How the Wine Affects Your Sleep

“Wait. What?” I sit up in what should have been my bed. Was I naked? I was! Okay. Time to take a personal inventory. This is my body, my breasts, these are my tattoos, I can feel my fingers pinching my own skin and can even see the crease left behind by my fingernails.

The air is new, though. It smells incredibly sweet. Clean. And it is so quiet! There are no cars rushing by my bedroom window and no television news blaring from my living room. I am upright, bare-butted in tall, tickling grass which is peppered with yellow and white flowers being visited by flitting, itty-bitty bees.

Off to my left, a purple drape waves in the breeze, giving me short peeks at what appears to be a table behind it, and someone is sitting there. Someone? Maybe something? I’m not too sure. Are they dressed? I don’t want to be the only one naked, but I have to go over there.

I stand, swat my rear end, and challenge myself not to cover up my nakedness. Clearly, I am dreaming, so be brave! Be bold! But still, lucid dreaming was never a challenge I wanted to take on in the first place, so why am I being shoved into it? Isn’t there supposed to be a red ball or something?

As I approach the purple cloth, I’m impressed to see it was not being supported by anything. I figured there was some sort of frame, or maybe even a couple of little people behind it, holding it up in the air. But no, it’s just suspended there, six feet in the air. I snicker and shake my head. If this dream is trying to fool me, it’s missing some major details! I push the drape aside and pause just for a moment to feel how soft it is! If I could bring this material back to reality with me, I’d make a million dollars.

“Good morning, good morning! Or shall I say good day?

I am Bacchus! Dionysus! Have some wine and stay!”

I stare at him. What in the world was he? Resting in a squatting position on a floral-patterned, iron chair, he is naked but for the crown of leaves above his brow. His face shifts fluidly between that of a pudgy-faced child and a long-bearded man—only the pair of deeply set, chocolate eyes remained unchanging. His gaze is frisky and fixed upon mine, which I have little doubt looks as startled as a cat’s with its tail caught in a hinge.

“Come, come! There is a seat for you.

A drink, a toast, a chance to boast, before we bid adieu!”

I clear my throat and watch his chest broaden and fill in with hair, then recede and become smooth like a young boy’s. He is still staring, a peculiar smile shaping his mouth. It is difficult to tell if it’s the smile of a young trickster or a fiendish man. I suppose the truth is probably somewhere in between the two.

“Mute, are you? No words to say? I want a conversation!

Do I sense I’ve wasted time on this fine invitation!”

“You’re...” I tilt my head and struggle with what to ask. “Rhyming?” What a stupid question! Dammit!

“Have a drink and I will tell the plans I have for you.

A challenge or a mission, really, you are prescribed to do.

And if you choose to speak to me, you must speak in this way.

I don’t have time for dreary speech, so you must rhyme to play.”

He watches me and settles, at least for the moment, on the child’s form. The little boy, maybe around ten-years-old, wears all the eagerness of a boy his age but carries his head like someone much older.

“I have for you a challenge, but do not take it lightly.

If you don’t succeed at this, your fate will haunt you nightly.

You are the fifteenth and who I hope will be the last,

Charged with one simple duty, that is just to make me laugh.

I came from such a wealthy house, I did not want for much.

I only had to snap my fingers for another’s touch.

The son of Zeus, turned god of wine, I never stood a chance,

To understand what humor is, never mind romance.

The way I see it, I suppose, is she who makes me laugh,

Will also be my destined lover, my true and better half.

But if you fail and I’m not smitten by your comic prose,

Then you’ll be doomed eternally into the saddest woes.

My father Zeus said I could try, that it was only fair,

To find a lover by and by, lest I live in despair.

So drink and try to make me chuckle, dare to make me light!

And I will keep you always with me, safe from the harm of night.”

The giddy grin falls away from his mouth, his lips retract and are again swallowed up by the long, curling beard of the grown man. I think about running, but somehow know I will only end up right back here, standing in front of him. Make him laugh? Was he serious? But no, this was a dream. He couldn’t possibly damn me if I’m unable to make him laugh, could he? And why, of all people, would he have picked me? I am not funny! If anything, I am depressing. But I could start with rhyming. At least that much I feel capable of doing.

“I am sorry, you will find, I’m not funny, any time.”

He smiles widely and straightens up,

“But I see, you’ll play the game! This very point is needed!

You’ve shown me that you know, what I tell you must be heeded!”

“I don’t know what to say, when I’m not funny anyway?”

“Try my girl and you will find, it won’t take much to reach me.

Do it for your soul, my dear. Please! I do beseech thee!”

I think as deftly as I can, given the circumstances. With all of this distraction, how am I supposed to come up with something funny to say? And what does he even consider funny? Weren’t the Greek gods from thousands and thousands of years ago? Suddenly, an idea occurs to me.

“Excuse me sir, may I ask, a simple question of your past?”

“You may, you may ask anything! For I’ll share my life with you.

What is it you need to know? I’ll see what I can do.”

“You were god of something else, wine but also what?

I think that I know how to make you laugh from in your gut.”

“I am god of fertility, of wine, and drunken madness.

God of religious ecstasy, and others, but not badness.”

“Religious ecstasy, you say? Want to hear the modern world’s way?”

He nods and folds his hands, the beard vanishing around the chubby, dimpled boy’s shining face.

I bite my lip and try to imagine my rhymes. With careful and slow delivery, I begin:

“Somewhere after your time, we humans went askew.

We gave up having many gods, and we got rid of you.

People from all different lands worshipped their god of choice,

But all your kind were stories told with fabler’s voice.

Now you are treated as a tale that’s fun for kids to hear,

And cartoons of all your relatives make them clap and cheer.

But here it is, the funny part, I promised you before.

You had all your people united in what we now call folklore.

The single God who created man has many versions under the sun.

We kill each other all the time, because we cannot choose just one!”

The little boy Dionysus erupts in giggles and crosses his arms over his belly.

“So many will fight over one, yet with several they fought over none?

How foolish can they be? Gods of war and wisdom would find this a sight to see!”

He roars and shifts smoothly back into the grown man, whose laugh is a big, booming Ha ha ha which fills the pure air of the fields. With my hand in his, we walk to the top of a slight hill and look out at the vineyards which seem to go on forever. He looks at me, smiling, and lays small, sweet kisses on my knuckles.

“We’ll meet another time here, when you’ve tired of counting sheep.

The fact that you feel fine, dear, shows how the wine affects your sleep.”