Friday, January 30, 2009
I’m on some sort of scooter, a vespa or something, and on my way back to the house in Rockville coming off the highway I zoom past my dad, also on one of those scooters. I come flying over the bridge, brake hard, but still make the turn onto my street at a good 40 mph. I wind up rocketing down the street at 60 mph but realize I’m going way too fast to be comfortable (damn the police), so I try to slow down. I try a whole bunch of unorthodox methods to slow down, including squeezing my penis, before it dawns on me to sit up straight and ease off the accelerator.
I get to the bottom of a hill and veer into someone’s front yard. It’s dark. Tungsten lights bathe everything in a heavy orange glow, except the purple skies. There’s a series of trees in my path and I go to the right of the first and second ones, and then in between the second and third to get back on the road where I slow to practically a crawl. Home is about 100 yards away.
Then a gray Ford van suddenly appears behind me and to my right. It slides its side door open and the passenger door pops open as well. It stops, I stop. An average-height man with no hair on his head except for a beard, in a white t-shirt and gray pants hops out. He doesn’t say anything but something about the way he carries himself says that he doesn’t mean well. Maybe it’s the piercing eyes and the suspicious grin. I scream.
I ditch my scooter and run to a nearby parked car as my dad pulls up behind the van and rolls right by the man, and me and the car, before stopping and getting off where I can’t see him. He gestures, but doesn’t say anything. I hide behind the car tire and dial 911 on a phone that’s not mine. The man goes after him, with the eyes and the smile. I don’t hear or see anything to the effect but I know my dad is now dead. The phone line goes dead. I don’t hear or see anything but I know the man turns his attention to me. And I wake up.