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In this dream, which I’d perfected to a T, I was in Washington. In Seattle, to be more specific, but on the edges, near a large mountain that had a pancake shack at the top. The clouds were ever pregnant and the fog was thick, dulling all groundswells of illumination. Greens popped against the gray, none of the colors manufactured by a company or filtered by a smartphone.
In this dream, I ran a little general store with products made by locals, every one of whom I would know by name and greet when they dropped off their shipment of the week. I’d do a tidy business, just enough to keep the shop going and put food on my table, with enough set aside to buy a stirring painting every now and then. I’d host picnics in my backyards for friends and friends of friends. It would be quiet, for once.
I’d never been able to go to college. There hadn’t been enough money. Maybe up north, I could start taking classes at a local college, even if it was just at night. I’d been trying to teach myself Foucault and Hegel and Sontag, but what little time I could snatch from the mouths of Dazzlers or my father was dedicated to sleeping. In this dream, I was in a classroom of students, debating the great philosophers and closely reading secondary sources. This last thought, of just the simple act of receiving a good education, made my eyes water.
“Helllooo, sleepy head.”
I startled up from my vision, and realized I’d been standing stock still in the middle of the floor.
Sonia, one hand on a bedazzled hip, was positioned before me. She was petite, a Latina with thick brown hair and that kind of angular, cat-like look any Instagram model would kill for. My friend was, without a doubt, tougher than me. While I fell prey to constant, idle imaginings of an impossible future, she worked without cessation. And while I complained about the odd grope, she had to deal with racist tirades if she so much as spilled a drink.
“Daydreaming again?” she asked, raising a knowing eyebrow and a half smile.
I sighed. “Busted.”
“Kiki, the general store can wait. It’ll still be in your mind when we get off shift.”
I’d long since told Sonia about my little forest fantasy, which was a total mistake. She lovingly mocked me about it every chance she got, because Sonia was a realist and knew that if you were born in Vegas, you died in Vegas.
“The guy at table five threw a drink.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. Knocked over some chips. Security’s there, but we gotta clean up.”
I wanted to whine, but had long since realized whining did little good.
“Okay, fine, lemme just drop these napkins off.”
“Vomit?”
“You know it.”
I scampered over to one of the wait stations, throwing the napkins into a barely concealed container full of similarly marred ones. Dazzlers was middle of the road, quality-wise. Not the kind of place where we hide our dirty laundry.
Sonia had already made her way to the table, where patrons had dispersed as the felt got cleaned. There was little besides the potential interruption of a game that could get some of these old dogs out of their seats. Trust me, I knew.
“How long,” I asked, joining Sonia at the table with a clean load of napkins, “until I can leave town?”
She shook her head. “I told you to leave the day you started. Don’t give me that shit.”
That was true. And she was kind enough not to say the second part — there was no way I’d ever leave my dad, and he was never leaving Vegas.
Speaking of which — I tilted my head up from the poker table, scanning the room.
“You looking for him?” Sonia asked, without so much as glancing up from the table.
“Yeah.”
“Haven’t seen him yet today.”
I chuckled darkly. “If you haven’t seen him yet, it only means he’s found a slot machine further in the corner, where no else goes, that he thinks is prime for cashing out.”
My eyes stayed on the room, looking for his telltale shock-white hair and hunched figure.
As I was busy conducting my informal search-without-rescue mission, my gaze landed upon someone else, a person who seemed familiar, if only I could place him…
Maybe all hot people just look familiar because we want them to be. Even from across the room, with his features blurry and lights sparkling at the edges of my vision, I knew this gentleman was a stunner. He was tall, ripped in a way that even a nice suit jacket couldn’t hide, with well-kept, dark blond hair I was certain a million girls had run their fingers through.
I racked my brain, but still couldn’t decide where I knew him from.
“Hey, Sonia,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Who’s that?”
I pointed in the stranger’s direction as she reluctantly arched up from the table, her eyes following my finger.
