In my dream last night, I decided to visit my old apartment in West Philly on 49th Street and found my former roommate Matt B. living there, although we didn’t live in that particular apartment together. He was living there with his wife, who’d just had a baby maybe a few hours before, only the woman in the dream wasn’t Matt’s real wife but my old friend Peter F.’s wife Erica. She was obviously not happy I was there, which was understandable since she’d just given birth. Matt invited me inside anyway. I offered to run out and get them some food, an offer they declined, saying they had their bases covered. Found this odd because as a new parent you’ll take all the help you can get, especially if someone is right there offering and you don’t have to ask. The layout of the apartment was different than I remember. The vestibule outside was the same, but while the real apartment was shaped like an L with the bathroom and a study right inside the front door, another bedroom off to the side further in and the living room opening out at the bottom of the L, this was three straight rooms, all of which you could see from the door. After a short visit, feeling out of place, I decided to leave.

Heading back out to the street, the vestibule transformed into a baseball field, furniture and stairs merging and blending with the diamond and stands, and I was playing in the World Series, explaining what was happening play-by-play while also acting out the plays, because the game had happened in the past, and I had somehow blown it but was blaming it on the umps. I was at bad in an old Montreal Expos uniform, looking not like me so much as a tall lean mustachioed ’70s player. I was forced to swing at a bad third pitch because the ump had called the pervious two bad pitches strikes even though I hadn’t swung. Then, I was in the outfield, and the umpire wasn’t holding the star player of the other team to a similar standard, calling similarly placed pitches balls. I was moving about the outfield, drinking a glass of red wine, and while I was blaming the umps, the fans were catcalling and pointing out my poor performance might have been due to the wine, so I put it down on an end table stationed in right field, and ran to make a play, and then went back to my old apartment where Matt was living with his wife and new infant (of indeterminate gender). I didn’t actually see the baby, but I could hear it. Again they declined when I offered to help, and I was a bit hurt by this. After all, I’d done it before. I know how to care for a newborn.

By this time, more people arrived. An old work friend Erin S. showed up with another few people I didn’t know, and I tried to say hello to Erin, but she didn’t respond and acted as if she didn’t know who I was. As we left, I caught up with her in the vestibule and asked for an explanation, and she said I’d done the same thing to her somewhere else, ignored her, and I countered with the fact that I’d never seen her at the place she said, though she never specified the place. At some point, I was on Easton Road by the Willow Grove Mall, and I ran into the Daniels twins from high school and told them Matt had just had a baby, and since we’d all gone to high school together I gave them Matt’s address and told them they should visit him. This didn’t happen at the end of the dream but as some point along the streamline above. I just don’t know when it occurred to put it in its proper place.