OJ

Last night I dreamt that someone had invented a helium balloon of the birthday party variety capable of bringing one to unimaginable heights. I grabbed hold, and soon I was at the clouds, between them, above. The wind was pushing me towards the Yale farm, which seemed like the proper place to be headed, although I had no way to alter my course if I had so desired. Passing low over fields, my balloon and I approached a thick forest at the edge of the farm. Others, too, had just landed. I observed two friends disentangling themselves from the ribbon and the thicket.

I realize that I need to get back home. But when I turn around my balloon is gone, and it seems suddenly hundreds of miles away from anywhere. Emerging from the forest onto a section of thick, gray pavement, I decide to call the minibus. “We can pick you up in half an hour” crackled the echoing voice inside myself cellphone.

But the bus is there immediately, a big yellow school bus, and I get on. At the time, this seems normal. Less normal: the girl sitting a few rows up who is drinking orange juice out of a metallic blue beer can. When she starts pouring the liquid all over her arm, I try to stop her but I can’t. “What are you doing?” I shout. “Drinking orange juice,” she explains calmly. “Oh,” I say.

“Want some?”
“Yeah.”

I hold out my arm. The juice feels cool and sticky on my skin. Then a siren sounds, and lights flash, and I wake up.

(A dream with a resonant voice)