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Swing | May 20 2002

Had another dream about you. In the manner of dreams, you didn’t look like you, nor did I realize you were you until after the fact.

We were playing miniature golf at my childhood miniature golf course and you insisted on taking a full swing on every shot. That right there should have told me something.

Although this was miniature golf, you had a caddie who followed us from hole to hole. I think now that he was your boyfriend (your waking-life boyfriend, not your dream boyfriend; I was your dream boyfriend). He would estimate yardage and hand you your club. No matter how far it was, he always gave you the same club (you only had one), and you always swung as hard you could.

At the sixteenth hole, a complicated deal involving a mechanical Shiva whose arms and legs rotated at different speeds, you kissed me, or laid your mouth on mine, to stop me from speaking. Actually, it was the latter: you laid your mouth on mine. It was only after a time that one could say we were kissing.

I didn’t really dream this.