First, Im standing on the sidewalk in front of her house. Then, suddenly, scene shift. Were in her backyard, barefoot in the grass. Its night. Completely silent. I turn to her and ask her what were doing out here. I realize that were in an embrace, light and calming. I can barely feel her skin. She looks at me, warming. Her lips are glistening in the moonlight, and her eyes are glowing blue, more blue than I've ever seen in my entire life. She tells me were waiting. She doesnt open her mouth. Waiting for what? Her face breaks into a smile and she points her finger to the sky. I look up, and this is what I see: In the sky, underneath the stars, is a large, white umbrella that looks to be a missing piece from a patio furniture set. It must be about fifty feet above us. Theres a light shining over it, like a spotlight placed there to accent it, but a stale one...light like it was fed through cheesecloth. I can see water. I'm one hundred feet under the surface of the ocean and I am looking up; the light must be the sun breaking through the refracted surface. The umbrella is twisting slowly, conically, moving from right to left. The vinyl hood of the umbrella is slowly opening and closing like a jellyfish. Bubbles forming in a trail. I am underwater, or the sky is water, but I feel no water... 　　 　　great ape bends sounds into famililar shapes.