Purple Barrons

It is silly to try and capture the nature of a dream while writing.

You had to be there to understand this dream, but no doubt, some of you were there because I saw you.

It happened last night in my sleep; one of those lucid dreams where I knew I was dreaming.

There we were, a bunch of us, riding down the highway in a Pontiac. The car was the size of a boat. There had to be at least fifty in that car.

It reminded me of childhood when the entire family packed into my grandfather’s boat and we headed down Route 22 to Boyer Town, an amusement park.

We came upon an open field, a place similar to Woodstock in the dream.

I’m not sure what we were doing there, perhaps it was a Dolly Pardon concert.

I was the one who first noticed the two lights in the sky and pointed to what appeared to be a constellation.

I shouldn’t have opened my mouth, but as soon as I did, down came the unidentified flying objects.

Everyone ran away with the exception of my brother Sean and I. We stood there and watched, fearlessly.

I haven’t seen Sean in at least four years. He’s busy with his life now and so am I.

The phone rang and awoke me from my dream.

It was Sean.

"You are an uncle again. Cathy had a little boy last night."

"What did you name him?"

"Barron"

That’s nice. Oh, that’s weird," I said.

"What?"

"I had a dream about you last night."

"You did?"

"Yes," I explained, but didn’t bother telling him about the silly UFOs.

"Do you know it has been four years since grand pap died?"

"Has it been that long? My God!"

Perhaps I should have told him my dream, because now I understand its meaning.

My grandfather is born again.