By Doug Forbes

My mother, Elena, my childhood best friend Tommy Fahmie who died at 18, my mother’s college friend who became my surrogate aunt, my sister, Roxie, me.

A through-street between two rows of houses.

Some beach town.

Roxie was running away from us in the alleyway.

I hear “Mommy” repeatedly.

Someone says “Go get her (Roxie),” maybe my sister.

My sister chases after her, or maybe now it’s someone else chasing.

My pseudo aunt, my dead friend and my mother remain static. My mother sits with a hoodie over her head and seems to be in distress, needs attention.

She doesn’t speak.

I start to run after Roxie, but decide to return to my mother who starts to bleed from her mouth, which slowly but steadily becomes excessive, like a river damn breaking.

Mom is alive but unresponsive, zombie-like.

I say something to someone, anyone, about Mom’s condition.

Everything gets more panicky.

Elena is there but not discernible, gray, vaporous.

I wake up.