I had been having a scratchy feeling in my throat for a few days. On Friday night, I resolved to stay in and watch a movie. Around nine, a friend called and we ended up riding to Georgetown in an overcrowded van to see a band called Asymmetrical Warfare play in a basement. A basement metal show is really the worst thing you can do for a cold, but as soon as I was sufficiently saturated with whisky I discovered it was impossible for me to get sick, because I was made completely out of cotton balls and warm felt. I went to bed at three with my hair full of Miller High Life and other people’s sweat. I set my alarm for six. I didn’t have to get up for work until eleven, but disturbing the sleep cycle can make dreams more vivid. I woke up at five. My throat felt like a run-down sandbox that children peed in. The fuzzy fabrics my body had been composed of that evening were rearranged into some hideous, vaguely threatening arts and crafts project. I set my alarm for eleven and fell into a light, uncomfortable sleep.

The woman lay submerged in broth among slices of celery and carrots, her red dress fanning out around her like seaweed.

I had a dream about helping a woman hibernate. Her hibernation had to be kept secret. I lived in some kind of institutional building with a large group of friends. We had meals together in a cafeteria and spent most of the day in meetings and conferences. I always had to leave dinner early to assist the woman in the process of hibernating. I heated enormous quantities of vegetable soup to fill the bathtub-sized Tupperware container she stayed in. I kept the container under my bed. Preparing the container and keeping the soup warm were the hardest parts. I came very close to being discovered. Once those things had been accomplished it was easier. I would open the container where the woman lay submerged in broth among slices of celery and carrots, her red dress fanning out around her like seaweed. My assumption in the dream was that she was absorbing nutrients through her skin. She never said anything or even opened her eyes. Slowly her hand surfaced, holding a piece of notebook paper which was shiny and transparent with soup. She wrote notes to me with a blue ballpoint pen whose ink ran all over the paper. Usually she told me she was fine. While I was dreaming, the most noticeable feelings I experienced were anxiety about having to conceal the woman from my friends and curiosity about the physical process of her hibernation. These feelings weren’t particularly intense, and when I woke up it took me a few minutes to remember that I had dreamed at all. The image of the woman floating in the soup was only bizarre and arresting in memory. During the dream, my reaction to the sight of her in the container was limited to mild concern, followed by relief when her notes informed me that she was doing well. Emotionally the dream didn’t flavor my day in the way that the best and worst dreams do. However, the colors in the dream were so bright that I felt as if they affected the way I perceived and thought about color for most of the following afternoon. Also, the scenario the dream centered around was so mysterious. I opened a can of soup this afternoon and the floating pieces of vegetables in it looked like a foreign language. by Sarah Galvin