Dream 9/21/2021
...I lived somewhere where they spoke Spanish. Not sure where or when. I looked similar to how I am now, same height, same long hair (but fully black, never dyed). I lived with my aunties and my mom and sisters. They all looked different from my actual family. They were a pale tan. My mother in the dream was much older, with white/grey hair. She was shorter, plumper. My sisters were all about the same height as me, two of them. Long hair, brown, with brown eyes. Did not live with any men. We were in a simple house and the surface of the walls were bumpy. It was basically one big room separated by a wall with a large door shaped opening, rounded at the top. Clothing was plain, but also colorful some days (months/years passed by in the dream).
The dream was pretty much like a life. I was going through the days doing chores, helping my mom and aunties, keeping my siblings safe. Life was disrupted by a foreigner, a male doctor who spoke both Spanish and English. He was tall, paler than my family. He had lighter hair, almost blond, but still brown. He was taller than me by a foot, which was striking since my sisters and I were taller than most men in our community. I don't remember his name, but it was strange to "my" ears, something I couldn't pronounce well. He spoke Spanish to me but the "me" in the dream didn't understand English. I could though, so I knew what he was saying when he didn't want me to hear. That's how I knew I couldn't trust him, that he was a bad person. The "I" in reality informed the "me" in my dream on the decision to reject him.
I don't really want to get into details, but one day, tired of my constant rejections, he came into my family's small clinic. The clinic was very tiny, one room. It was where women who are pregnant come to give birth. There's one small cot and a table where my aunties and mom will help the women through the dire moment. I was the only one in there, cleaning things up. It was very sunny outside, the light streaming through one small window at the side of the building. I felt the moment he stepped inside like cold water down my back.
Anyways, after that day, I lived in fear. My sisters would help me hide from him by warning me when he was seen in the town. I would go to our home and stay with my aunties and my mom. They knew what had happened, but there was nothing we could do. I didn't question that in the dream, but now that I'm awake, I wish I had done something. The "me" in the dream was just trying to avoid remembering what had happened. The knowledge was enough to make me curl up and shake on the floor, but that was useless to everyone. In order to stay sane and still be a help to my family, I just avoided the situation all together.
However, two months later, I realized that I was pregnant. I worked in a clinic for pregnant women, I knew the signs. I also "felt" something, not sure what it was anymore, but the only word that comes to mind is pressure. Pressure in my abdomen. This made my soul even more conflicted. I wanted to get rid of it, but I also wanted to keep it. I think I was of the mind that killing it would be killing a piece of myself, but also I didn't want any memory of that doctor. My mind couldn't reconcile the two needs. So I became ill.
My entire family agreed to keep my condition a secret too, reasoning along the same lines as why they kept my rape secret. It would only bring trouble to us and bring the doctor to our door. We didn't know what to do, in truth, but some of my aunties hoped it would die. My mom wanted it to live. I couldn't decide.
My illness became severe and I wasn't able to move from my bed/pallet, an eventuality that I dreaded. I hated being still or confined to the house. Finally, on a day that's beauty mocked my bed-bound soul, I got up. As soon as I stood, something burst inside me. Blood ran down my legs. I screamed for my sister. She saw me, helped me back on the bed, then ran out of the room. Some of this part of the dream is a blur.
I can't remember how or when, but suddenly there were other women in the room. Strangers. They were nobody I knew, no one from my town. I looked at the opening into the other room and saw my family confined to the other side of our home, kneeling on the floor and praying. In front of them, pacing back and forth, was the doctor. I swear, it felt like my heart stopped in the dream. Like it thumped loudly once, then stopped for too long. He looked over and saw me staring. I breathed in a rush and then screamed at the strange women to not let him touch, not let him near me. One of them came over and patted my head soothingly. She spoke words I couldn't understand. I tried to get up but I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't feel my hands. Only my head moved back and forth. I could feel my chest area, my stomach even, but not my limbs or pelvic region. Panic can't describe what I felt. He came into the room, yelling at the nurse. "I" couldn't understand, but I could. He was asking the nurse to relieve my stress or something like that. He wanted her to calm me somehow. I have no idea what he wanted, but I was determined to escape. I thrashed around but then the lady who had been calming me grabbed my right hand. She leaned over it and stabbed a needle at the corner of the first line close to my fingertip.
This is another part of the dream that's super real. Everything about this sequence of events stood out vividly. She stuck the needle into a small, rubber point against my finger, only the very tip of it. Though I couldn't move my limbs, I felt the prick of it. The needle was long, about the length of my middle finger. A thin plastic tube was attached to the end. I guess the needle was hollow, because blood started to come into the tube. It slowly went down the curling length of the plastic and my eyes were riveted to it. I didn't notice anything else that was happening at that moment. When the blood reached the end of the tube, a drop of it started to form. Before it could fall, a small brown bowl was placed beneath it. The doctor held it. When I met his eyes over the bowl, my panic returned. I thought he was stealing my blood for some kind of curse on me. I turned my head to stare at the women near my legs, preparing to catch my baby. Apparently, the needle trick worked so well I didn't even notice what was happening. I desperately looked past the doctor to my family but they were all still praying loudly in the other room. I tried to move my hand away but the doctor was gripping my wrist and I still couldn't really feel it. He was talking at me. However, my level of panic had reached a point past comprehension. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears.
What finally broke past that high pitch was the cry of a baby.
Time sped back up.
The doctor's face broke into a joyful smile. My limbs filled with fire and I slapped the bowl of blood away. It hit the doctor and distracted him. I sat up as if I hadn't been paralyzed at all and grabbed my baby from the nurse who held him. He was still attached to me.
The dream jumps into hyperdrive.
I am no longer in my house, but I'm holding onto my son and walking quickly down a shaded walkway. It's high noon, the sun is directly above the ceiling. My baby is sleeping, unaware of his surroundings.
Then I'm in a market, my son on my back in a sling contraption. He’s about a year old now. His coloring is after me, dark brown eyes and black hair, for which I am eternally grateful. He’s lighter skinned, but so am I. His name I can’t recall. He is a quiet child and he listens to me. When I tell him to hush, he does. When I need to carry him for long periods of time, he doesn’t fuss. I love him with my entire being and I know I would die for him. But I intend to live long enough to raise him and teach him to defend himself.
Another few years are gone. We are in a church, Catholic I believe. He is a small man, still only 4 or 5, but so wise. He talks intelligently, asks probing questions. I think we have sheltered in this church for the past few years. I am still taught as a bow, no matter what. I am still on the lookout for the doctor. I avoid large towns. I have gone far away from my home, my family, just to keep him safe. When the doctor smiled at my child’s birth, I knew he would have taken him and I never would have seen my baby again. I still lived in fear of that happening...
The dream ends there. Honestly, there were a lot of missing parts, but I can’t remember it all. I have chosen not to remember the rape , but I might end up just typing it all out. It depends. I think it’s crazy how much I dreamed in a single night. It was like living a memory at some points, but other times were too rushed. I wonder if I should turn this into a novel? Or maybe a novella. What do you think?