Dream 20040104, 10:15 AM:
Chris and I are going on a road trip somewhere. We have to get the oil or something on the car changed, and we stop at one of those little places that only does oil and fluid services, and the area where they work on the cars is adjacent to where we sit to wait. The guys working on the cars are very hot looking, and they are wearing overalls with no shirts; I point out to Chris how hot looking the guy working on our car is. He’s not huge, but smoothly muscular with a great body hair pattern that we see from time to time peeking out from the side of his overalls as he’s working on the car. Then, we’re watching a video monitor that’s up in the corner of the room, and I notice that it’s shifted from showing the mechanics to showing a gay porn film. There are other people here, and I tell Chris to change the channel or shut it off; there’s a mother hiding her child’s face.
There is some stuff that I don’t remember. It seems like there’s something with a group of guys that are like friends of friends of mine; I don’t know them well. Then, we’re at Grandma’s house. [note: this is my Mom’s mother, the one who died about ten years ago.] The guys are there, too – I think they’re friends of my cousins, or something like that. I remember lying on the couch with two other guys, and feeling this one guy’s muscular ass and thighs. He doesn’t seem interested, but doesn’t seem to mind, either.
I go into the living room, which is set up with a dining table and a card table, getting ready for a big holiday dinner. The cousins are here, and we’re setting the tables, figuring out where everyone will sit. I notice that Grandma is sitting in a wooden rocking chair out on the front porch; I open the screen door, and she says, “Can somebody sit next to me?” She has an odd expression on her face, as if she’s trying to smile but about to cry. I go out and stand next to her chair. Her shoulders and back are bare (which I don’t think I ever saw in real life) and I rub my hand gently across her shoulders. She stretches, and croons a little, as if it is comforting. Her skin is cool and dry.
A young woman comes out onto the porch, holding a big gift-wrapped package. I ask who she is, and Grandma explains that she’s from the dialysis place. The woman goes away, as if she had just stopped by to drop this off. Grandma starts opening the package, and it has something to do with an oil change or tune-up, and she says that’s good, she needs to get that done. The box is huge, and she keeps opening it up. Beneath the oil change kit is a large box which turns out to contain a small Christmas tree. We set it up; it’s probably just under three feet, and has a stand that makes it turn around and play a song like a music box. Other boxes have lights and little ornaments. Someone remarks that now she needs some icicles; Kathy says that maybe there will be some when she opens her other presents, hinting that it’s what she got her. I think to myself that I gave her something that will go with it, but it’s still a work in progress, like something I’m making and not yet finished with.
There’s this sense that it’s going to be Grandma’s last Christmas in the house, or maybe her last Christmas at all – everyone seems kind of melancholy but resigned. Dad asks Richard if he understands how it’s going to go, and Richard replies that Grandma is going to move to live with one of the grandkids for a year, and then that grandkid is going to get the house they’re living in. It seems like they’re planning to transition her to a nursing home.
Then, I’m standing on the porch with Grandma, who is still sitting in her rocker. She says, “Now, we need to work on finding you some female companionship.” I look at her, and very matter-of-factly say, “Grandma, I’m gay.” She looks up, and says only, “Well, I kinda wondered about that.” I explain that I live with a very nice young man named Chris, and that we’ve been together over three years now. She doesn’t seem disturbed or upset. I walk through the living room and into the kitchen, where I find Mom down on the floor under the stove (which has legs like a table, as opposed to an oven) cleaning. I tell her, “I just came out to Grandma. Hope she’s OK…” and I explain the circumstances of how I told her.