I’m in the passenger side of a car. My dad is in back, needing to come up front, waiting for me to move, but I don’t. He ends up front anyhow. Somehow I have the brake pedal on my side.
My dad drives fast, and I am amazed that I am able to slow the car down as he turns corners (right).
We have come to a small hill, with a road on top. We wait for the cars to pass before driving up / joining them.
I have two plastic pieces to put together, but don’t have the substance to / that hold(s) them together. A lady tells me I can buy what I need cheaply. I calmly respond, “Or buy what works”, implying that cost doesn’t matter. She is stunned / shocked that I would say that.
I’m in a van / bus / RV, with other people. We are waiting for something. I have someone’s baby (6 months?). I’m letting it crawl around. A lady tells me not to lose the baby.
Some of the people are standing, speaking Arabic. Sowin is across from me, on the other side of these people. He is Iranian, but understands Arabic. He is listening, but not participating, with his head slightly down.
It is Ramadan month. I, along with the other women, who are Muslim, have plastic wrap around our heads, like when a robber puts on a stocking. I’m still able to breathe. We are strictly not allowed to poke any hole(s), or danger will come to us. Even still, I want to poke a pinhole in between my slightly parted lips.
I have a knowing that everyone has to walk through a tunnel, as is done during this period, women having to wear the plastic. They are allowed to remove it when they reach the other side. I’m amazed that these women are able to do this. I don’t see the tunnel, so don’t know how long it is.
Some of the men are discussing how / that they hate / dislike praying in that room because there is no room to maneuver / move.
As I am waking up, I see myself crying because I have “lost” my baby.
The name Kamar comes to mind.
Ali is picking up his grey hoodie that he had had sized for him. One of the ladies / the lady had stitched something on the top of the flap of fabric that is inside by the zipper, as a memory of his lost baby / son.