I was sitting down to dinner with one of my roommates when the doorbell rings. My roommate gets up to answer and it is our landlord, a very nice East Indian gentleman. I had just put a spoonful of papas into my mouth and tried to chew it up really fast before going to the door. “How are you Carmen?” he says, “Fine, what’s up?”, “Would you mind coming with me to the office please”? He didn’t seem that worried and, as the offices were really close to the apartment, we didn’t have much time to talk.
As I walk into the office, he asks me to follow him into the back room. My heart fell to the floor and I was in disbelief with what I saw. I couldn’t believe that he had done this again, always trying to find me, always showing up at random places. There he was, tied up like an animal, wearing a red and black checked shirt, one of those flannel ones, as it was cold outside. His head was turned so all I saw, at first, was his black hair. Then he turns around, face full of anger and rage, and then I hear his voice, “get me the f#$% outta here! tell this motherf#$%^&* to let me go!” In desperation, I was screaming, “OMG whyyyyy do you keep doing this!”. My landlord asks me if I want to call the authorities and then tells me that he was going to give this guy enough money to get to Elk Grove (?) and for me not to worry. All the while it is scream and cuss-out city with this man. All I kept thinking was ‘just get him out of here and out of my life!’
So like a sonsatontapendeja, I let my landlord handle the situation thinking “all is good, he’ll be out of here” and actually go back to my dinner. The doorbell then rings again, and there he is, freed from the ropes that held him a few minutes earlier, and he is not screaming this time. He quietly informs me that, “This is it. Either you come back to me or I take matters into my own hands” I remember being stunned, stunned that he actually showed up at my house again, scared of what he was going to do, angry that I didn’t just call the police, wondering where my phone was, do I scream? or not? In the next second, he puts the gun to his face, pulls the trigger, and blows his face off, blood everywhere.
I woke up crying and completely freakiada that night. I had been having nightmares for well over a week, every night, every time I woke up and fell back asleep, there would be another graphic, violent way that this person would kill himself. I was getting worried about these nightmares and afraid to go to sleep. I called the Crisis Center and, luckily, was able to set up time to speak with someone about my troubled and disruptive nightmares. Turns out they were flashbacks of very negative, drama-filled, bitter times of my life when I did not yet have a handle on my situation. I felt lucky that these flashbacks didn’t really occur when I was driving or in an important meeting or anything and was able to get some valuable exercises for working through flashbacks/PTSD and to remind myself of how far I have come from those days of madness.
So, guess what I dreamt last night?
I was at the Ranch in our kitchen. We were all home as I could hear people talking in the other room and the TV was on a low volume. I was taking out my small red crock pot so that I could make beans like usual, and she says to me, “I don’t know about the beans in that crock pot…” Como si nada, I respond, “you’ve never even tasted anything made in this pot, how would you know?” ” I just know so make the beans on the stove” Muttering, I start to prepare beans as she tells me to do so. On the counter, I see a bunch of vegetables thrown all about and I’m like, “what is all THAT for?”, “I thought that I would make some soup for your Dad too so help me cut the vegetables”. At first, I almost rolled my eyes, and then, in the middle of the dream, I get the knife to cut up the vegetables and smile at her and my mouth drops open. “Mama!!!!!! I’m not having a nightmare! And you’re HERE!” There she was, Margaret Torres, looking beautiful, w a l k i n g, no cane or wheelchair in sight, she had a dress on and I could hear the click of her heels. Mama tells me, “I’m always here, you know that; you should trust more and stop worrying, I’m always here” and then I woke up!
It was the first night that I slept well in days, and, as it turned out, Mama still WORKS it for us, of this I am 100% convinced. I need no man in my dreams, I do, however, need to see my mother sometimes. The dream was so real. I haven’t felt this comforted since my mother passed away in 2014. That I was able to have a conversation with her was so great. Thanks Mama! MargaretLivesInMe.