Tool Puppet Husband

June 1994

I dreamt I was older and that I dreamed. I was in a small bedroom and an old woman came in and sat for a bit. I vaguely knew her, but could not place her. She said, “You don’t remember me do you? When you were young you used to come visit me often. Well, in your dreams at least. You used to show up at the door and we let you in and I baked you cookies, and told you stories, and acted out plays for you. We’re too old now, or else we’d still be doing it. Who’s we you ask, well my husband. Maybe you’ll remember him?

She left the room and came back with a doll. It was an ugly, Tool like puppet. The face was brown and wrinkled and wore a frown. I remembered the face and realized what the old lady had told me was true. At that point, all I wanted was to see that old man, the doll, smile. I took my fingers and tried to form his mouth into a smile, when I woke up.
(This will be a story. I woke myself up to write it down.)

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