He has a dream a few hours later. Had two or three dreams, without waking up from them, before he had this one, but this is the only one he remembers. He turns on the night table light, gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom, pees, sits on the bed, his feet on the floor, and gets the notebook he’s been writing his dreams in the last four years off the night table and starts to write. “7/2/13. Dream of Abby in the hospital. She’s sitting on the bed, not in it, her feet almost reaching the floor. She looks good: healthy, pretty; she seems happy. Her face is rosy, her hair’s brushed back into a ponytail. She looks to be around 40. It’s her last day in the hospital. Tomorrow she’s coming home. We have a son, who seems to be around 3 years old. He’s blond, as Abby was when I first met her, and also blond like Randolph, the son of the woman I lived with in California from ’65 to ’68. I was the boy’s surrogate father for 3 years. Randolph, 2½ when I moved into his mother’s house, even called me ‘Daddy.’ I say to Abby ‘I have to go.’ She says ‘You’re leaving me with a hysterical child?’ The boy’s been screaming on and off for the last minute. We ask him ‘What is it? What’s wrong, little guy?’ but he continues to scream, his eyes squeezed closed. I say to Abby over the boy’s screams ‘You’re all right now. You can take care of him. But I’m already late for my appointment.’ ‘Take him with you then,’ and I say ‘You know I can’t,’ and I leave the room. The boy follows me, still screaming hysterically. ‘My son,’ I think. ‘My poor son. Then I think ‘What about this tactic? Maybe it’ll work, because nothing else has.’ I say to him ‘You like tomatoes, don’t you?’ He stops screaming long enough to nod. ‘Well, if I give you a few cherry tomatoes, will you stay with your mother and not make a big fuss anymore?’ He nods again and this time doesn’t resume screaming. I empty a few cherry tomatoes out of a bag into his hand. He eats one, smiles, and eats another. He seems fine now. ‘Here, have some more,’ I say. ‘You deserve it. You’re a great kid. I always thought that.’ I go back into Abby’s room. She’s still sitting off the bed. I say ‘I got him to stop screaming. I can leave him with you now, can’t I? He won’t scream again.’ She says ‘You can. But how’d you do it?’ ‘All it took were tomatoes,’ I say. ‘Cherry tomatoes. Not the big beefsteak kind. He seems to like the cherry ones best. Here, want some? Why not take the whole bag?’ and I give her it. ‘No, thanks,’ she says, giving it back. ‘You’ve done enough for me.’ I kiss her, say ‘See you later,’ and leave the room. ‘Damn,’ I say. ‘I should have kissed the boy too. But he won’t mind that I didn’t. And given him the bag of tomatoes. There weren’t that many left, and what am I going to do with them?’ I walk to the elevator. Elevator comes and the doors open. Nobody’s inside it. ‘See,’ I say, as the doors close. ‘When you use your brains, you get things done. Don’t you feel good now? But really feel good at helping her out rather than deserting her? I do, I really do. This is how I should act from now on. Helpful. Quick-thinking. Imaginative. If only I could,’” and the dream ended.