Water Dreams

I dreamt I was in a speedboat, not just any speedboat, but the Sea Ray me and my ex-boyfriend, M, picked out together—years ago, years before I left him in the Sierras to start over in Fresno. Even in my dreams, the same words repeat: You know the difference now between love and in love.

There is a hurricane. I am driving the speedboat, full throttle, cracking open the waves. I'm crashing into a series of cement walls. The boat surrenders, exhausted at the final impact. We capsize—the worst of boating scenarios; we disappear into an endless froth coughed up by the turbulence. My view is from the lake's floor. Above my head, swirls of bubbles flatten themselves out; a liquid surface, narrows my vision. I become small, non-existent. Light begins to diminish and reduced to the size of my fist. Let him go.

I see my mother. She’s standing on the dock, begging God to bring me back. I step onto the dock, “I came back for you mother. I want to live now.”