In my dream last night, I was both myself and one of the black actresses from “The Help” (a movie I have not seen). I was hired to go back in time and interview Whitney Houston a few days before her death. She took me to a lesbian bar in Brooklyn that doesn’t exist. At times, she turned into Beyonce, but always reverted back to Whitney. At first, we were chaperoned by my publisher, who was asking me to ask her all these dumb, tabloidy questions, but after he left, I started sharing really personal stories with her, creating a safe space for her to share with me. I don’t remember the things she told me, but they were terrifying. Soon we realized that people around us were all noticing her and having emotional meltdowns. As I saw each of them, I sort of became them as well, and felt my body stiffening and shaking in pain. Whitney was very confused. I asked her why we were in the lesbian bar. Her wall went back up and she gave a diplomatic answer. Then I woke up.
