Dreeeam, dream, baby! (One of the weirdest I've ever had.)

[bertha katzenengel]

I had to go somewhere in deepest, darkest Santa Ana, and I asked one of my sisters for directions. I was on a bike. I rode and rode and rode. Then I realized the directions were as if my sister herself was going, meaning it was all surface streets. I knew how to get there anyway, so I got on the freeway.

Although there were a few other bikes with me in the right lane, along with pedestrians, I thought, "this is nuts -- I'm gonna be killed." So I went to the next off ramp. It was very steep, frighteningly so, so I stopped to think about how I was going to get off the freeway. I walked my bike into the little grassy area created by all the roads around the off ramp.

In that little grassy area was a golf foursome. They had a picnic laid out, and obviously the area was too small for golf, but one of the women teed it up as if she were on the course. Then she putted (after teeing it up, yes) and hit the ball right into a tree. It ricocheted and hit her square in the ankle, and she fell over. I got to her first and asked if she was okay. She looked up at me and said "yes" and then did a double-take. I helped her up, and said, "Hi, Diane!" Diane and I had worked together long ago. She said, "Oh, thank god!" ((Like, "thank god you said something.")) I thought it was you but wasn't sure." We hugged and said "how are yous" and such. Then suddenly one of the men in the foursome was Don, her boyfriend, with whom I'd also worked. Don was tall, old, bald, and grizzled, and one of the sweetest men I've ever known. Neither of them had changed.

Suddenly we were in Don's house. Diane's presence was acknowledged but she wasn't there. There were a few other people, just sitting around on an afternoon, having a beer. Don called me into his bedroom and asked me to read a two-page letter he'd just written. He said, "I can't tell her face to face, I just can't," and his eyes were about to spill over. I read it; it was an "I'm sorry, I love you but I want a divorce" letter. I looked at him and said "oh, no, well, you know I love you" although I didn't speak it.

We were back in the living room, and the two of us were standing there, when his wife -- for whom the letter was meant; it wasn't for Diane -- came walking down the hall, opening an envelope and saying sarcastically, "Hmm, what is this?" His wife was S. Epatha Merkerson. We were the best of friends. I went over to her as she was pulling the letter out of the envelope and shook my head at her, saying silently, "don't. Don't read that now, honey, don't." She defied me and started to read it anyway. Her shoulders fell and she started walking back down the hall. I went after her and held her and said, "I love you, I'm so sorry." She pulled back and gave me a look that would boil cheese, and said silently, "I'll kill him" --

Then Mrs. V. woke me up.

* S. Epatha Merkerson -- from Lackawanna Blues and Law & Order: Hubba, hubba!