Twitching her nose like a rabbit, she sucks on her cigarette. When the words leave her mouth, so does the smoke. The smoke gives shape to the words, and for a second, they spill out like alphabet spaghetti.
“This door you heard—did you pass through it?”
“I believe I did.”
“But you’re still here?”
“Well surely when you move through a door, you travel someplace else?”
“It’s more to do with a state of mind,” I say, “the doors are like portals to different ways of seeing.”
“Do you see things differently?”
“Well, I’m currently a dozen feet up a tree, so it’s hard not to.”
Frowning at me, she looks away and then back again.
“Why is there a door up a tree?”
“Why wouldn’t there be a door up a tree? It’s as good as place as any for a door to be.”
“I hate you sometimes.”
Spilling more smoky, spaghetti-like words from her mouth, she turns to me with a grin on her lips. It’s a grin I’ve seen a thousand times before, yet one I’ll never tire of being on the receiving end of, such is its giddy charm. If it wasn’t for our elevated state, I would swear it was her come-to-bed grin. With a tingle in my loins, I reach out and touch her face, and the swimming sensation of being in a dream is with me once again.