Dream Conversation

  • The phone rings; it's my mother. She asks me how I'm doing, what I've been up to. Then, in the same casual tone, she tells me that one of my best friends, Mario, has died. I'm numb. I hang up the phone. Wow. Infinite sadness.

  • Playing hot lava with August. We're outside and climb up into the rafters of an ivy-covered gazebo. His face is speckled with sunlight dripping through the greenery. I laugh, barefoot, thinking "I don't ever want to grow up".

  • A conversation about dreams. I'm sitting with three girls and Mario. We've all realized that we are in a dream. There is no question that we are all real people and not figments of the sole dreamer's imagination. I almost wake up a few times, but stay dreaming by looking at the palm of my hand and tracing the lines with my fingertip. I teach the technique to the others. We talk about how time is so much different inside a dream, how you can sleep for an hour but the dream will last anywhere from a few minutes to many years. It's a hot, sunny day and we're sitting crosslegged in a circle under the trees. I remark on how nice the sun feels on my skin. No UV radiation to worry about here. I turn to Mario: "Tell me a secret that you've never told me before," I say. "I want to ask your real self if it's true." In my mind I see Mario's grandmother, but Mario tells me he once thought he saw my SO in a beer commercial. Hmm, okay. I turn to the next girl (who I now realize was made-up). She says, "I love you". That's your secret? "Yes, I'm in love with you." Hmm, okay. I realize my hand is cold and I remark on it. Someone says it's probably cold in my bedroom and my hand is sticking out. I try to rub it but it does no good. Dream ends. My hand was bent with the circulation cut off.