The Waterpark Mom - August 30 - Old Threads

August 30

10 am Day before starting college class.  Anxious.
Meds - Y. Conversations with Waterpark Mom - N
Beast Sightings - N.

Last night I tried telling Sis who she is.  "It will help both of us," I said.  But she acted as if I wasn't in the room.  Even when I explained how she's Me from Before and living my life over from last year, she wouldn't listen.  She quit the room. 

And this morning, the same thing happens.

She drifts in and out - it's like she's channeling Beast, my ghost boyfriend.  I step on shadows of clothes, tiny tops, jean skirts and shorts, and I ask, "Why are you still here?"  The everyone's call.  From Sis' side of the conversation, she's meeting all of them - all of my old friends from last year; and I start to follow her.

"Where are you going?" Marianne asks.

"Down the block."

Marianne and I don't say anything.  Sis walks way ahead.  (She's on a cell phone, gabbing.)  I guess my friends are here in a dimension I can't see most times, but sometimes I do, when threads of the universe become visible.  I pull on one, and the part I'm in unravels and all those friends from before appear again.  (Beast, Phil, and the everyone's from Kindergarten - they're here.)  But as soon as I start talking about my old prom dress, I let go of one of the threads, and Sis and her cool phone, her fast, happening walk, the everyone's, Beast, Phil, they disappear.

"Wish you hadn't seen the dress," Marianne says.  "I had it fixed."

The smell of citrusy perfume is thick, and now we're in the middle of a weird mix of orange, lemon, and lime trees instead of a suburban neighborhood where they mostly clear cut.  Imaginary leaves don't provide any shade.  (Even being outside doesn't lessen the intensity of the smell).  My head hurts, and all I think about is ripping the new zipper out.

It's as if Marianne has read my mind.

"Pretty, glittering top that dress, sure you're okay if I wear it?"

She knows I didn't get to go.

We both stop walking, and Marianne looks at me, but neither of us says anything for a few moments.  And I see Sis again in the distance (she's always ahead of us).  I don't see any dangling bits of thread in the atmosphere (maybe they are hiding under my clothes, this blows my theory about strings and the universe - but it is this kind of craziness that drives me to ask my mother, "Are you trying to live high school over?"