A few days ago I had a dream that opened up on the Vance’s back yard. A youthful Mary Vance beckoned me to the far edge of the property.
“Come this way. We’ve built two in-ground pools,” she said.
She had an effusive, friendly tone in her voice like a real estate agent eager for a sale. I obediently followed. The swimming pools were vast, their edges rocked in stacked, moss and dirt-colored shale. Mary dived into the water, and I belly-flopped in behind her. My clothes transmuted into a two-piece. The water was black as an underwater cave, yet our bodies were backlit. I could see her in front of me, cutting through the water, her flimsy black bathing suit billowing like ship sails. I had trouble keeping up with her and kept thinking I might lose sight of her. Somehow I knew she was taking me to see her daughter. In the dream I was hyped up, sure the universe had granted me one last visit with Patty. Once awake, I obsessed. Was it an omen? Was I meant to join my friend in her watery grave sometime soon?
