Na(HIV)PoWriMo ± April 30, 2017

I had a dream that I was back. It’s not clear where I had been. I was married to my husband. A man I loved many years ago who had died was alive in the dream, and he had a husband too. They lived in an apartment on Brighton First Road abutting the beach and the boardwalk that he and I had lived in once, but then we broke up and got new partners and they kept the beach-front house while my husband and I moved farther away. The husbands decided we should swap. At a certain point in the dream, I think the idea was that we were swapping husbands, and I was getting my old love back. But later in the dream it seemed we were sticking with our current husbands but switching apartments. I would be living at the beach again. Nothing could make me happier. Friends gathered, they welcomed us back and cheered us on. Doormen and security guards were so happy to see us back. We passed by a retired teacher or political figure we had known and admired who lived in the street now, scribbling bits of memory on a writing pad. We talked. We read what he had just written. Back in the Brighton Beach apartment, I complained about certain decorating choices my ex and his husband had made, including a carpet with an elaborate design in the pile. I talked about redecorating and a friend said better to save your money at this stage in your life. You’ll need it.