42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

Two priests knock on the door. Oh, you must be here about the room, I say. Yes, they both say in unison… I could think of a joke to go with that, but I won’t bother.

I’m way out in the country. There are rows of shorn corn fields all around. It is early morning, and the air is dusty and golden. It’s a little bit chilly as mornings can be. I’m out with a couple of coworkers, and we decide to go get breakfast in this tiny diner in the middle of nowhere.
I have a hard time finding anything I want to eat because I’m a vegetarian. I must eat hashbrowns or something, in the end, and hope they’re not cooked with animal fat. We sit here and linger a bit. I’m drinking my orange juice, the others their coffee. Until someone comes into the diner and says hey, you’re late! You’re supposed to be back at the office now.

We pay the bill, rush out. I look in confusion at the gravel parking lot nestled among the fields. The vehicle we took out, my Saturn, is not there. Instead there’s other, beaten down cars and a huge semi and trailer with a long stained glass window in the side of the driver’s door, tilting down. The trailer itself is short, and tilted down. We speculate whose it could be … we think we saw someone famous in the diner, and wonder if it could be his.
But no, this is the vehicle we’re expected to take back to work. One of my coworkers drives. I shove myself into the back of the cab, while Heather sits up front. I notice that at the end of the trailer, there is another driver, controlling the back end of it, perhaps like with some forms of heavy construction equipment.
Somewhere along the way, we get out and walk for a while, before being admonished by the back driver, who says that we’re going to be late. That the boss needs to finish up the time cards, and he can’t do it until we’re back and do ours. We’re holding up everyone getting paid.
But it’s still beautiful out. I pick up a few pieces of debris from the fields, watch them catch the sunlight.
It’s also at this point in the dream that I remember that I’m pregnant. And also remember that the boss of where I’m supposed to be working doesn’t like unplanned pregnancies, and possibly no pregnancies at all. I try to think of ways that I can still support myself, or at least a place to stay.
Someone mentions a room at a religious mission in town that I could stay at. I’m hesitant to do that, but then realize it’s probably my only choice.

I go to the mission and ask for the room. Heather, my roommate, comes with me in solidarity. Besides, if I leave my job, she can’t afford our current apartment by herself.
It’s actually a nice, small apartment. Two bedrooms and a kitchenette. The people who run the mission are not asking me to make any religious committments and tell me that the priest who used to stay here was gone, and wasn’t expected back.
So Heather and I each settle into the bedrooms. We weren’t able to bring much stuff.
Then we find out that a priest was going to come to visit after all. I’m worried we’ll have to share. Maybe we can encourage him to go elsewhere, though I know as an atheist, I have no right to be here.
But the priest doesn’t come. We think the coast is clear. It’s hours later, though, and there’s a knocking at the door. I’ve been sleeping, and I barely hear it. There’s more insistent knocking, and I finally get up, in a bathrobe, to see who it is.
I look through the peephole, but see nothing but a shadow. So I open the door, and see a quiet guy in a monkish dark robe, and as I say, “You must be Father X,” another priest in a light robe stands in front of him and says loudly, “I’m Father Y.”
Apparently, they’ve both been promised berths in this little apartment.
Now I worry about what’s going to happen to us. I certainly can’t find any other place to live (apparently this small town I’m living in frowns on single mothers) yet these priests have a right to the place.
Father X is quiet, just steps in and looks around. I have little impression of what he looks like. But Father Y makes more of an impact. He’s tall, almost elongated. His face is long and the lines fall into folds around his mouth. When he smiles, you see his teeth are elongated with him. He’s very chatty, and explains that he and the other Father are prepared to share, but that Father X prefers to be by himself, which means he, Heather and I will all have to shove our beds into one room.
And that means, of course, he says, that I’ll pay $1,500 of the rent, and Father X will pay $500, and you will pay …
The math doesn’t add up, and I didn’t realize that we were expected to pay, since this was a mission. Maybe we don’t have to pay and the priests do. I’m grateful, after Father Y puts it this way, that someone will be here to help pay the bills.
I wonder if I should tell them why I’m here, wonder if that will make them change their minds.
So I just get it out. “Do you mind sharing with a baby too?” I ask.
They’re aware of the situation. And I hope at some point, they’ll realize that the space should be distributed more equitably. I don’t say anything to them, but I think it’s more logical that the priests should share a small room, and that we should get the other room.
I also wonder if there’s something different about Father Y. If maybe he’s not who he says he is.