The Balls Dream

The dream was odd. It was about me and two balls. Ahem. These were small hard-rubber balls. They easily fit in the palm of my hand. I’d been traveling with friends. The friends included a person I worked with about fifteen years ago — a female who I’ll call S — along with a male that I didn’t know, who was white and my age, and another female not known to me, but a friend in my dream. The male and I were throwing the ball as we chatted. First, we seemed to be in a mall but moved on to a gathering that was by a beach. As we went, we encountered other people, talking with them.

I also discovered a special affinity with the balls. Although dull red and normal in appearance, I discovered that I could hurl them with great power and accuracy. I first found this on my own, then decided to explore it with my male friend. This happened first in the mall area. He was about fifty feet away. I thought, I can really put some speed on this. Worried about him not being able to catch it, I refrained from throwing it too hard. After visualizing a six-inch square target in my mind, I threw it with impressive velocity. It landed right where I wanted but he had trouble managing to bring it in.

S joked with me about the balls. Out on the beach, I explained to the male friend that the ball was energized; I fed off its energy and it fed off mine. It was a matter of being in the moment. I thought that anyone could do it. He asked for a demonstration of what I meant. I sent him out into the water because I didn’t think he could catch it and I didn’t want it hurting anyone. When he was about a hundred yards out, with waves splashing over his knees, I whipped the ball at him. It shot out above the water with a little rooster tail. He flinched and missed it. The ball skipped into the water.

But I had a second one in my hand. Using the second ball, I called the first ball back to me. My throwing prowess catch the attention of the crowd. They clamored to see more. I discovered by trying that I could throw the ball in a high, long arc that would bring it back to me, and that I could catch it. After I demonstrated this, others gathered, including male and female children. I kept telling them that they could do it, too, and then would throw it to show them. They would try to repeat what I was doing but kept falling short. Some tried catching the returning ball when I sent it off in a long arc, but it would usually come in too fast for them. Even when they missed, I could put out a hand and have the ball return to me, even after it rolled to a stop on the ground.

S said, “You’re pretty good with those. I think that’s something special.” I thanked her with a laugh. That’s where the dream ended.

The Team Dream

My dreams are frequently an odd pastiche of events and activities. For this one, it was softball, celebrating, and, of course, drinking.

I was hosting a party. Wasn’t big, but intimate, perhaps six couples. My locale was a lovely home, the kind you dream about when you think about your special place, at once in a city but with privacy, space, and a yard.

I poured wine for friends as they were coming and going, visiting and chatting. Drank some wine, too, and went off and peed. A new guy arrived, my friend M, arrived. I haven’t seen M since I left Germany in 1991, but he and I communicated via Facebook for a while.

M had been a hot major league prospect for the Cincy Reds until he tore up his knees in an accident. As that was written done, he joined the Air Force. That’s how we connected. We played racquetball together. I was a damn good player; he was in several classes above me. Our schedules rarely worked out for us to play, but when it did, he sought me out. He probably won nine games out of ten, and they weren’t generally that close. I quizzed him a few times about why he played me and he always told me, “I enjoy your company and admire your hustle.”

We talked baseball and softball in the dream. Out of that brief conversation, we decided to form a team. M made some calls while I dug out gloves, balls, and bats. The balls were cubes. None of us found that unusual, except I noticed it. Where are the balls cubes, I asked myself with amusement.

Meanwhile, I served more wine, then made margaritas and served them. Guys began arriving to try out for our team. Women were there but declined to play. Basically M would hit a ball and see if the guy could catch it.

I was out there fielding first, and caught everything hit my way without issue. The next guy misjudged the deep fly to him. So did the next, but the ball came my way, so I caught it. As I transferred the cube to my hand to throw it in, another ball, a line drive was hit toward me. I caught it in my glove’s webbing.

Hurrying in, I dropped off the balls and then went in to make more drinks. Everyone wanted wine. There were multiple empty bottles. I decided I needed to open another bottle, but what should I open? All of my cheaper, casual drinking stuff had been consumed. Should I go with the more expensive offerings? Why not? They’d been purchased to drink, right? But even though, I had to decide which bottle.

I was leaning toward a red. As I pulled out bottles, I looked at labels and remembered where, when, and why they were purchased, but just couldn’t decide which bottle to open. I could hear my friends talking, wondering where I was, and then discussing that I was inside, opening another bottle.

That’s where the dream ended.

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