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?