13 is Porn

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I couldn’t breathe for the longest time, struggling with this tiny TV mounted on the wall of my mom’s apartment in Makiki, and this janky remote, my vibrator still sitting back home.

Then, this (next) dream.

Nothing happened until the very end, when I turned to leave. That’s when he stood up, “Remember me? Hi, Carol. It’s been awhile. Say you remember me.”

I looked up at him, vaguely familiar. One memory stirred, the one where we left a lasting impression, Monmouth, New Jersey. We’d been lovers once, but he couldn’t give up his addiction, so I left and he let me go.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I dared myself to touch his chest, his right shoulder — the shoulder he injured playing football in high school, or maybe sliding home. He dared himself to kiss me, making us miss the hot spot, because she was watching. She was our friend and she was scared right now. He missed me, don’t worry darling, it’s alright, you can have him back, I’m just passing through.

I left and he let me go. I think he called out my name once, as I passed through the terminal toward the exit. Only, I went too far, vaguely waiting for him to catch up, and found myself on the football field of our alma mater.

I spent the next 15 minutes trying to get back, but woke up instead.

There goes my dramatic entrance.

 

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