Now that my Mother’s getting older, she doesn’t walk very well. In my dream, however, I was having a tough time keeping up with her as she crossed street after street, meandering through a Queens neighborhood I didn’t recognize. She was very anxious to show me something, although I was having trouble figuring out what it might be. “Something from heaven” was about all I could make out.
Leaving the relative safety of shops and restaurants, we came upon a complex of apartments – something I would call “The Projects” growing up. I was almost certain we were lost, but my mother insisted that we were almost there.
Then she stopped, getting on all fours. She pointed to a dent in the brown grass, and next to it a pair of discolored marks in the sidewalk. “This is where he fell from heaven”.
Naturally I was more than a bit alarmed. “When did this happen?”
“Have the police been here?”
She stood up. “The police don’t come here.”