September Dream Series, 4 of 7

3:22am,  22 September 2017

Rooftop, sunset, your city. I had just woken up, it felt like the beginning of a day but the orange and purple stains on the horizon hinted a different hour. I started to feel confused. Gradually and then all at once. I turned around, one full circle pivot and just like that I was inside a room. The color of my walls but your bed, slept in and unmade. Books everywhere – shelves, bedside, tabletop, kitchen sink, floor.  It started to get dark. The TV was on. Sports. Water ran in the bathroom but I could tell no one was inside. I stood there for a few moments waiting for the room to shift, for other things to change, for sounds to leap at me. Nothing. Then you walk toward the bed. From out of nowhere. Still chewing the last of dinner and scratching your stomach. You didn’t see me. You couldn’t see me. But I hid anyway. Not behind anything or under anywhere. I just stepped into the shadow and willed myself to blend in. Laughter. But from where? Under the sheets and the TV and the hallway. Giggling. I started to feel my chest tighten. I was inside a closet now, watching bodies on the bed from the crevice of the closet doors. Now, the light was yellow. Whispers and murmurs and more giggling. Your voice. Music, jazz. I put a hand to my mouth. I felt nauseated. I closed my eyes and tried to hold whatever was inside me struggling to escape my mouth. Somebody opened the closet door and now I am in the front seat of a car. An immeasurable distance seemed to stretch between my seat and the driver’s seat. I couldn’t make out who was behind the steering wheel. The car sped forward. Again, nausea. The drive was rough with sudden stops and sharp turns, clicking of tongues and hands slapping the dashboard. A hand reached out. I felt a brief wave of comfort until the hand passed right in front of me, past my hands, past my body, and reached to open the door on my side. Panic. I slipped out of my seat and into the hot asphalt. I lay there, curled and crying, as cars kept speeding by, drivers shouting at me repeatedly Why do you hate me?! Why do you hate me?! WHY?

And I started asking my own questions. Why are you shouting at me? Why are you still screaming? Why couldn’t you choose me? Why did you break your promise? Why did you say you love me when you couldn’t choose me? Over and over again. Over and over.

Over and over again. And then I was back on a bed, under a yellow comforter, surrounded by pillows, and in your arms. You held me and kept sighing. All I could do was cry. Again and again. Over and over and over again.

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