I’m packing. I know I’ve already ‘moved out’, but this time, I’m packing up everything I’ve left behind. Mom is running everywhere, fixing things, cleaning things, helping everyone. Shawn is doing laundry. Dad is somewhere isolated, working on a project that doesn’t have anything to do with the current situation. And I’m packing. Boxes are filling, but I don’t really know how to pack. What do I throw away? What means something? What only has value because it brings back a memory that I will never lose, anyway? It starts to rain, cold fresh rain, and it leaks somewhere in the laundry room. Shawn is inconvenienced. Mom rushes to fix it. Dad yells about the commotion and continues working on his project. Someone is outside. Someone waiting for me, though no one has knocked on the door. I go outside, unnoticed, to find the rain has stopped, and there stands Suellen. She seems happy to see me, proud of me even, for taking control of my life. We both cry. It has been a long time. We speak about things I will do now, places I will go. We are hidden. My family comes outside looking for me. I see them, wave to them to tell them to go back inside, that I’ll be in shortly. They understand, especially mom. She has a look of pain. They walk back inside. Suellen and I continue talking. When I return inside, the rain starts again; it gets heavier. Now it has broken through the roof. It is cold, it smells like mint. My boxes of things are getting ruined, soaked. Everyone seems to be upset about it but me; they rush to find tubs and buckets to catch the now waterfall of rainwater gushing through the ceiling. I’m thriving in it.
I take a walk down the street. I’m in Austin now. I pass an array of eclectic buildings, and then run into Carly. We enter one of them, and the inside is remarkably like her house in The Woodlands. We search through her pantry. We are very small now, the shelves are huge. We snack on something that brings back pleasant memories. She seems solemn, but content. We are both comfortable, but sad. I start walking backwards, and we part ways with a smile.
I keep walking. I approach a volunteer military academy. I walk in and find a bunch of boys marching in line wearing uniforms. One of them is my first boyfriend, Brad Kirbo. He sees me, and smiles. I am happy to see him. It has been a long time. I ask why he’s joined the academy, that I thought he was attending UT. He says, that’s where he started. But he failed out, so he decided to join this academy and then shrugs his shoulders. I ask if that’s the only reason, if nothing else prompted him to do this. He shrugs, and stares blankly at me. I feel distant from him, like he isn’t a whole person. I drift backwards, and end up in a wheel chair.
I wheel myself down the halls of this institution. I approach a few stairs that I must get down somehow, but there is a bar in the way. I ask someone nearby for help. They look at me strangely, they don’t know me. They start to help, but then walk away. I look at the stairs and roll myself down, and break through the bar. Then I stand. I no longer need it.
I walk into a dark parking lot. My car door is slightly ajar; it seems I had forgotten to lock it, though I don’t remember driving it there in the first place. There’s a note from someone, but the words are bleeding from being wet. I get in; start the engine… and then a little red Pinto rear ends me fiercely. My car gets shot backwards fast, so I slam on the breaks. I motion for the driver of the car to park next to me, so we can talk about what just happened. He is very annoyed. The car is occupied by three or four Hispanic men. He yells, “What’s going on? What’d you do?” I calmly tell him that he rear ended me, I hadn’t even put my car in gear yet. He’s more annoyed. I tell him to wait, and I go inside to get a note pad to copy down his license plate number. When I return, I notice that half of it has been painted over. I asked him why half the numbers were painted over and he said, “Because of this” and shows me multiple documents accusing him of petty crimes he didn’t commit. He said it was because he was Hispanic. Now I feel ashamed. Had he really run into me? I now had sympathy for him.
I start walking. It starts to rain again. This time, the rain floods the streets. It is cold again, it still smells like mint. I got washed up in it, and felt like I had turned into a fish with wings. I couldn’t tell if I was swimming or floating. I felt free… but very sad.

I woke up confused, and dizzy with cold sweat.