Orange

I dreamt I was in handcuffs and orange underpants in an electronics store. He was no one, but he was you.

When I woke with the gut wrenching pull you handed me the teacup. 'Drink up.' Little sips, wondering why this bed is my bed. Black ribbon and cream lace on a cotten slip, the rain of a shower, washing off the night's work and will, and looking for a comb.

At work the telephone chirps like a badly trained parrot, but I answer it all the same. 'Brilliant idea,' was what I record on the notepad by the phone, as the colour orange pops into focus. Traces as replica's of your torture faces you in real life.

A lunchtime doctors visit. A child who wants to know what he's meant to be doing. A jab in the arm to make me lurch into a dream. I get handed a jelly bean for the faintness. Orange. You stumble back out into the sunshine, get in the car. The voices chatter at me from their tiny speaking crevices. Rain ahead.

Outside her house, orange flowers grow. I hold up the torn sheet, two words, 'Brilliant Idea.' Pavement, ripping off shoes. Passing through the door, her mail ripped open along the corridor. Sheets of paper, scattered numbers and symbols. She was writing neologies, while a joker of the deck watched her from the wall.

"Brilliant Idea. Read it to me."

She instead hands it to me, on orange paper and a little grin.

So it begins: I dreamt I was in handcuffs and orange underpants in an electronics store. He was no one, but he was you.

You look up, mouth distorted.