December 21, 2009
Was a student, sort of, in Pittsburgh. Was afraid of going back—in the dream I knew I had been back a few times (other dreams!) and they’d all been awkward. I was trying to meet up with Meghan but nothing came of it. My uncle lived near me, and we were to meet up for dinner, and I looked forward to going back to the Manor to see a movie afterward.
This was a very flat, almost rural version of Pittsburgh. I went to go see Aunt Catherine, all while looking for my husband, who I think was Marshall Erikson. I crossed a bridge and a mostly empty road—Broomall-esque—and went inside. My husband wasn’t there, but my grandmother was. Her hair was long, to her waist, and her head was swollen, almost as long as a length of my arm. Her hairline was recessed the way Benjamin Franklin’s is in sketches of him. I hugged her head, kissed it, so happy to see her. And her voice was the same as it has always been, or always was, anyway. She wasn’t befuddled and terrified by Alzheimer’s yet. She talked about not missing my brother in her nine year absence, and only sort of missing me. I understood—I was her 26th grandchild; by the time I came around, the novelty had long worn off. We sat with Aunt Catherine, who seemed so much younger, and Aunt Ashley, and someone else, and Uncle John, laughing and eating. I was anxious for my husband—earlier I’d broken into his top-secret place of work, looking for him, and I’d seen the back of his head off in the distance, but could not reach him, and then alarms were going off, and I escaped.
Eventually, I hugged my grandmother again, and bid my family adieu before going back to campus. In my apartment, so similar to the ground floor of Rekha’s house, I stripped all the bedsheets to be washed.
