I was crack'n on grandma, cause she had amongst her things some Indian trinkets. “She was always collecting stuff that caught her eye” I said. It was a small hoop with string like a spider's web and feathers, and coral and turquoise and fake bear claw jewelery. Hey, I didn't care, as far as I knew I was from Africa a thousand miles away and who ever heard of a black Indian anyway, I know I wasn't a Redman related to Eskimos or Mexicans.
I bought Grandma's house from my uncle, lived there many years. Small animals would come in and rain and cold. I was always patching up something. One night I awoke, there was a rustling in the box of grandma's old things. Animal, I thought. I disturbed the box, knocked the lid off. The dream catcher was ablaze, but no smoke, no smell. I grabbed it to throw it out the open window, it enlarged in my hand, became two rings, one in each hand. I looked up and standing there as big as a bear was an intruder. He drew a pistol, fired, I instinctively moved the ring in front of me. The bullet entered the ring in front of me and passed out the ring I held in my other hand, I was unharmed. He was startled, but determined to hurt me and continue his robbery. He lunged to over power me, again the hoop. He entered the front hoop, so quickly I placed the second hoop against the wall and the intruder was expelled through the wall into the yard. The look on his face as he ran into the car in the driveway and the mailbox and the ditch along the street. I didn't know what to think, must have been dreaming I thought. In my hand the small dream catcher. I said out loud, “Grandma! You didn't!?” chuckled to myself while I put the trinket back in the box.
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