Sofiya | The Dreamweaver

I travelled to New York City to "innocently stalk" Sofiya, who was presenting her latest collection at Fashion Week.

After the show, I went backstage flashing my guest pass to the security guard saying that I was Sofiya's brother.

Entering the dressing room, I saw Sofiya was alone and packing up her things.

I approached her and introduced myself telling her I was a reporter for a Jewish magazine.

I had mentioned I had been writing to her to request an interview, but my requests had gone unanswered.

She apologized and said she had a few spare minutes and would be glad to sit down and have a cold drink with me while I conducted the interview.

She took two bottles of ginger ale out of the small fridge in the dressing room and we sat on the sofa.

I admitted that I wasn't really a journalist, that I had been trying to approach her since we met a year earlier at The Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue at Central Park West after being introduced by a mutual friend who, in fact, had been my ex-fiancée.

She suddenly remembered meeting me saying she really liked me and wondered why I had never called her.

I told her I remembered having given her my number, but she recalled the story differently.

She said she had to get to the airport and if I had a car and would offer to take her, we could continue our conversation on the way to airport.

We got into my car though I had a hard time finding the way out of the carpark.

I drove through a set of sliding glass doors only to discover that I had driven onto a floor of the building occupied by office suites.

Struggling to turn the car around, I finally made it back through the glass doors, into the carpark and out into to the street.

Then I woke up.

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