The Guests

Last night, I dreamed my house was full of people, and everyone had covid.

People I knew and people I didn’t—just milling around.

My mind raced.

How’d all these people get here? WHEN did all these people show up?

WHY did I let them in??

I rummage through my pantry, wildly trying to conjure a meal plan.

How am I going to care for all these sick people? WHY am I caring for people?

WHAT DO I DO?

Overwhelmed and confused, I choke back tears.

As I close the pantry door, suddenly a coworker is standing beside me.

“Hi, Jules!” he says with a cheerful smile, gathering me into a big hug.

For a second, I’m so surprised. The hug is warm. I feel relieved and grounded, and everything seems OK.

I sigh and take a deep breath. And then reality kicks in.

And I think, “Oh no! Why are you here? This house is full of COVID!
I have to get him out of here!”

So I try to tell my friend that his life is in danger, but he interrupts.

“I need a drink,” he says, disappearing the other way.

I look around and realize there are liquor bottles all over my house!

And people I don’t know, with COVID! Drinking alcohol in my house!

I don’t understand why anyone is here. I don’t want strangers in my house!

My panic rises.

I need to find my coworker, tell him the situation, and get him out of danger before it’s too late.

Then, I must figure out what to do about these plague people.

And as I’m wondering, “Does single malt kill covid?” I wake up.

Bewildered and wiped.

The only restful thing out of the experience, frankly, was the hug.