We often have military helicopters fly over our house in a line that, to me, runs from the Pentagon, or the White House, to Walter Reed Medical Center in Bethesda. They fly quite low and make a lot of noise. This can happen at any time, but generally not before noon or after 11 o’clock at night.

But this morning, at about 6 a.m., three or four flew past, waking me up, and much less pleasant than a Muslim call to prayers. I wondered if someone important had taken ill in the middle of the night. Either no one did, it seems, or…..you heard it here first.

I did fall back asleep, waking up about 8, but I didn’t enjoy those two hours. It seems I was a lawyer again, practicing in a small office in Washington. I was a junior lawyer, not the boss. We were involved with a company in the suburbs called Murch. Murch was both a landscape company and a funeral home and there were some questions of improper dealings involving two of their employees.  They had agreed to sit for a deposition in our office. It was to be the next day.

A senior partner told me I should pick them up in the morning for the deposition and drive them back after.  I told him that made no sense, since they were 45 minutes away. It meant I would spend three hours in the car with them. Finally, he agreed.

The next morning, at home, I decided I should wear a coat and tie for this important event. My shirt was almost a neon blue, and I couldn’t find a tie that worked. I tried on several, and finally chose a red one.

My daughter (whoever she was in this dream) told me she would drive me down to my office, that she was going that way. I said “ok”, and we had a nice conversation in the car, until I realized that we were on Connecticut Avenue near W Street, and my office was on C Street. It was already late. I jumped out of the car and decided to walk. It was not only the 20 something blocks from W to C, but we were another 20 blocks or so across town. I was in trouble.

I rushed down Connecticut towards Dupont Circle, but decided I should go  east as well as south, so I turned left and found myself in a neighborhood that looked more like the Moorlands in Clayton MO than anything in Washington.

For some reason, I went into a building and an empty apartment and started to take off my clothes. I realized that was a mistake, put them back on, left through a back door of the building, and I was lost. I looked for a street sign and saw I was on V Street. I had only gone one block since I got out of the car.

I saw a taxi and got in. There were two other passengers. I sat in the front seat next to another passenger. I don’t know where the driver was, but he was there.

I told the driver I was going to the Federal Court House. I don’t know if I said that because I was confused, or because that was near my office.

While we were driving, I told my fellow passenger my sad story. It was now almost noon. I told him that I hadn’t told anyone I was running late and I did not know if they were waiting for me or  if someone else was asking the questions. I told him I was afraid to look at my phone to see any messages.

That is when I realized that no one else in the office knew details of the case, but that I had no ideas what questions we wanted to ask.

The taxi pulled into a nondescript parking lot in a rough looking neighborhood. I did not know where I was. The driver told me that new security regulations made it impossible for a cab to drive closer to the Court House. He pointed in a direction and said “It’s that way.”

I think that is when I woke up.