FARGO

I dream I’m in a Chinese restaurant in my pajamas at a table by myself, the actor Steve Buscemi pouring ice water into my glass.

—Would you care to see a menu? he says.

—You’re Steve Buscemi! I tell him.

—Would you care to see a menu?

—You were great in Fargo. I love that movie.

—Would you care to—

—What are you doing waiting tables?

—Would you care to see—

—Is this a movie? I whisper. Are we in a movie? Is this a scene we’re doing here?

—Would you care to see a menu?

—Yes, waiter, I tell him with a wink, letting him know I know. I would like very much to see a menu—if it’s not too inconvenient, I add sarcastically.

He walks off.

I take a sip of water, thinking hard: Chinese restaurant … in my pajamas … Steve Buscemi …

It all adds up.

He returns with a menu but I tell him to forget it, I know what’s going on: This isn’t a movie, this is a dream!

He hands me the menu. I’ll be back to take your order, he says, and walks off again.

I look at the menu. It’s in Chinese. But I’m somehow reading it: Soon … you will give … a small … laugh.

I can read Chinese, I realize, and give a little laugh.

Steve Buscemi returns with a gun, wanting my money.

—I haven’t even ordered yet, I point out.

He wants the money now.

This is silly, I decide, and get up to leave. One of us is dreaming, I tell him, and I think it’s me.

But he holds the gun against my chest. I can feel the cold metal through my thin pajama top.

—Where’s the money? he says.

—You were great in Fargo, I remind him. This is like that one scene—remember?—you’ve got the gun, you’re all pissed off, and—

—Where’s the fucking money?

—Exactly—there’s that face. You’re good, you know that? You’re really, really …

He begins slowly squeezing the trigger.

If he shoots me I’ll never wake up, I realize.

I tell him the money’s in my wallet in my pants on the back of a chair in my apartment but if he’ll write his address on a napkin …

He continues slowly squeezing the trigger.

So now I’m begging: Oh Jesus, please? Don’t? I didn’t mean to be here. I never mean to be anywhere. Let me wake up and I promise, I swear to God—

He shoots me.

I fall backwards slowly, arms wide, eyes closing like a doll’s.

I’m dead. Or in a movie. Or dreaming.

I lie very still, waiting to see.