In which I dream of my father

I am at a party in a loft. I don't know anyone there, nor do I know where I am.

Eventually I realize that it's 1968 and I'm in San Francisco. I don't know how I got then, but I know that I need to get back. To do that, I need to get somewhere in the city.

I find that I have some money in my pocket. None of the money is old enough, though; I have a few quarters from 1969 and 1970 but nothing from before the time I'm in.

As I am walking down the stairs from the loft, I realize that if it's 1968, my parents are living somewhere in San Francisco. I walk through the city to their apartment.

My mother is at work, but my father is home. He thinks I'm insane and challenges me to tell the future. I try, but I can't say anything that has happened in the future.

In desperation, I begin to tell him about his past, about his family, about how he and my mother met, about visiting Yosemite in the winter, about growing up in Brooklyn.

As I tell him these stories he begins to age in front of me. Eventually I realize that we're in my parents' apartment as it is today, and I weep with relief. He hugs me and I wake up.