If you’re ever on the run, Matt Damon is probably on the short list of individuals you’d want with you.
Lately my dreams have been frequent and vivid, so I considered myself lucky when the other night Damon and I, along with two women were trying to escape the end of the world.
The End of the World was a dark cloud which moved visibly like a thunderhead, but unlike a normal cloud it caused everything mechanical to explode in its wake and it could morph like in Terminator 2: Judgement Day. Damon, our fearless, but type-A-to-a-fault leader suspected the women of slowing us down, riding our coattails to survival, and he kept trying to talk me into ditching them before they got us all killed. I wouldn’t have it. I was the sensitive peace-maker, comforter of the shy, vulnerable girl and diplomat between the feisty bitch and the ill-tempered Damon.
There are never transitions in my dreams.
We find ourselves in an abandoned skyscraper. The End of the World has taken the form of an amorphous being, like the Blob, but gaseous. We thunder up the stairs but It’s is right on our heels. The shy woman falls; I stop and Damon yells at me to leave her but I won’t listen, I scoop her up and carry her, because you know what? Sometimes even Damon is wrong and during a crisis, you have to follow your instincts.
We find safety in a room that is undergoing renovations and covered with plastic and littered with paint cans and tools. It’s getting dark. Despite Damon’s warnings, the feisty bitch fiddles with a lamp and it explodes, vaporizing her.
“Goddamn it!” exclaims Damon, pounding the wall with his fist. “We have to move. Now!” This is why Damon is so great. He’s upset that the feisty bitch is dead even though he hated her.
We’ve escaped the end of the world, and so has Manhattan. We meet Damon’s father at a lovely café in Greenwich Village. And man, I thought Damon was a hard ass. Damon Sr. and I get into a heated argument about Jack Lemmon. Martin Scorsese arrives, orders a macchiato and mediates the argument. Though I feel the content of my argument is far more sound than Sr.’s, he is much louder and demonstrative and I think this resonates with Scorsese who grabs Sr.’s wrist and raises his arm to indicate victory.
“Way to go, Pop!” says Damon.
I don’t try to fight it. I don’t actually have that strong an opinion about Lemmon, I’m just happy to be alive.