Meeting the Carvers

Last night I met the Carvers—Raymond and Maryanne—in a dream. She was tall and slim with close-cropped hair. There was a “divide” between us, which I was trying to bridge. Raymond was standing next to her leaning against a car, his arms crossed across his chest. He was wearing a soft plaid flannel shirt and glasses. He seemed approachable in a distant sort of way. I was trying to figure out how to “get close” to Maryanne, or at least make a beginning so maybe that could happen.

Maryanne abruptly left the no-happening scene and disappeared. I took off after her trying to find her. A little while later, I saw her across the street, holding up a fluffy dead cat by the neck. I could tell by her determined gait that she was VERY upset about the cat and knew what she was going to do with it.

I imagined her thinking MURDERER.

“Maryanne,” I called across the road, “I am SO sorry. What happened?” She did not look my way, but continued on her own sacred path.

I stood there for a second wondering what to do.