Page 59 of Total Lunar Eclipse

Wait until I tell him about my dream.

He’s going to love when I get to the part of him being a horse’s dick.

Maybe.

Probably.

I get dressed, marveling at all the tanks tops lining my drawer. I mean, seriously, it’s disturbing how I can’t remember the last few months of my life. Then a thought occurs to me:

Oh god, maybe they were so shitty, I’ve mentally blocked them out?

I mean, winters in Minnesota will do that to you.

I get dressed; of course, I wear something teal, but make a mental note to get some baby pink tanks. And a maroon one. Also a rest red one, a golden yellow one, a gunmetal grey one, a sky blue and ocean blue one, a dusky purple one, and a bright green one- in an XL.

It’ll never fit me, but remind me of the gentle giant from my dreams.

I shake myself out of my reverie and make a mental note to look up my transits later. My Neptune must be making some aspects for me to be this fanciful in my daydreams.

I run a brush through my not-pale hair.

Funny how in my dreams, all I wanted was to be me again and now that I’m awake. . . I kind of miss being pink.

I’ll slit your fucking throat if you ever tell anyone that, got it, Trust Tree Sister?

I mean, love ya!

I sit on the banister and try to slide down it and end up falling off and rolling down the stairs to the main floor.

“Jorge, she’s tried to ride the banister down again,” I hear my mother’s voice call out.

I stand up in a daze and wonder how fucking hard I hit my head on the way down because I see myfathersitting at the dining room table, drinking his coffee, reading the newspaper.

“I know, Ann, I heard her,” my dad comments, finally looking up at me. “Don’t you think you should wear something a little more professional for your first day,wild thing?”

Tears fill my eyes at my dad’s familiar pet name.

He gave it to me when I four and made him readWhere the Wild Things Areevery night for a year.

Oh, and because I am a wild thing.

“I hate to agree with your dad, Zahra, butrippedjean shorts may not be the thing to wear,” my mom adds, coming into view from the kitchen.

All I can do is stare at them.

I pinch myself hard.

“Ouch! Fuck!” I shout in pain.

I’m definitely not asleep.

“Jesus, Zahra, watch your fucking mouth at the breakfast table,” my dad teases.

My mom starts laughing.

My dad joins in.

And I break down and sob like a baby.