Hell

I dreamed I killed one of my best friends. We were hanging out at he and his wife's apartment, with his little girl sleeping in the next room. It was night, and some sports event was on TV, maybe boxing. We were extremely drunk, as we often were once upon a time in college. The room's adobe-like walls were changing colors and shades with the television light. For some reason we started punching each other in the arm, as kids used to do once upon a time. His wife found this hilarious and began giggling. But then the punching became more earnest, and soon my friend was a bloody pile on the floor. It was a nightmare. His wife loaded the body, which we had folded up and placed on a tray, inside a cupboard.

Somehow the word got out, I was arrested (although I didn't get arrested in the dream, I merely had an awareness that I had been at one point arrested and was set to go on trial). My own wife was aghast, and the worst part of all perhaps was that my friend's mom didn't know where her son was. I was going to call her up and tell her of the horrible deed, lest she find out when the thing went to trial. Sensing the impending horror, a friend of mine, renowned for her prodigious capacity for drink, made me one of her signature cocktails (I don't drink cocktails, except perhaps in dreams) that seemed to consist of mostly just vodka, poured in an unwieldy pint glass that was decorated with paintings of lemons.

It was a hellish time, and I couldn't shake the idea that it actually happened, even for a few minutes after I woke up.

But then I remembered: no, my friend is safe down the Shore with his family, enjoying the boardwalk and the sunshine.

Thanks be to the gods.