sex dream L I L L I A N G R AC E , N E W YO R K U N I V E R S I T Y G A L L AT I N
We’re in a warehouse filled with excessive amounts of vintage furniture, and I know that my mom drives a minivan and is on her way to pick us up. The details come together. I am old enough to live on my own, but I still do not have a license. It is thus not unusual for me to be waiting. Here, in the warehouse, the lights are fluorescent, and it is not cold. If I could drive, I would miss these moments of stasis, relying, passing time. I can feel the minutes, a touchstone with reality. There are four garage doors up against one wall, and it is only because of this that I realize how long the room is. All of the doors are open just barely at the bottom, cracked and letting in the cold. The room echoes our voices, but in a way that feels almost like a ballroom, something that trusts and expands as we do. On every side, mountains of dressers and mirrors rise, fantastically colored wood with chipped paint. The ceiling is high, and it has a few tiny chandeliers, all turned off and covered in sheets for safekeeping. They fascinate me, their fragility, so unlike the unstable stack of chairs in the corner of the room with the quilted cushions. I think I know I am dreaming but in the same way I know that I am breathing. There are five of us here, and none of my friends can handle a vehicle either. I know them all, how tall they are. Their laughter warms me. It’s sometime late in the evening, probably near midnight. We’ve been talking for hours as we always do. I have a feeling that I coordinated this whole event, though my consciousness is too far from me to be sure. One friend resembles a sprite in the way that she sits: back perfectly straight against the wall, legs crossed, barely moving. Her hair is dirty blonde, a deep sawdust color. Her posture reminds me that before we met she was a dancer. Her shirt is emblazoned with a cereal logo. I think she’s vegan, but the cereal isn’t. I do not remember how we met. The next has never cut their hair in their life. It gathers around their shoulders, bunching as they pull their knees up against them. They wear four necklaces, if I know
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