TW: death

I am at my mom’s house, but it is not my mom’s house. But in the dream, I know it to be a version of my mom’s house.

I’ve had this dream before but not this version of it.

My mom is hosting some kind of MFA program. Or, no, maybe she is just helping out, giving people a place to stay. I think it is the second one.

There are too many people here. There are dogs, too. A lot of dogs. Why are there so many dogs?

The house is completely overrun with people and dogs. I am pushing my way through people and dogs, trying to find her because I know this is too much for her. There is dog pee everywhere. The dogs have peed on the carpet, puddles and trails everywhere. There is pee on the walls. Somehow, the family portrait from Easter when I was seven has moved to the bottom half of the wall by the bathroom door of my mom’s real-life house, not the dream house. It has been peed on, too.

I walk outside where MFA people have gathered. But not the real MFA people I met recently at our summer writer’s retreat. I just know these people to be MFA people in my dream. I have met all of them before but not in person, not in real life. I know their faces from other dreams. These people are gathered on a steep, grassy hill with a stone wall at the bottom, pavement on the other side of the wall.

I still cannot find my mom, but I run into someone who I recognize as Tommy Shea. The real Tommy Shea, in real life and in my dream. But at the same time, I also recognize him as Dave’s dad? Like, he is Tommy but also somehow Jeff?

I am crying to Tommy/Jeff , because I still can’t find my mom and the house is ruined and I think I am having a panic attack.

I touch my hair and realize that it is braided, but I didn’t braid my hair. My hair is in multiple thick braids with black elastics securing the ends. This has happened before in some version of this dream. It sends me into a panic, because who braided my hair and when?

I take the braids out, and my hair is longer than it has ever been before. I see the green ends extend past my knees. Where did this hair come from? I realize it is sopping wet. My braids were dry. When did my hair get wet?

At the bottom of the hill, some MFA students decide to exercise. They see a video of gymnasts doing hollow body rolls across the floor and decide to do this from the bottom of the hill to the top. I wonder why they choose to do this. I do not join them, because I remember how bad this exercise sucks.

At the top of the hill, they decide it will be fun to roll back down. I panic and yell at them not to do it, but it is too late. They are already rolling down the hill, gathering so much speed that when their bodies hit the stone wall at the bottom, they bounce up and over the wall, landing on the pavement on the other side. I can hear their bodies hitting the pavement.

Everyone pushes forward to go to them down the hill, but I know there are stairs behind me that are faster and safer. I take the stairs down and around. MFA students are milling around in distress, waiting to hear if their friends are dead. I already think they are. Some of them hug me. The girl with one eye, who I know from other dreams, is an MFA student in this dream. She lost her eye in a childhood accident and it is a gaping socket. It always is, and it never bothers me. She walks to me and wraps her arms around me. Her blonde hair is in a side ponytail in this dream; she is wearing the yellow shirt she wears in all my other dreams. It’s not bright yellow, but I think it used to be. I don’t remember the other dreams I’ve seen her in, but I remember her. I think she makes me feel safe? I’m not sure. Her face is not one I know in real life, but I know I have met her in many other dreams.

I rush into the kitchen, still trying to find my mom. I finally do. She looks so small and frail surrounded by all these people.

“Momma, are you okay?” I ask her.

“No, I can’t find your brother,” she says. She is frantic. “I need to find your brother!”

She rushes off without telling me which brother. I get the sense in the dream that it is Budd.

In real life, when I wake, I wish it was Scott.

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash