A unicorn is standing in the window of my bedroom. Its long and purportedly magical protuberance has actually breached the windowsill and is pushing one of the gauzy curtains out of place. For a moment I stare into its liquid black eye and I understand that the creature is fiercely intelligent and proud. It sees me and I see it and while I cannot fathom its thoughts I admire the way the sunlight dances in its mane and the silent majesty of its musculature. For a moment I feel foolish, thinking of the wild corkscrews in my hair and my squinted eyes and then I look at the rich crimson carpet underfoot and Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Son on the East wall and I remember I’m in Heaven so my bedhead looks like the bedhead of people in Hollywood films, meaning even if it is slightly mussed askew from the way it was originally sculpted by a careful team of stylists it is still remarkably sexy and only disheveled in a manner that emphasizes what a stunning and rich head of hair it truly is, the equivalent of a smudge of dirt on the cheek of a model, its contrast to her beauty only serving to bring it into sharper focus, and furthermore, part of the orientation process my first week in Heaven involved complimentary Lasik eye surgery in the ocular district because no one wears glasses in Heaven unless they were famous for wearing them when they were alive or they want to look distinguished or scholarly or what-have-you so I’m not even squinting at all and so I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling embarrassed about in front of a goddamned imaginary creature I didn’t invite to my window and then I’m all like Wait a minute, where the fuck did this thing come from? and I look around and in strolls my unbelievably pretty yet down-to-earth and affable wife Rosario (Dawson) and she’s got an armful of these giant St. Valery carrots and she’s humming what sounds like Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ and behind her this little angel is carrying what can only be a canvas sack of oats and a tray with our sleek and modern brushed steel coffee mugs which are leaving wisps of steam hanging in the air behind them and she (Rosario Dawson) says to me “Good morning, sleepyhead,” and kind of languidly tilts her face toward the thick bars of sunlight streaming through the window around this unicorn that now has its whole head inside our bedroom and is straining its neck forward to nibble at one of the carrots Rosario is feeding it and it is definitely ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ she’s humming and the angel hands me a cup of coffee and damn is Heaven coffee so good, with or without creamer and/or sugar or artificial sweeteners (which all taste exactly like sugar up here and have zero aspartame and/or calories and really there’s just one and it’s called Splendequal & Low and it comes in a purple packet with yellow writing and everyone agrees it’s pretty awesome) and I say “Thank you,” because my mother raised me right and the angel says “You’re quite welcome,” because God raised him right and now this unicorn’s horn thing is glowing which I assume either means it likes the carrot or it’s about to make a magical fucking rainbow or grant a wish or something, neither of which I want happening in my bedroom, really, and not to be a dick or interrupt Rosario’s elevator muzak version of Journey’s most popular jam but because I just woke up and I DO NOT BELIEVE IN UNICORNS I’m like “Honey? Is that a unicorn you have there?” and Rosario Dawson goes “Yep! Isn’t he adorable? And look! His horn is glowing!” which it’s like, obviously, but I can tell that she’s super excited about this … thing … and feeding it carrots, and I suppose there are no diseases she can catch and I think about taking the angel aside and asking him if this counts as paganism or something but he’s already vanished to wherever they go when you don’t need them so instead I pick up her (Rosario’s) cup of coffee and I bring it over to the window and the unicorn regards me with its hyperintelligent big black eyes which I can barely see through all the glowing horn and she (Rosario Dawson) hands me a St. Valery and I in turn hand it to the unicorn who eats most of it in one bite so I reach down for a double handful of oats and I part my palms just enough to pour a stream of them into my wife’s waiting hand and together we spend twenty minutes feeding this mystical creature while she sings little songs and tells it all about our life and then, and only because I love my wife and she asks so politely and expectantly, we ride it around the perimeter of our house (which is a huge, huge perimeter because our house is big as fuck because we live in Heaven) and the unicorn does all sorts of fancy shit like flying and making rainbows it can walk on and whatever, and I have to admit it’s pretty cool, and Rosario squeals with delight like a little girl every time it happens and by the time we’re halfway around the house I have forgotten all about being surprised and put out by having this big white mofo nosing (or horning, I guess) around my window first thing in the morning and I’ve just got my hands in its mane and Rosario’s hands are around my waist and we’re giggling like retards and she’s going “Faster!” and the unicorn is going faster and I see Eddie Norton walking his dog and he gives me this look like “What the hell?” and I just kind of shrug and cock a thumb at Rosario and he starts laughing (and have you ever noticed what a rich and warm laugh Eddie Norton has even though it’s kind of half-desperate or wild most of the time?) and then we’re speeding past him and coming around to the lake by the vineyards and our little beach house is there and it’s an amazing day so we decide to stop riding this unicorn and go make some chilled sweet corn soup with mint and chili oil and maybe some mojitos and just kind of have ourselves a half-picnic so we dismount and you can tell the unicorn is kind of disappointed and I actually, now that I like him, want to invite him along but it’s not like he’s got hands to help with the soup or hold a mojito and he probably has, you know … a gumdrop river to get back to or whatever, but I ask anyway because fuck it, I like this thing and my wife was right about summoning him from her imagination and the unicorn nods and so we amble over to the beach house and while Rosario is removing the mint bundle and I am beginning to puree the soup I look outside and this unicorn touches its horn to the huge redwood stump we use for a table and I’ll be damned if two mojitos don’t appear, along with all the necessary fixings for several more and a bucket of oats and I go “Would you look at that,” and Rosario claps her hands like the worlds most attractive seal and makes this little squeal of delight and for no good reason kisses me on the cheek and says “I love you!” and I’ve got my hands full straining the soup but I smile as wide as I can and I say “I love you too, weirdo,” and she runs outside to pet and talk to the unicorn while I slice little sprigs of mint into almost invisible strips and place them on top of the soup with a touch of cooked corn and chili oil and head outside to spend the day by the lake with my wife and our new friend/pet/whatever you call it.
I really hope God doesn’t mind. There are so many weird rules about things like this.
