We were on a beach. There were a lot of people there. Also a fenced off area, with grass and willow trees and a building where psychiatric evaluations took place. I was waiting my turn. For some reason, all the basketballs — at least 10 or 12 of them, kept rolling into the water. We had none left to play with. An old man, very large and dirty, volunteered to get them — no one else wanted to go near the water. I sat on the sand. There were lizards and snakes everywhere on the sand. I had to be careful where I sat or stepped. I helped the old man to roll up his pant legs, so they wouldn’t get too wet. The first basketball he picked up seemed to be attached to an elephant’s ear. He pulled on the ear, which was very elastic-y, until the whole head of an elephant came out of the sand. It was just the head though and already dead. The old man threw it to one side and waded over to the next basketball. Everyone on the beach was watching. This time a whole baby elephant appeared. Like it was born from the sand. He it set it down and wandered up the shore. I touched its wrinkled, wet trunk. It felt like play-doh.
Prozac Girl