Many Dreams from Many Night after Many Different Meals: Part Nine

Hanging Like Jazz
I am at a foot-ball game in Argenta, Illinois. Home Coming is an exceptionally big deal in this town. Every year I show up to offer my support; I could give a shit about sports, but my father, his best friend, and my best friend all went through the school system here. This year is no different, except almost everything is different. There is a house where the cafeteria should be, a large New England-style house with a wooden fire escape. Also, there is no foot-ball field, just a large rectangular base-ball field. A long fence surrounds the base/foot-ball field.


I am making my way to meet my family and friends when I notice someone new attending the game. The Incredible Hulk is sitting a few rows back at the thirty yard line. For some reason, I feel that I have to be snappish with him.


As I walk by, I make an off-handed comment in his general direction. I forget exactly what I said, but it got his attention. His ears perk up, his head swivels, and I can see the realization cross his face. I maintain my pace. He looks this way and that trying to identify who slighted him. Stupidly, I maintain eye contact. The Incredible Hulk catches my gaze. He is upset. Throwing down his pop-corn, he storms through the first three rows of people and charges after me. In a panic, I dart off toward the cafeteria.


Upon realizing that the cafeteria is now a New England-style house, I am forced immediately to recalculate my strategy. Instead of retreating into the cafeteria, which was at one time a verified bomb shelter, I duck through the first door I come by. It appears to be a servants' entrance, perhaps a mud room; there is a narrow stairway in front of me, nonetheless, so I ascend with haste. As I round the top corner I hear the entrance explode below me. The Hulk is following me in a rage. He doesn't quite ascend the stairs as he does crush the hallway in his destructive attempt to travel upwards. I sprint loudly through a ball-room, my steps falling heavily against the polished wood floor. This is a very nice house, indeed. There is a chandelier above. It narrowly misses me when it comes crashing to the ground: the Hulk is on the same floor now, and the shock waves are causing the room to shake violently. Otherwise, the old place is holding up rather well given the circumstances. They certainly don't make them like they used to.

For some reason, I think sliding into the fireplace at the far end of the room is a good idea. Again bereft of any other constructive thought, I proceed to climb up the chimney. If I can make it to the roof...well, I don't really know what I can do fifty feet off the ground, but it certainly beats the hell out of getting the hell beaten out of me.

Perhaps out of confusion, the Hulk does not take immediate chase. A tumbling of loose soot changes that circumstance. As I pull myself up and out of the chimney, an angry roar fills the air and my pursuer is on my trail again.

The roof holds up very well when the Hulk bursts through the chimney. My terrain is tiered, so I shuffle down the slopes the best I can, making myself as inconspicuous as I can. Window ledges and weather veins (there are an abundance of weather veins), nooks and crannies, gutters and rooks are all suitable hiding places. If it weren't for the fact the I was being chased by the most powerful being on Earth, I would have stood a decent chance of waiting this excursion out. But the Hulk isn't fooling around. He is punching ledges clear of the house, stomping holes in the ceiling, and swatting weather veins into infinity.

I am desperate. I am crouching down in a nook between a raised window and one side of the roof when I make a drastic decision: I am going to jump. The ledge is only about three yards ahead of me, but it seems like a mile. With a burst of speed, I break out for my only means of escape. It is moments until the Hulk is upon me. As I leap off the house, he leaps too. He catches me in mid-air, my flight now rendered a vain attempt.

Upon his landing, he makes another mighty leap, sailing over the base/foot-ball field. We land in a field of wheat, for some reason. He holds me in front of himself, snarling fiercely. I take this opportunity to make my case before I am extinguished.

"Come on," I tell him, "you can't take things so personally." His face melts into curiosity. I have his attention. I continue: "I was only kidding with you. You can take a joke, right?"

The Incredible Hulk takes a moment to ponder this question. Once he is resolved, we both laugh mightily at this misunderstanding. He is still holding me above the ground. The field of wheat is serene as it sways in the breeze.