Sleeping at home always leaves me with the most lurid, painful remnants of dreaming. I can't decide whether to analyze or dismiss.
- The baby was underwater, we were all underwater, and she looked at me with her eyes wide open and her mouth wide open and her flailing fists. Smile, I said to her. Smile. I wanted to her to be happy as we drowned. It is Sara's fault for telling me never to turn my back on the kids in the bath.
- Dad had me squished into the backseat of the car under all the old carpets. It was dusty and when I opened the window he said I would choke him to death with all the fresh air. I was insolent. Give me a cigarette then, I said. I will choke you that way, is it better?. No, he said. Cigarettes is not kosher. What are you talking about, girl. My legs were numb under the dust.
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Chris said the only way in over the rocks so we climbed all the way up, using our hands and scrabbling with our fingernails. We were naked and barefoot and the wind was cold.
Dismiss.