Dream

I once heard that the difference between a dream and a vision is that in a vision you can smell. If that is true, it was a vision. I still remember the smell; it was like vinegar. It lingered in an odd, heavy way. When I first entered a faint hint of the dreadful and powerful smell hung about: first on the coat rack next to the door, then on the back of a kitchen chair, and finally in the closet. I smelled it out. Vinegar is used to make ketchup. I don't mind ketchup, but I never could stand the smell of vinegar. I walked in the front door. The clock read 12 after 4. I smelled the vinegar. I followed the odor into the house. It led me on into the kitchen. I went to the kitchen closet. The smell snaked out under the crack of the door. The hinges creaked as I opened it. Smells are said to have a strong bond with our memories. A smell can open a part of the mind that had been closed for years. I have heard that some people with Alzheimer's disease in the advanced stages, who don't even know who they are, will call up childhood memories if they smell something familiar. I walked in the front door and followed the odor to the kitchen closet. Vinegar reminds me of when I was young. It reminds me of science experiments and bloody noses. I opened the closet. It smelled like vinegar. I bent over and puked. I hate the smell of vinegar.