Clueless

 

I guess I expected a lot more time to pass before pictures with a new boyfriend appeared on her Instagram account. She'd claimed I was the love of her life. Didn't that deserve a solid year of feeling shit? Maybe even two?

The answer seemed to be no.  Or no was the answer to another question I was now forced to ask myself: had she ever really loved me?  Because she sure looked happy with her new meathead boyfriend way less than a year after she collapsed into my mother's arms at my funeral. She'd even scrubbed all photos of me from her social media. I mean, okay, I'd left her first, but she didn't know that. She thought I was dead. Didn't death count for anything anymore?

 

Nightmare

 

The dog disappeared.  

Although it was after midnight, I wanted to look for him. I asked my mother to come with me. She said no; I pestered her until she agreed. 

Even with the streetlights to guide us, the neighborhood felt eerily dark, and devoid of life. But this was suburbia. I told myself I had nothing to worry about.

 

My mother chose our route. At first we just walked on the sidewalk, like normal people.  Eventually, however, she started leading us across lawns, and then into backyards. When she opened the backdoor into a bungalow, I protested, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

 

She laughed at me. “You’re the one who wanted to take a walk.” 

 

Not knowing what to do, I followed her into the house. We moved through the unlit rooms, until exiting via the front door, unseen. But my relief soon flared into horror, because my mother now insisted on passing through the next house, and the one after. Each bungalow seemed emptier than the last, until finally, inevitably, we came across a woman sitting on her couch. She greeted us with a welcoming smile. “The way you came in is now locked,” she said. “I'll show you another way out.”

 

She brought us into the kitchen. With a flourish she opened the oven door. "I'm afraid there's no other choice," she said. "You'll simply have to crawl through it."