Hiding

Windows open inside a Victorian-era hotel in Fraser. I am with an ex-boyfriend from high school and some other people from my past, mostly boys who've been victims of the system. The hotel is a suite and feels like a house. People come in and out for a cocktail party I'm throwing. Miss Universe from the 90's is there with her baby. She's beautiful, but she's missing an arm and walks with a limp. Her baby looks exactly like her. The suite clears out, but I sense someone is still inside with me. I walk around picking things up, afraid that my ex-boyfriend may try to grab me from behind. He's older now, instead of punk rock t-shirts and a shaved head, he wears glasses and a cardigan. He's creepy. I have to go to work. I'm a news anchor alongside my boss. She does her segment and walks towards me through a dusty room filled with furniture covered in white sheets. She's visibly tired. Her usual red lips are bare. I'm afraid for her to sleep here. If she hides under the sheets they won't find her. The predators are everywhere. I feel them. We can't fall asleep without first hiding our bodies. I think of my ex-boyfriend's poorly constructed sentences from the prison letters he's sent me. I feel sorry for him, that he can't communicate the way he needs to. I want him to find me here in this pile of sheets and at the same time, I'm terrified he will find me here. The alarm goes off. Get up my boss says, it's your turn to be on the show.  

A giant wave

My friend and I are at the coast. It's been a year since seeing him and he's still the same, quiet and a little anxious about life. Waves come crashing into the town. There is talk about a lack of water, how people aren't going to have water in just a few days. We sprint from a giant wave that almost eats us.  

Serious Gypsies

We are gypsies. Or it feels that way inside tents, in a city that feels a little post-apocalyptic. My friends from years ago are there, one wants to sleep next to me in my tent. We sleep deeply. I am warm and cozy next to her. Morning comes and my other friend opens the tent door. She is ten years older than she was the last time I saw her. I am still a little in love with her and care too much about what she thinks of me, of my tent and the way I keep it, about the things I say, which to me are funny, but to her seem juvenile. She is serious, I'm shocked by how serious she is.  

There are a group of close friends hanging out. They are blends of people that I know now, celebrities and old friends. We are all parents and are hanging out without the kids for the night. Someone suggests that we wear pajamas to an event. They can be dirty or old. So we do. A guy I'm talking to looks like a younger George Bush. He's smarmy and wearing a tux with a red cape. At the event, which seems like a high school reunion, I see a guy I made out with when I was 13. He's buff and balding. He's recently had a child, his first. I congratulate him and he says. It's amazing. I'm 36 and I waited this long to have sex. I was a virgin until we made the baby. And I love it. It's amazing. I want it all the time now.