River and I were caretakers of a large church with ornate beveled glass doors and windows. We happened to be in the center of a city with a lot of racial tension.
Night came. The church was quiet, beautifully lit from the inside, and as usual, open to the public. I was tuned in to some news reports and learned of a race riot developing in the streets. I saw gun flashes and heart shots from outside. Fear gripped me but I knew we had to prepare for whatever might come next. I considered locking the front doors so no trouble would come in, but I also knew people might need refuge in the church. Besides, if I approached the doors I might be seen through the glass and get shot.
The gunfire directly outside the doors was intense. I felt vulnerable and wanted to turn off lights. There were a number of confusing switches in the vast church chamber so I began the time-consuming task of turning them off. River headed upstairs to work on extinguishing or repairing some light fixtures in a large windowless room.
Men, women and children of all races began to come into the church. I didn’t offer to help them or direct them to a place to stay. No one else was around to help tend to the church or to assist any wounded people. Then I saw that no one was wounded—instead everyone just looked tired. They filed in slowly and silently, and gathered in the main chamber, or sat on a front set of stairs, or lingered in the wide, dimly-lit hallways.
I went upstairs to see what River was doing. He was preoccupied with disassembling light fixtures. I saw that he had taken my request for help with turning off lights to mean that he literally had to dismount every light fixture. He wanted to be sure no one turned the lights on accidentally. I felt impatient but said nothing. Maybe he was doing the right thing. I wanted him to help me with something else, but I didn’t know what. I turned to leave and walked out through the room’s wide-open double doors.
A young, wild-eyed, lean and scruffy-looking white man came running up the stairs. He wore a loose, oversized canvas army jacket and carried an enormous black automatic rifle. He came to a stop at the top of the stairs where I stood frozen, and he looked intensely angry. In the room, River’s back was to the doors, so I tried to yell a warning, but no sound emerged.
The man considered me, sizing me up for a moment. Then I turned back around and ran into the room again, the man hot on my heels. I raced toward River to protect him but he took a shot in the back, on his side, and immediately fell, limp, from his step ladder to the floor. I rushed to him, and held his head up. The man with the gun disappeared.
I dragged River’s body to the hallway, desperate to reach a phone. He was semi-conscious; the shot had done serious damage and he couldn’t see, hear or speak. I felt panicked and wanted to dial 911 to try to save him. I talked to him and said I would get help. Then River became my brother. I had to leave his side to get to a small room with a phone. There I dialed 911, but was too panicked to think to tell them any information about the victim or the circumstances. I rushed back to the body, cursing my ineptitude, having allowed this to happen, and not doing absolutely everything I could to fix it. For allowing my panic to interfere.
The man with the gun appeared again from downstairs and aimed himself directly at me, looking even more angry than before. He had been terrorizing everyone in the church but had shot only River. He aimed his gun at me and I ran. I wove in and out of small offices and doorways to avoid him. He came close enough that there was nothing I could do and he took a shot point blank at my chest and throat.
I felt a blast of pressure and lots of wet destruction in my body but no pain. I realized there was no rational way I could survive this damage and there must not be any more to this dream. I felt very dissatisfied at this—I had given in and this was a terrible injustice. I wanted to be helping people in the church, not running around frantically and then getting shot. I let myself die.