Last night I had this ridiculous nightmare in which my mother got murdered by this friend of mine, but right before that the person who had been holding the gun was this ultimately creepy man who was being fought by batman (for once batman didn’t do much). Anyway, we were headed across the freeway when we were stopped by policemen with guns who didn’t want pople in the crossfire, and suddenly our car disappeared. So there we are, crouching in the crossfire, and the guy starts taking shots at people other than policemen. And my mom is shielding me with herself, and I feel her get shot in the side of the stomach three times, to which she actually says “Ow!”. Then I realize the person holding the gun is my friend Alexandra, and she’s about to shoot my little brother Robert, and I’m all, “No, you don’t. I think you’ve done enough for this family. Catch, ‘tard!” And I threw my mother’s dead body at her, which didn’t go very far, because she was heavy, but it caused her to drop her gun, and she starts wrestling with me, and I’m yelling, “Idiots!” at the policemen who are standing there watching. So they shoot her in the back of the head, which didn’t seem unnecessary at the time, and I find myself walking upstairs in my house on the same day, but later. Except the upstairs of my house is a high school that my older sister and I attend, even though we’re both in college in real life. And I’m wondering why I’m in school since my mother just died. Then we watched the news (which I had experienced firsthand) in my next class, so I left. I remember being in my eighth grade classroom, but the teacher was the one I had had in both first and third grade, and she hated me in real life. It was math, and I was late to class and they were playing this game which no one could explain to me because no one really understood it. So I asked Mrs. Dutton for enlightenment, and she said, “Ms. Davis, is it?”
And I said, “No, Ms. Gerow.” And I turned around to the girl behind me and said, “She taught me in third and first grade, and she can’t even remember my name!”
Then she proceeded to tell the class that I had received a C on the last two tests, and as class was drawing to a close my little brother Robert came in late. Then the teacher pretends to consult this magic eight ball that she has, with some name like Mr. Glen, and she says, “Should I talk to Stephanie after class about her mother, Mr. Glen?”
And I stood up and said, “I don’t want to talk about anything with you!” And I gathered up my stuff to leave.
And she said, “If you leave this classroom right now, you can consider your grade failing!”
“Oh, I forgot that in this math class, your grade is determined by your actions!” Then I yelled at her about favoritism, and how stupid it is to need to feel smarter than children, and condescension, and the fact that she taught my older sister once, my brother once, and me twice, and she still didn’t know my last name, which we all share. (She forgot my name one time in eighth grade when she came to visit our school, but she called me Emmy, which is my sister’s name, so it’s understandable.) After chewing her out, I left, and then she said something about me and how I demanded special treatment because my mother died that day and my brother chewed her out and left too. Then this girl Susan told me that I looked wonderful, not in a beautiful way, but I had been curled up in the bathroom floor crying before, and I wasn’t anymore, and seemed a lot better.
It was such a stupid dream.
I think I have always wanted to say those things to Mrs. Dutton though, so at least that was cool. Then in my dream I dreamt I had a dream that my mother died, but I woke up and it wasn’t a dream.