague in the desk opposite from me and I realize we must call for help. I call 9-1-1 but get the wrong number. I call again, but it won't go through. The phone system is down. I quickly grab my cell phone from the bottom drawer and attempt to call 9-1-1 several times for someone to come help this man. By this time, I am outside with my cell phone, getting the wrong number, losing phone service. Finally, I the man has gotten dresses, very slovenly, but dressed, nonetheless, and I am holding his hand. His name is "Richard."

I don't want him to know I am calling for help for fear it will spook him out. I hold his hand very tightly and continue calling. Finally, I reach a 9-1-1 operator and tell her that I need some help for this man, but I have to do so in a way that he doesn't know what I'm doing. I'm afraid of losing his confidence, of his running away. So I pretend I'm not really talking to anyone, and instead talking to him like, "Richard, what's the problem? Can I help you?" The 9-1-1 operator wants to know the location, of course, but when I look up at the street signs, they are multiple as if the streets have several names, its original and another historical one, confusing the matter. She wants to know if I'm west of this or east of that, and I explain that I am directionally impaired and don't know.

Richard and I continue to walk up the street, away from the corner. My hand hurts from holding him so tightly. A half an hour passes and still no sign of an emergency vehicle. By this time, we have walked up the street and are now back where we started, with the puke and the raw chicken on the street across from a bar. Finally, I see a firetruck coming and then another, as if they have called out two when the first one didn't get to me fast enough. Still holding Richard's hand, I stand IN THE STREET and wave at the firetruck driver. She is sitting so high in the largest firetruck I have ever seen that she cannot see little ole' me in the street. She goes around me and past me. I am devastated. The second firetruck does likewise.

I am sitting on the stoop with Richard and our neighbor and my husband and several other people (whose faces are indistinguishable) while still trying to hold onto this agitated man. The longer are there the more coherent and pissed off he gets. Now he does not want me to hold his hand, but I am not letting go. A woman from the bar from across the street comes out, and I am hoping they know each other, but she confesses that she merely was helping him earlier (when he was puking) and does not know him. He is now ""sobering" up as he explains his friend Brian dropped him off when he started puking and left him there. I asked if they had been doing drugs, and he admits that he was pretty stoned and drunk and it's wearing off now, and he wants out of there. In the meantime, the same two firetrucks are circling larger blocks around us but never stopping, never seeing us. I call 9-1-1 again and can now see the street signs: corner of Montana and the other one keeps blurring. Still the firetrucks won't stop.

Richard keeps pulling away. Stores and restaurants in the area are getting deliveries. The area is bustling. My husband keeps falling asleep despite my calling him to help me hold onto Richard. All of a sudden I wake up IN MY DREAM. I am so upset and fall to my knees on the same sidewalk and cry out of frustration that I will never know how this ends and could not help this guy. (Only I'm still asleep in reality!) I am sobbing on the stoop with my head in my arms, kneeling on the grass. I can hear the wailing of the sirens but no firetrucks in sight. All of a sudden, my eyes IN REAL LIFE pop open, woken up from all the siren noise. I am really awake and know now that I will never know how this ends or whether I got help for Richard.