Bad Dream

A pale Indian man is standing outside. He's standing just outside the back door. He's close to the back door, but he doesn't touch it. He's pale like he's sick and he's sweating and there are deep bags under his eyes and he's so very pale and he's standing just outside the backdoor. He's staring, but he's not looking. He's close, but he's not touching. And now, he's tapping on the glass. He's sweating and pale and just outside the back door and I pull the curtain aside and I see him and I'm shocked and you are too and the Indian man doesn't respond and he's moist with sweat, but not wet with it and I yell at him, though the glass of the door. I shout and scream and gesture and he doesn't respond and I see in his hand a small plastic cup of urine and I see a bead of sweat drip down his face from the crown of his balding head. I shriek at him and I stamp my feet and he doesn't move and his glass of urine is getting darker and fuller and it's overflowing over his pale knuckles and he's still standing and he's still staring through his wet eyelashes and he's starting to cry and so am I and it's raining.

And I go out and I scream at him and I stamp my feet and I start to kick him in the backs of his knees and in his ankles and he stumbles passively to the side before he goes down and there's urine pooling on the back porch and I'm kicking him harder and harder and he won't respond and I'm screaming at him and he's lying there, unprotected and uninterested, tears are running down his face, but he's not crying. I am. And urine is everywhere and I keep kicking him and I keep yelling at him and he never responds and it feels like I never wake up.

Until I do, sobbing.