I dreamt of the orangutan again.
Let me explain. I have a recurring character in many of my dreams. It is an orangutan who haunts me and threatens me to no end. It probably started back when I was in college. I would have a normal, run of the mill dream where nothing interesting was going on and, out of nowhere, the orangutan would attack. In one particular dream, I was driving down Winton Road near my old apartment in Cincinnati. It was a nice day, I remember, until the car next to me exploded. I looked behind to see the dastardly chimp manning a flying saucer which shot laser beams at me. Lukcily, I escaped with my life.
As I grow older, however, the dreams grow both in clarity and in strangeness. A few years ago, I dreamt that I was sitting in a friend’s living room as they shared the wonderful news that they were expecting a child. Suddenly, the orangutan jumped out from behind the sofa and punched me in the face. He then fled, jumping out the window. I followed in pursuit, only to find that my friend’s house now sat atop a large cliff overlooking the sea. I caught up with the orangutan as we fell ana a spectacular light saber battle ensued. The simian scored a lucky punch, rendering me unconscious long enough for him to float to the ground and drive off in an SUV.
He flipped me the bird as he drove away.
He made several appearances in me dreams throughout college and into my “professional” life, but for the last few months he has remained eerily silent. I feared he was hiding in the shadows, planning his next move.
Last night, he struck again. I dreamt I was on stage at Carnegie hall playing my world renowned kazoo concerto, Das Maschinen des Schicksals, when I noticed certain members of the audience had morphed into monkeys and apes and gorillas and baboons and such. The longer I played, the more the people changed, and eventually the entire audience consisted of primates. As the concerto came to its emotional apex, the evil orangutan ran onstage, stole my kazoo, and broke it in half.
“Hey,” I said. “That was my lucky kazoo.”
“I know,” the orangutan said to me, “but you fail to realize the philosophical significance and are therefore unworthy.” I was surprised to learn that the orangutan sounded exactly like Bea Arthur.
It then ran offstage. I attempted to give chase yet again. This time, I thought, I will not be stopped by your petty light saber tricks! But, alas, the audience of primates had a different idea. They hooted. They screamed. They flung feces like thick rain. And the orangutan got away again.
He’s back, though. And one of these days I will catch him. One of these days I will make him pay.