April 28, 1991
Tim and I are in a hospital waiting room waiting to see Sue. Then we go in to her room; she is lying on a dirty hospital bed. A very sick woman is on the same bed, half falling off the other side. Everything is white, all the people, the walls, the beds, everything except the blood that stains Sue’s sheets. There are 20 or 25 very sick women in the big room, all on oxygen or IV. The nurse, a mean Catholic nun, not in uniform, finally lets me go over to Sue, who is lying with her eyes closed, moaning.
I wake up, go back to sleep.
Tim and I are trying to get into a house to see if Sue is there. I peek through a closed window shade, don’t see her. The only way to get into the house is through the dashboard of an old car. Tim tries to open it, it is supposed to slide from the left side. Finally he gets it open. I put my head in and see Sue around the corner in another room lying on top of a bed, fully clothed. She is completely still, I think she may be dead. I am in a panic, try to get through the dashboard into the house. Tim keeps pushing me back, trying to get in first. I say, “She’s my daughter!”
I wake up, go back to sleep.
Tim and I are in an old car, I ask him if he’s hungry. We’re supposed to be going someplace late that night, some doings, maybe a play. We come to a restaurant, like a western Diner. I have no shoes on and am a total mess; my hair is all tangled. Tim is his usual squared away self. We stop in front of the restaurant and a lady comes out, obviously the owner. She says, “Are you coming in?” I say, “I have no shoes.” I look on the floor of the car and there are a pair of brown sandals. I laugh and put them on. We go in. There is a dining room to the right, full. Straight ahead is a very long very narrow room with seats along both sides. Everything is painted apartment house green, ugly. Tim and I go to the back because that is the only place with empty seats. The people all look like they come from Weiser, Idaho. We sit at the very back, against the wall. I say, “I don’t want to be here.” The only way out is through the front door and I feel claustrophobic, plus I feel out of place. A young man sits down across from me, starts talking to me about football. I say, “I don’t know anything about football but my daughter Sue knows all about it, the players, the moves, everything.” Tim immediately sticks his nose in a magazine, probably electronics. Another young man comes in, sits by the first one, talks about football. They leave. I turn to my left to look at Tim but a big man is sitting next to me. Tim has moved down, still has his nose in his magazine. He doesn’t even notice what has happened. I feel weird, so alone. A Scandinavian woman in costume comes up to the table, asks me, “You going to eat?” I say, “Yes.” She says, “The chef here is very chefy.” She hands me a fancy menu with no prices, written in a foreign language, some sort of Scandinavian. Tim still has his nose in his magazine.
I wake up.