I was in a park, somewhere in New York. I felt like I was waiting for my Mother. I don't know where she was. It was a pretty park. It reminded me of what I would imagine a park in Paris to look like: rows of trees and pretty lamps that had a lacy look to them, painted white. It was getting dark. I was standing there, and there were lots of other people around, walking in a leisurely way, enjoying the evening.
I noticed two little boys playing near me. They looked half-Asian, really cute. They didn't seem to be connected to any of the people around, and a lot of what they were doing looked dangerous(playing near the edge of the sidewalk where it fell away to the river--and in that manner of dreams that makes no sense, there was no railing). I looked around and wondered where their parents were.
They were doing all kinds of wild stuff, running up and down the sidewalk, screaming, yelling, not in a crazy way, but in that way that children who are left unattended will do. Then they somehow got their hands on a skateboard. One of them jumped on the skateboard, and went zipping off down the sidewalk at a surprising speed. He rolled over to the entrance to the subway and disappeared down the stairs.
I ran over to the subway entrance and down the stairs. He was sitting down there at the bottom, crying. There were these women standing around, not really taking much notice of him. I ran down the stairs and picked him up. I understood suddenly that these women were his mother and aunts. For some reason it didn't surprise me that they weren't doing anything to comfort him. It felt like the reason I was there.
I stood there holding him, and I talked to his mother. I said "I wondered why they were playing alone, running around." She didn't say anything, just stood there smiling in this knowing way. I went on "I guess the way I was raised was more strict."