Dreams April 20, 2012
The flower bunches hung over us, like constellations in the sky, buoyed by balloons.
“Look, how beautiful! Though some are uneven, it is a great arrangement.” We admire the dozen bunches of pink and white flowers floating in a circle above our heads. But suddenly, what is it? A dog. A dog on the ground has punctured the airbag with his paws and in one swift movement the arrangement collapses. I’m standing so close to the dog — will they think I did it? Will they blame me?
No, the only story goes that I am the one who created the wonderful arrangement. In truth, I had no involvement; I don’t deserve the credit. “See how rumors start, and become historical fact? There’s no controlling it,” I say. I regret the confusion but don’t try too hard to combat it; I am relieved that no one blames me for any part of the collapse.
Meanwhile, we try to figure out the rules of this new planet. For, surely, it is a new planet. First of all, the weeks lack Fridays. Then, the fashions are different. I watch the women move in a spirited dance in a circle, wearing strange print dresses with ruffled skirts, strange wrappings around their mouths and lower jaws — like bandages. We try to account for all this. Someone figures that this universe is much smaller, the planet is closer to its sun, and that is why the week and all time is shorter. What else can we discover about this strange place we find ourselves, we wonder.