My parents visited a friends dream

 His mouth was dry because he had a sinus infection. He was sleeping with his mouth open. 

.:.

In his dream he was zooming through the Zion neighborhood of San Diego. He saw a cop ahead and decided to turn right so the cop wouldn’t catch him speeding. He pulled over in front of a house. The man was watering his lawn and he was going to ask him for a drink from the hose. 

Neighbors came out of their house. They were my parents. He told them how thirsty he was and they offered him water and beer. They brought him inside and through conversation he realized they were my parents. He asked them “is she really mad at me because of all the work I left her?” They replied something like “oh we don’t know anything about that.”

I came home and saw him in our living room or kitchen and rolled my eyes at him and walked to the other room. 

.:.

When he told me about this dream my eyes watered. Of course they would offer him beer or water. It was like he really did see my parents and they were saying hi to me. 

twenty

 I remember those first days without you (and mom) when we found out in July that you had died in May. Today, 20 years ago you left this earth. 

That same day was the last time we saw mom. I don’t know if she saw you that day. I don’t know if anyone was with you as you took your last breath. 

They said you didn’t want us to see you like that. I appreciate it now. But then. I would have given anything for a Time Machine to see you again. How dare they decide for us that we wouldn’t see you, say goodbye. Say hello. Show you and tell you how we’d turned out. Our jobs, our cars, our lives. 

Twenty years, dad. I love you forever. 

stuck in traffic with a cult leader

 I had a dream about you last night. You’re not a usual person who visits my dreams. Not like my parents or your wife or kids. 

You were driving your fancy white car. I was in the passenger seat. It was the car you drove slowly around Harbor that night. “The long way,” you’d said. 

My sister and Gabi were in the back seat. The car was full…of boxes? Bags? Unsure, as dreams go. 

You were taking us home. It was a familiar map that appears in my dream; local San Diego roads that look just different enough to know I’m dreaming. 

You took a wrong turn, the wrong exit to another freeway, you had your own phone directing us. I knew you were taking wrong turns because my own phone was directing me. I didn’t know if it was on purpose. (“The long way home.”)

I hadn’t said anything. I thought you knew where you were going. I was in the front seat. Unworried of your hands wandering on my teenage body. My hackles were not raised in this dream. History hadn’t happened. 

I was annoyed that we were stuck in traffic. On-ramps and off-ramps packed. You pulled over, wanting to turn around or take a side road. Only you couldn’t. We pulled over at the top of a steep hill. At the bottom was a lake and the beginning of the 805 freeway. We needed to get to the 805.

I looked at my phone as you and I got out of the car. You wanted to get to the 805. I asked “down the steep hill and into the lake?”

The dream changed. We were back in the car and you were trying to turn around against traffic. I felt my bones embarrass in my skin. 

I woke up. 

It bothers me that this post is on my parents’ wedding anniversary but such are dreams and memories of dead people. 

I wonder. Are you dead?

phone tree day

 Yesterday was phone tree day. 

Tomorrow is another phone tree day. I can’t text you and tell you. I can’t just text someone and say phone tree day. 

Big event days. First day of nephews school. Skydiving day. Big party days. Sleepy eyes locking over mugs…phone tree day. 

We said it in a mellow, low tone which marked the calm before the storm. Almost a whisper. 

Phone tree day. 

Accepted offer. Inspection. So many phone tree days to come. 

If there’s no one to say phone tree day….

I really missed you today

 I miss you all the time. But it’s become like a dull ache you get used to. Today was like snaggin a healing hangnail on a sweater. 

No. It was more than that. It just hurt okay? I had a dream about you last night. You were pregnant. I saw you in a parking lot talking to a coworker. You rubbed your belly. You might have been about 6 months along. 

I miss you so much. You’re right there. Half a mile away from me most days. 

Right there. And a million miles away. 

I love you. 

Islands

I can’t ask you about miley's album. Do we like it? What is she saying in the handstand song?

Did you go to Taylor’s concert. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. You talked about buying a 10 pack of tickets. A gaggle of tickets. 

I had a dream about islands last night. It was open again. The one on balboa. I was inside, at the bar facing the front door. two guys were removing  a door that was nailed to the inside of the door. And then they opened the front door. I walked around the bar and picked up my phone to text you. 

Then the dream changed, as if my unconscious knows I can’t ask you. 

It’s like you’re gone. But still here. It reminds me of that feeling only you know. With mom. That you could replicate the exact situation is beyond me, but also so perfect because how could you not. 

Obi Wan’s wife is in Ahsoka. She won’t look familiar to you, but you’d believe me when I told you while we were watching together.

We’d also joke about a map with no names and Alexandretta.  

I have no one to talk to about Daniel Radcliff’s physical transformation for Miracle Workers  which reminds me I need to watch Miracle Workers. I don’t even know what app it’s on since you removed me from your streaming service. Without a peep. I did wonder how long I’d be there. You had to skip passed me to get to the other profiles. Because I was there before they were.

He would see my name every time. And so would you.

I can’t tell you the spot where all my hair ties hide (between the couch cushions).

We three are the islands. Our ports are only open to each other if the tides and wind and sky and sand and sun are aligned with the stars and moon and Jupiter and settings of knobs and levers we keep to ourselves that constantly adjust themselves without us moving them.

They’re always moving.

Others come and go on our islands; ports are open to outsiders who don’t hold the stories we know. The stories we’ve tried to forget and the stories that only our bones know.

I stand at the shore of my island, your port empty. I’ve called back the balloons and banners. No welcome party to threaten welcome you  

No. I don’t like Miley’s new album. But that’s just me and we don’t always like the same things. 

amputation

 How do you heal from the amputation of a part of you? As I type that I know in my heart what it is. 

This is more than losing a limb or two limbs or all limbs. This is losing part of my dna; part of my actual soul. 

When I read her email, it didn’t seem true. But I knew it was. I didn’t feel rage. I felt absolute and complete overwhelming sadness. It was like the breath was ripped from my body. My head felt full and 

I read it out loud to my aunt and cried. This couldn’t be true. 

I thought of all the pills in my bathroom. They were colorful candies in jars. I thought about writing my book. I didn’t feel like writing at all. It was gone. Only the image of the pills filled my head. 

I was afraid of them.