I was down by the river at night near our house. The tule fog hung low to the ground, silent, opaque, and pale from the moon. I was moving hurriedly, a little nervous at being alone. I walked like this for a long while.

Then suddenly it all ended, the river, the fog, the dark, cut as if by a knife and bordering a distinctly different landscape: rolling hills and morning light, and clouds and dewy grass, like Sonoma county in early spring, or... England.

The first thing I saw was his feet. And then his hand calmly outstretched, then his face, his eyes. Neither of us spoke, though we were both at ease. Unthinkingly I took his hand, and we began to walk.

We had met at the edge of a small valley. From there we climbed over some low hills and into a vale, where there was a long tablecloth surrounded by a dozen or so people just settling down to eat. There was laughter and good vibes. The sea was nearby. He sat down at one end of the table cloth, and I sat to his right.

I woke up. I was scared. I went into the kitchen where my mom was up and about, and made nervous conversation. My bar-mitzvah was in two days.