Under the Lights

The lights came on.

I find myself on my back with a ferocious little bald man in a striped shirt standing over me, screaming, “Five! Six! Seven!”

I’m in a boxing ring under the brightest lights of the known world--Madison Square Garden.

All around me people are standing and screaming in anguished sobs or dancing joyously in the aisles.

The moment I stand up, they all go silent.

First, I noticed I had no shirt on. Then I see I have black boxing gloves on, and I’m wearing red silk shorts with a black racing stripe down the sides.

I know it’s a dream! And a good one, too! I am now a boxer here to box. In the far corner I see Muhammad Ali looking back at me. He seems amused like he just said something funny at my expense.

A bell rings. Out comes the champ. Dark eyes. He no longer looks amused. I do a little this and that with the feet, a little bob, bob, bobbing, you know, bob in, bob out, bob to the side. Moving my head. I feel good. This may well be the greatest dream I’ve ever had in my life! I’m about to put Mohammad Ali on his ass.

And then the lights went out.

And just like that, I am no longer a boxer. I am back to overseeing lighting at Madison Square Garden. I’m being screamed at: “What? Ya sleeping? Get up there and fix those lights!”

“On it!” I mumble. I’m a little bit sad and a little bit woozy, but mostly I’m relieved the lights went out when they did. That guy would have killed me.

--297 Words--