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Angie and the Doctor

March 11, 2010

Have you ever played basketball in a lucid dream? I tried it again last night. The conventional rules apply. A few other things were also against the rules: flying, telekinesis, vanishing and reappearing, shapeshifting, telepathy or any other course of power.

But you could move really fast and defy time.

The game was composed of a large group of dream figures, most of which I didn’t recognize except for Angie and the Doctor. They were swift and smooth on the court. Angie was a great blocker, the Doctor a rebound king and scorer. I was clever at making steals and scoring. We won by ten points. Angie invited me to her place after the game.

As she poured a glass of wine she said,”So, what’s your story?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to avoid the question for some reason.

“You don’t talk much. I guess I’m just curious about your life.”

“Which life would that be?”

“Your true life. The one you believe is real.”

Angie was always cool about me saying so little. I figured I had to give her something to work with.

“It’s difficult to say, really. But I imagine the life I exist in at this very moment is my true life. I’m standing in your kitchen, drinking wine with you and celebrating our victory,” I admitted. “The other life is my real life. A flesh and blood responsibility. My family is there and most of memories were made there.”

“I see. But maybe you don’t need to make the distinction. The other life you have doesn’t stop while you’re here, right?”

“No. It doesn’t. I’m in a kind of stasis that allows me to be here.”

In the meantime she’s managed to cut meats and a variety of cheeses and placed them alongside wheat crackers. After a second glass of red she asked, “So, are you seeing anyone? I mean, what do you like? I never see you express interest in anyone.”

“Not my favorite topic, Ang.”

“There’s this guy I think you’d pair off with really well.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Or this really nice girl. Maybe you saw her tonight in the stands.”

She smiled and looked at me with hungry eyes. The doorbell rang. The Doctor had come to join the festivities. We spent the rest of evening talking and laughing over another bottle. Then the Doc asked, “What’s your ideal evening? Here’s mine. Basketball, Sex, Takeout, Sleep.

Typical.

We laughed and I said, “I think it should be sex, basketball, shower, sex, takeout, sex, and television. I don’t why, but it was funny at the time.

It was late and Angie said I could take her car home. She told me some guy had written the word Chia on her dirty windshield one day and since then the car had adopted this name. She laughed really hard and threw me the keys. Doc left and I followed him out.

“See you later,” said Angie.

Doc knew the license plate number by heart. O83AB is what I heard. I walked around the neighborhood looking for Chia. I tried to focus on the unstable numbers and letters. I’m grateful it’s something I’ve worked on, so it doesn’t take too much time for regain focus. I located a small blue car with the license plate OA3AB. I guess I heard it wrong. I got into the car and shifted into first gear. But it was too late.

It was seven o’clock on Thursday morning, my real life awaited to start another day.

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