That Answers the Question

Last night I told the boy, as I was preparing to leave his house for no other reason in particular except for the fact that my boyfriend called and I saw that I could possibly return his call if I left right then, I told the boy that I was excited to wake up in the morning (I slept a whole extra 8 hours past his wake up time) because I sat down and recorded my dreams.

Let’s not make myself a liar, again.

I had been at a family gathering, I don’t know the occasion, but as it was my Mother’s family, I know that it didn’t have to be a funeral.

I hope to talk more about this part later, there was a lot going on there.

I rarely ever have dreams about my brother as an adult. Why do I always capitalize Father and Mother (and why did I put down Father first?) but not Brother? Unsure, and honestly unsure if I want to change that. I consider my brother an equal, and my parents (I paused when I did not capitalize) to be superior, even though in all respects it’s always been quite the opposite.

As I try to decide at what point to enter into the dream recollection, it all unravels. I just realized that I never even put on music. Maybe the distraction is bad for me, I appreciate the sound of my fingers on keys. I should play piano.

The boy and I, and I imagine a 3rd person (I always do, maybe that’s why the mirrors are on the wall, to see what another person would see if they were watching?) were in a car, a beat up green car the likes of which would have belonged to one my friends in undergrad, ironically the place where the boy and I met (we’ve been talking more about that lately) and I guess maybe that’s who the other person was, just some college rando like always is in the car like that.

I’m putting on music, I hope it doesn’t break my flow.

I believe the car was a ’94/95 turquoise blue toyota tercel, or corrola. IT would make sense, except the friend that the boy and I have in common that drove a Toyota tercel had a red one.

We pulled up to my brother’s house, I guess I had left something there or there was something there that I needed. I believe it might have been my phone, in the basement, or maybe that was in the earlier part of the dream.

I suddenly realized that I have to call my Mother, who will dismiss this all as nothing, and who, I should finally be comfortable realizing, will be wrong.

I also figured that the boy and I could have a quick fuck while we were in there, respectfully in a place where we didn’t get cum everywhere, just saying.

So I was surprised when I walked up the stone steps to his front door, and it was locked. I had many other feeling at that point, but they vanished when I realized that my brother barely lived there, and somehow he was leasing out his apartment to other people during every moment that he wasn’t there, or perhaps even worse he was one of the lessors. He handles properties that run like that at work, I didn’t realize he was living in one.

“The help”, mustached men in modest looking suits, were going in the basement under the porch. One held the door open for us, and I declined thinking that this was demeaning and I should just be able to go in the front.

There was a party going on inside, a huge fancy gala worthy of one of the Newport Mansions and packed to the hilt about it. White glove waiters holding tray of champagne and stuffing their feelings of disgust over the excess with the same determination and control that they will use to stuff their faces with leftover hors d’oeuvres in the backroom after they get their appetites back. These people were so fake I don’t fear AI anymore.

I found the woman who was apparently throwing the party, she was a very particular redhead who I have seen on TV and is probably actually really nice in person. I told her how much my brother loved living there, an what a nice place it is, yada ya… usually I am pretty good with small talk but I seem to be missing the mark, and honestly in my life I seem to be missing the mark more lately.

I should dye my hair. It’s probably because I’m getting older and no longer seem like an incredibly mature young girl and now the Garden Party effect is wearing off. I’m getting distracted, and I’m not going to let it happen for a few more sips, there’s only a few more sips.

The lady was pretty much holding her own in that disdainful way that makes you realize she doesn’t like you, but totally knows that no one in the world likes her either. And she had no idea what I was talking about, really. I was worried that my brother might not actually live there anymore, where were his things? I was hoping I’d find out something from talking to her, but fell flat.

I went upstairs, probably to check on things, I forget why. But then I couldn’t get down, as someone was raising a toast from the front bar by the door and everyone was craning over the banister and crowding up the staircase to look, or at least appear in the scene that was sure to end up in the social column in the W (do they still do that since 2010).

It occurs to me that this part of the set comes not from my brother’s current house, but the house we had when we were children. There is no banister in his current house.

I couldn’t get down, there were too many suits and everyone had a giant taffeta skirt or a sequin train that I was going to step on. How were they not stepping on each other? I recognized a pair of very expensive shoes I saw in Nordstrom (I typod and the suggestion was hilarious) Rack, it reminds me of two people I have to call. I remember fighting my way down to the ground floor and offending extremely rich people in the process.

I remember when that used to make me appear charming. Oh my god.

Somehow, probably still needing my phone or whatever, I turned right at the front door and ended up in the basement. There was a secret passage as there would be in houses of that age. I crawled in behind the staircase, which is what you do with the alcoves that would be extra hallways. Back there, it was actually a ramp, but it was large. Run down, lined with what would have been late 80’s maroon hotel carpet and dusty pine green moulding.

It was big enough to sleep in there, and I wondered, is this where my brother hides when parties like this are going on? How does all this work? My poor brother.

I decided that instead of going back out to face all of those disgusting people, I was deeply embarrassed (In my waking state I should have gone right back up there and slammed the door on the host, but then I hold back, thinking what that might do for my brother who just needs things quiet for a little bit longer) and was going to crawl out the service entrance. I shimmied my way up to the top of the ramp, only to find that it narrowed significantly and transformed into a metal chute. I was afraid to go back, thinking it might not be wide enough to turn around, and I would get stuck and have to scream for help like I did that time way back when during my first girl scout sleep over.

I hate screaming for help.

I also was afraid to go forward, I did not know that I could make it through the chute, I might get stuck, and more importantly, there might be spiders in it.

I then remembered that I’m no longer afraid of spiders, and decided to push forward (in my waking state probably not a good idea.) The panic of claustrophobia set in, and then I remembered that I was actually asleep and should probably just wake up.

I purposely let my coffee go cold at the last 2 sips to that I could write all this in one cup of coffee, and that’s really stupid. I can do whatever I want. I’m going to refill my cup.

I just scrolled back, even though I have one cold sip left.

Should I call it done, or keep going?

One Comment Add yours

  1. Anna says:

    So I clicked the link on metal chute.

    I didn’t read it fully, or maybe I did.

    She died at the D hotel, in February of 2016, near my ex’s birthday (the last one, lol)… we stayed around there several times that year, did we stay specifically there? And were we there then?

    I want to text him and ask… but that would be cruel. Or would it? and am I cruel?

    It occurs to me that yes, maybe I am, and also that the boy is so thoroughly sloggy and sullen that he is zero fun to travel with, unlike my ex. So, I will text him. I just feel bad being cruel, and I really don’t have the emotional space for two men and I can’t imagine that I ever tried, and can’t understand why I still try.

    It’s almost 5pm and I still haven’t logged on to work yet.

    When I fucked the boy for the first of his birthdays that we spent together, I was listening to Dusty Springfield. We were traveling, then…

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