The night before I moved to Memory Lane I was at a party.
It was my friend’s party, but I only spoke to him twice that night. The first time he wanted to tell me that I was going to be okay. He told me that I couldn’t keep going on like I was, and that I needed to let other people help. I thought that these were two pretty contradictory messages, but all the same I told him I was fine.
I’m not sure he believed me.
The second time was a lot later in the night. I had come running to him while he was talking to a group of our other friends. I must have looked pretty scared, because he pulled me aside quietly and helped me find a seat. I tried to tell him about the houses,
the abandoned houses.
I asked him how long I’d been at the party. He told me it had been a couple hours.
I told him that was impossible. It’d been a couple of months.
He told me to close my eyes, and said that I should try and
R e l a x .
I did. When I opened my eyes again, I was in my bed.
On Memory Lane.