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Actual Nightmares I Had As A Toddler “Why are you crying, Anne?” a syrupy voice asks. A stranger’s hands near to change my diapers. She grabs the waistband and pulls it. I flail. On my family patio, slurping
Melted Ice cream, I slump, suddenly blind. “She’s not breathing!” I hear my cousin shout. I know I am dead. This doesn’t bother me. With an animated beige body like Wendy’s from Peter Pan, I have little Apple breasts ripening through my nightgown. They heave. I cannot move. Captain Hook has Lashed me to the mast. A thick bullwhip cracks. I scream and leap out of bed. Parents rush in. I explain, “I can’t get a PhD until I Am at least twenty-eight. What if all the Egyptian mysteries get solved by then?” I sit in a white parked car. Momma shops. A shadowy man in a trench coat and Cowboy hat stares at me through the windshield. I stare back. I smile. He smiles back. I ask, “Are you here to kill me?” “Not yet,” he whispers. CommentsComments are closed.
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