The Ball

“Come on in, Mr. Walters, have a seat on the couch, get comfortable.”

“Thank you.”

“So, I guess start off by telling me, what brings you into therapy?”

“Well, nothing’s really wrong with me…”

“Okay.”

“I just keep having this recurring dream.”

“Oh? And what happens in this recurring dream?”

“It’s just really strange. At first I just kind of shrugged it off but then it just kept happening and then the day after, I always…”

“Why don’t you start by telling me what happens in this dream?”

“Okay. Well, it starts off with me standing in the center of a big, crowded banquet hall. Everything is white and made of marble… or gold. There’s a statue of a cherub that’s gold, I remember…”

“Go on.”

“There’s a gold cherub and a big number 12 on the second-floor banister. Both floors are packed and everyone’s dressed in formalwear, the women in flowy pastel gowns, the men in midnight black suits and they’re wearing masks — I’m wearing a mask— like a masquerade ball…”

“Maybe you’re wearing a mask because you feel as if you’re hiding your true self? And you’re afraid to connect with others because you assume that they are doing the same?”

“Well, maybe… I can still recognize most of them; coworkers, relatives, old friends. I want to say “hello” but decide against it because the crowd is so thick and the orchestra is too loud, and they’re all enjoying themselves, drinking and dancing…”

“Ah, perhaps your thoughts of self-consciousness are indeed too loud, and your fear of being your true self is making you feel alienated, even when you’re physically in the presence of friends and family?”

“Yeah, I don’t know… anyways, then, as I’m standing in the middle of the crowd, I’m just admiring all the beautiful masks— Lisa’s wearing a jewel blue and teal feathered peacock mask that only wraps around her eyes, a gold beak sitting on her nose. Theresa’s a tiger, hers is made of orange, black and white crystals. Manuel’s wearing a sharp-lined, black and white goose face, and Dave’s got a raw, red, plaster-like devil face, that’s nasal piece juts out above his real nose before cutting back and off above his jaw…”

“A peacock… a tiger… a goose… the devil… hm… then what?”

“Then the orchestra begins to play faster and faster, and so the people start to dance, faster and faster. It’s like I’m watching the whole thing play out in fast forward, but in real time, right in front of my eyes. And then I realize I’m dancing, too, faster and faster. And then I black out. And wake up in my bed covered in cold sweat.”

“So this dream scares you?”

“Yes, but only because of what happens the next day…”

“What happens the next day?”

“Well, after I had it the first night, I went into work and saw Lisa — she’d dyed her hair jewel blue and teal, and she had it all feathered out, just like her peacock mask!”

“Haha, okay. That is a coincidence! But surely, no more than that.”

“Okay. Well I had it again the next night, the exact same dream, and the next day, as I was sitting at my desk, I was jolted from my work when the whole office roared with laughter — Theresa didn’t realize she had caught the shadow of the lawn chair in front of her while laying out. Her tan lines were crazy. Just like a tiger.”

“Okay, okay. So you’re concerned that this dream is some kind of psychic premonition?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that the next day, the third night after I had it, Manuel came in asking for the boss’s permission to work remotely for 3 months come November. He’d won an all expenses paid trip to Florida for the entire winter…”

“Like a goose flying south, huh? It does seem rather fated, doesn’t it? I can assure you, though, the brain is capable of picking up tiny details and making connections without you even realizing it. Perhaps Lisa mentioned she was going to dye her hair in passing, or maybe you noticed at glance a contest form for Manuel’s trip on his desk?

“Okay. Maybe. Have you watched the news lately?”

“I’ve checked in…”

“Dave. David Butler.”

“The guy who was caught with those 2 kidnapped teens in his basement?”

“Yes. The devil.”

“Well, what kind of mask were you wearing?”

“A skull.”

“That is a seemingly strange string of coincidences, I do have to admit. But I wouldn’t worry too much, it’s probably just the brain’s way of dealing with stress and all these events are simply that, coincidences… How do you feel about your coworker, a man you saw everyday, being accused of such a horrific crime? … Mr.Walters? … Martha! Call an ambulance, Mr. Walter’s has stopped breathing, he doesn’t have a pulse. I’m going to start CPR.”