Back On Track

First Dream

I dreamt about visiting my sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew in Portland. They lived in a beautiful home that held the chill of winter through every season. I held my limbs close to my chest and rocked back and forth on their couch as they played video games on a giant flat-screen TV. Stella (my niece) pranced about like a temperamental teenager even though she is a toddler and argued the trials and tribulations of a life as a single-child gone big sister. A mixture of power and disappointment played crossed her eyes like a video game.

My sister languished on the couch next to me deflated with exhaustion and my brother-in-law perspired over his game like he was giving birth. My nephew slept soundly in his crib.

Thoughts of what having your own family means roamed through my head herding me into corners of loneliness. I could not stop contemplating the fact that I have floated so far away from this dream of mine that I can't even see it anymore. It has become a dot in the distance on my plane of life.


Second Dream

Anthony and I parked in front of the Woodland Hills 7-11 I used to ride my mountain bike to with my best friend when I was a preteen. She and I had held the place in high regard as it facilitated our need for Slurpees, candy and boy-sitings. Those were the days when summer equalled vacation and transportation required zero fuel. We rode on personal stamina.

We left my dirty white Honda Civic in front of the store and crossed the street to the bank. When we returned my car was gone. My heart pounded out explanations of theft or towing. We had only been delinquent for a couple minutes or so.

The 7-11 had changed since my childhood. Steps led up to a new entrance laid with red carpeting. The place smelled like smoke and popcorn. Foreign tongues licked the air and my stomach tightened. I searched for the manager.

When I found him, I spat my frustrations at him. He smirked behind his slicked black hair and Armani suit and explained that my car was towed. My face boiled red with rage as he slowly wrote down the location my property was taken to. As I took the document from his hand he reached his other hand over to my behind and winked. I screamed at him and ran out the door.

Anthony sat huddled under blankets out in the cold. He looked at me with concern and surprise. I grumbled about our dilemma and rushed him away from the parking lot. His slower pace angered me. I felt like I was running from a rape scene and no one believed me.

He asked me where we were going. I looked down at the wrinkled paper commenting that the manager probably had terrible penmanship when to my surprise it was meticulous. His name stood out crisp in lead, "Steven Badabas".