Trouble sleeping; or, Dream noir


11:30 A.M.

I barely slept last night. I fell asleep for a little bit, but then the weird Chilean guys next door woke me up. They snored. A lot. And then Nicole kept farting in her sleep and it stunk so fucking bad. I had to bury my face in the blankets. We didn’t end up going out – just stayed in and read. Now I’m on the train. First stop is Brussels, then Paris. In the hour or so that I actually did sleep, I had some weird dreams…

Mom talked to me…

We were at our old house at 628 Drew Ave. Everything looked the same except a wooden patio and a big trampoline out back. She was on the phone – I don’t know who she was talking to – and I was trying to text a girl. Then Mom and I started talking, only I was much younger. Somehow she ended up under the patio and was staring up at me through the wooden planks. I was above her kneeling. Her sparkly blue eyes looked deep into mine, and her face looked strained. It looked almost scary. She came out from under the patio. “Tell me!” I demanded. “Well, you know baby, I just fall down a lot…”

“BULLSHIT! Just tell me!”


She took her face in her hands. “Fine. He did it.”

“I knew it! I knew it all along!”

I also knew I was dreaming. As she stood there in the yard with her pink tank-top and jean shorts I told her, “I’m sorry. I gotta go. I’m waking up.”

Then I woke up.

The dream bothered me. I felt like the symbolism of her beneath the planks looking up at me means that she feels trapped. Like black lines over someone’s face in Film noir. *Warning: peril awaits.*

Then I thought about how that crazy lady Karen at Rick’s, my ex-sorta-step-dad-person/Mom’s boyfriend of 11 years, house told me that she saw my mom in her room a couple months ago. The room that used to be my room. She said that Mom was clear-as-day, and that she had fangs. Karen said that she felt like my mom isn’t at rest – that she isn’t peaceful. Is she trapped? Does she know that she’s dead? Is she at unrest because I haven’t spread her ashes yet? I’m still not ready to do that. I’m sorry, Mom. I really hope you understand.

Then again, what the fuck does Karen know?! She smokes crack, for Christ’s sake. Mom was probably just fucking with her.

She would never fuck with me like that.

I miss her so much that I barely let myself think about her. I’d give anything to hug her.

I need a hug.

I love you, Momma. Please visit me soon.

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