Fact No. 57: Lutie

20110411 Dream.

In the dream, on every which wall, there were sculptures and paintings hung high and low, and a wicker couch swung from the rafters.  I pulled a comforter into place, a real goose down comforter covered by a patchwork suede duvet, red, green, blue and yellow.  The primary colors, rich and deep.  I settled on the swing and the suede against my skin suggested rest.  It’s time to rest.  I reclined and took in the room and all the hippie artists making light and making music.  Where was I?  This strange film-maker man, whose face I couldn’t see had danced me into his van and lifted me straight to heaven.  This heaven was his home, his nest, his private garden of exotic art and artists smoking grass and laughing.  I was welcome, at home, feeling blessed.  Along came Lutie and her son.  She sat next to me on the swing and made her presence known.  Hello, I’m Lutie, she said and offered her hand.  Hello, I’m Susan, and I shook her hand and asked again: Your name is Luda?  Lutie, she said.  Lutie, I said.  Light-skinned and lovely, and a son on her lap who looked at me and rested on his head on Lutie’s breast.  A round young man, a white man behind me tapped into the conversation.  I turned and said my name.  He said, I’m Bob.  Hi, Bob, I said, Meet Lutie.  And Lutie and Bob shook hands, and her son looked again and nestled against his mother’s breast.

And let’s not forget: it was Judy who got me there.  That never eaten dinner at a fluorescent fast-food bullet-proof sticky-covered Chinese take-out table with a Styrofoam sandwich and bites of saucy cabbage that never met my mouth with my appetite whetted but never sated until, out of nowhere, a man and his van and a film on the make made their way to the table and found me hungry, and swept me up and along for the ride and the next thing I know he was dancing me the way I’ve always known I could move, lifted and loved and held for the measures that count, with my skin against his and something loving holding us tight and breathless and the right amount of sweat and the sense of his heart also beating and waiting for the right moment to make the most of what we discovered from one touch to the other, from one moment to the next and into the van like a boat on a river and sailed us straight into his home like a heaven.


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