Monday, April 14, 2014

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.
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.