I
walked out of a store in a strip mall, it looked like the one in Storrs
that had the A&P and Oscar’s and CVS. It was snowing. JL was there.
A few other people. RS, one of my neighbors growing up, was there too. A
small propeller plane pulled up to pick us up. As we climbed aboard I
thought of the weight distribution—you have to distribute the weight
evenly in planes like that, like we had to when we flew to Viecques in
real life. As I took a set in the back I wondered whether my side—the
right side—was too heavy. I also wondered how dangerous it was to fly
like this in the snow. I wondered what it would be like if we crashed,
those horrible seconds of anticipation and then the impact, which I
could almost feel in my mind. It was a moment of brutal pain, then
nothing.
Monday, April 14, 2014
I went to the Monaco Grand Prix with Dad. It was held outside of town, up in some hills somewhere. In the dream it was 2007, the year Sara and I went, and when Dad was still alive, but I also knew it was now, years later, and the passage of so much time shocked me and made me sad. I thought, what have I done in that time? And then I thought, Jackie was born.
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