I had a dream that my grandmother and I lived in a small town and operated an inn there that was in a converted barn. We lived in a house made out of a converted silo, next to the barn. Most of the town was over just about every night, drinking and playing music and whatnot.
One day, some travelers (mother and daughter) came and started a-preachin’. They felt that the drinking and cavortin’ and whatnot was the devil’s work and that we were a bad influence on the town. Even they were surprised by how receptive the impressionable townspeople were. A riot began, and people began tearing down our silo home. I ran around, trying to convince people to stop. We had a few stalwart friends who helped. I saw the preacher’s daughter light up a molotov cocktail, but before she threw it, somebody shot her. It was impossible to say who, because there was so much chaos. But it was too late. She had already lit the thing and was standing in the house, so the place went up. All the rioters scrambled out of the house and everybody watched the place burn.
(btw, the preacher’s daughter was played by Amelia, who is a person in real life).
The next day, everybody in the whole town was very apologetic and everybody offered to help rebuild the place.
I felt that the preacher lady was AT LEAST SOMEWHAT responsible, for stirring up the riot. I found out where she lived and went to talk to her. I didn’t want to directly ask for her help. I wanted to see if she would offer it freely, and to see if she was apologetic in general.
Her husband (played by Bill Cosby) let me in. I started talking to her. “Well,” I said. “A lot of the town has offered to help rebuild [hint hint], so I think we’ll probably be mostly okay. Thing is, though, I can’t decide whether to have them build us a new silo for a house, or build a regular house. We’ve gotten so used to the silo. Also, I think this would be a good opportunity to make it so that gramma’s room isn’t on the top floor, with all those spiral staircases, y’know? Of course, she’s having none of it. She insists that she has no trouble with the stairs and likes living on the top floor and wants everything rebuilt just the way it was. I’m not sure. What do you think?”
She gave me a shrug that was at once nonchalant and threatening, as if to say, “I don’t give a shit about your problems, but if you ask me about them, I will give you some new ones.” But that attitude, I could tell, was hiding her real thoughts, which I understood in the form of a game show. The game show was called “Moral Responsibility” – at least, that’s what the big light-up sign said.
She was at the table with a buzzer. Her husband watched on from a table behind her. The host was wearing a bad suit and holding a bob-barker-style microphone. He posed the question: “You’ve just caused the destruction of these people’s home. What is it your Moral Responsibility to do?”
The “timer” music started, and the audience started shouting suggestions. The host walked around them with the microphone, highlighting individual suggestions. “Buy them a ticket for a cruise!” shouted a woman. “Send flowers!” shouted someone. “Marry into the family,” suggested a man. He clarified, “It’s okay to steal from family.”
“Time’s up,” announced the host. “What do you do?”
She looked behind her at her husband, then back to the host.
“Fake my own death,” she announced.
Back in dream-real life, she made some excuses and got me out of there. While I was walking away from the house, I saw her drive past me in her convertible. A short distance away, I saw the car go over a cliff and crash. I went and hid in the trees to see what was going on. There were these two Italian guys there (one played by Joe Pesci), putting fake blood at the scene and hitting the car with hammers to make it look more cracked up than it actually was.
I followed them back to an auto shop and eavesdropped. “Listen,” one said, “Sal said that that car he sent us should be exactly the same as Ma’s. No one should be able to know the difference.” I didn’t know what to do with this information, so I just left. I made a bizarre habit out of coming into their store every now and then to eavesdrop on them. They didn’t know who I was, though. Fortunately, their store sold all manner of old car parts and old mechanical parts, so that gave me an excuse to browse in there. I learned that these two were the preacher-lady’s sons, but by an earlier marriage. That husband had died, and her current husband (the one played by Bill Cosby) knew nothing of this former life of hers.
Well, one day, I was in the shop and I saw Bill Cosby walk by, looking rather distraught. He’d lost everything – his daughter, his wife… I went over to him. He recognized me. “Listen,” I said. “Those two guys in there? They are your wife’s other children.” “My wife is dead,” he said. “No, she’s not. They faked her death. She’s still alive!”
He became very angry at that point. He’d worked very hard on accepting his wife’s death, and didn’t want me messing with him. “What the fuck?” he shouted. “Why the fuck would you tell me something like that?” And he started running away from me. I turned around. Uh oh. Those Italian guys had heard me talking to him, and now they were pissed.
But I woke up then.