I had a dream about June Allyson last night.
The light was low. She was really pretty.
Her hair was long. It shined in the dark.
She wasn't all squinty-eyed, like she is in
so many of her later photographs. She didn't
have that exaggerated grin that you see in
a lot of her pictures. She was whispering
to me. I was close enough to hear her.
Pity, I don't remember what she said.
It was very nice. And very soft. And warm.
And she was talking only to me.
The 1950s hairdressers had not gotten to
her yet and screwed up her hair for all
eternity. She didn't have that stupid
pageboy, chopped-off look.
Which meant that we were somewhere in
the 1940s. Which is okay, if you ignore
the War. So June and I had traveled back
in time to the 1940s. We stood there in
the dark. Together. Whispering. Ignoring
the World War. Our foreheads almost touching.
It was a very nice dream.
Time travel is so cool.