During a summer family get-together, I was sitting at a wooden picnic table in my backyard with my uncle Jimmy, my brother, and my parents' friend Ricky. I wandered over to my driveway where I found Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, and my friend Emily. There was a fire burning in a trash can, and standing next to it, Larry treated us to a short performance of Richard III (which just so happens to be my favorite of his Shakespeare performances).
After applauding, I, for reasons unbeknownst to me, climbed atop the Saab in my garage and then went into the kitchen. I found Larry in there as well. He was wearing a yellow t shirt that was at least two sizes too small for him, and it had that German hearts-and-sparrows design on it. (Perhaps he knew I have a fondness for terribly ugly clothing and was attempting to appeal to me?)
I greeted him with a squeal of "Larr Bear!" and jumped into his arms. (Yes, he did catch me). After a nice tight hug, I told him he did good. He smiled and thanked me. I sensed that something was amiss, because I asked him if he was okay. He responded with "Yeah, I'm just tired."
Now here's where things get a bit muddled. I can't remember what happened exactly, but he and I somehow ended up making out furiously on the squeaky, ugly, blue flowery sofa in my living room. To my disapointment, he was not the best kisser, but I was making out with Laurence Olivier, so who was I to complain?
We were interrupted by the sounds of Street Fighting Man by The Rolling Stones (previously one of my favorite songs by them). I wasn't sure where it was coming from but it was only getting louder. To my dismay, I realized that it was coming from my alarm clock. I woke up in my bed, chest pounding, and mixed feelings of "Wow, what a super rad, albeit very odd dream" and "Son of a bitch, why couldn't I have at least sealed the deal? Goddamn Rolling Stones."
As I got out of bed and ready for work, I swore I could hear a quiet giggle from behind me. Looking in my mirror, a picture of Vivien Leigh taped to my wall reflected back at me. I knew that, wherever she was, she somehow knew what I had dreamed about, and was laughing her ass off. And I'll bet Larry was right next to her.
Grabbing my keys off the dresser, I muttered "Fuck off, Vivien" and shut the door.