I was sipping my coffee and browsing through the morning paper when the phone rang. It was my college classmate of yonder years, Rostam – he likes to be called Ross, nowadays.

• Hi, Ross. How are you?

• Okay.

• How is Sohrab doing?

• Rob is busy - tending geese.

• What do you mean?

• He has dropped out of school.

• Really? What is he doing now?

• I don't know. Since we broke up he lives with Tammy.

• I see. Hadn't heard from you for quite some time. How are you doing?

• I am still around ..., kicking.

• Where are you now?

• Well, for all practical purposes, I am homeless.

• Seriously? Do you like to stay with us for a while, until you sort things out?

• No. That's not why I called. I just called to ask you to interpret a recurring dream I am having.

• Is that a MLK dream?

• No... I don't know... Maybe.

• Okay. What is it about?

• You know? I see myself and a few other guys sitting on the stairs in front of our daaneshkadeh* building. A group of female students passes by. Do you remember? They always walked as a group.

• I do. Are they wearing the mandatory hijab?

• No, they aren't. No one did in our time.

My sarcasm had betrayed my ignorance. Apologetically I said, “My bad. What happens then?”

• Well, I throw a pan zaari** behind their feet, as I did in our heydays.

• Okay?

• If you remember, in those days not a single one of them would ever turn her head. Never, as though they were all deaf. They never acknowledged us.

• And, we didn't expect them to. We all knew how dignified and classy they were. They treated us as juvenile delinquents that we were, by ignoring us. Is that what your dream was about?

• No! In my dream, they all turn their head. One of them picks up the coin, walks toward me, throws it in my lap, and says, “You think this is a strip joint? Is this what you think of us?”

• Wow! What a nightmare!

• Don't be funny! I didn't call you to make fun of me. Tell me, what does all this mean?

• Well, to begin with, there never was any strip joint over there. Besides, no one throws pocket change at a stripper, not even a cheap chump like you. People throw their coins into a sagha khooneh***, to wish for a miracle or something – or, for charity.

• I know all of that. And, I know the reason we were throwing those coins. What I don't know is the relationship between what we were doing then, and the dreams I am having now.

• Well, let's see. This is what one can call subliminal self-incrimination of a closeted misogynist. Your past misdeeds are haunting you; And, you can no longer ignore them; You can't run away from them, either. You think you are here, forty years and six thousand miles away. But, your mind is still there, and then. You are being forced to admit them – albeit, unconsciously.

• Is that what you think it is, Dr. Shrink? We were young and playful then. We were trying to have fun with those snobbish girls. You call that misogynic?

• I can call it harassment too.

• Okay! Tell me what do I have to do to stop having these nightmares? I need a good night sleep, you know. Being divorced and lonely is not enough of a punishment? Do I have to go back and apologize to everyone I disrespected, mistreated, or dumped?

• I doubt you will find anyone over there who cares seeing you again, let alone expecting your apology. Those people have moved on with their life, without you. I am afraid you will be ignored again.

• What should I do, then? Is there any medication I can take?

• Well, there is a demonstration today in front of the White House in support of women prisoners. Can you come?

• I like to. But, I can't find my ski goggle.

• Don't worry! I have an extra one. I'll lend it to you.

* College

** The five-Rial coin.

*** Water fountain.