I dreamed I was visiting my mom, and our littles were there. My middle niece was talking up a storm, and my nephew, who was now two, his curly gold hair had straightened and gone brunette. And he had a beard and mustache.
My oldest niece was sick, and needed more medicine, so I was going to go into town to get some. Mom kept listing other things she needed, like printer paper. I kept trying to find something to write a list on, and all I could find was a fortune cookie fortune. I took a picture of the medicine bottle with my phone, and wrote everything else really tiny.
While Mom was thinking about what else we might need, I started to worry about a sort of sore bump I had on my chest. It was visible above my neckline, and since it was kind of dark and round, I was worried that someone might think I was exposing my breast and I’d get in trouble. As I examined it, and it was hard to focus on at that distance and angle, I thought I saw something moving. I found a magnifying glass.
I watched in horror as little white mite-looking things poked out and then ducked back in. I peered at a different angle and found it was like a tiny cave in my flesh, and a tiny, translucent white worm was half visible, curled up in the back. The inside was obviously infected, and I thought maybe if I tried to squeeze it like a pimple I could get all the bugs out, but it ran really deep in my chest and the all sort of just hunkered down. But then my mom finished her list and hurried me out, so I tugged my shirt up to hide it and got on the road.
I went to Ingram Park Mall, but it was pretty different from how I remembered it. For one thing, there was a big, painted concrete monument at the entrance. It featured the state of Texas painted like the Lone Star flag and a gray and silver armadillo. At first it read “State of Guadalupe, established 2006”, which made no sense. When I looked again, it had changed to “State of Texas” with no date, and “Guadalupe Co.” with a big arrow and a mileage indicating direction and distance to that county.
I found parking up on a tiny top floor of a parking garage. It was round, like a castle turret, very dark, with only an exit sign lamp, and it only had enough parking for five or six cars. I found out why it was empty when I went through the double glass doors beneath the exit sign and found myself in a deserted, empty anchor store. I went out into the mall corridors, and that whole wing was empty, though I could see shoppers up ahead.
On the other side of the mall was an office store, so I went there to get paper. I knew I was going to have to stop at an HEB, too, but I wanted to try to get as much as possible at the mall. I walked around the shops trying to find any of the other items. Up on the second floor, down one wing, I found a luxury perfume store that had a sign saying they also sold the medicine I needed, so I went in and got that.
After that, I saw a big shop visible through plate glass windows on all sides. It looked like I could get more of my items there, but I couldn’t find an entrance. There weren’t any escalators nearby, but there was a big blue plastic slide, three chutes side by side, straight down to the first level, so I slid on down.
There wasn’t an entrance on the first level either. On my way up to the third level I found the food court on a sort of mezzanine between floors two and three. Since I had missed lunch, I stopped to get some enchiladas. There were vendors all along the walkways with plates of Mexican food laid out all around. It was pretty amazing.
After lunch, I made my way up to the third and top level, where there was, again, no entrance. Apparently the only way in was outside, and I’d have to go all the way around the mall exterior to get there. I hurried to a nearby slide to get down to the ground level. This slide was yellow and orange striped, had a tunnel cover over it, and instead of staying straight and together, the three chutes separated and looped around on their way down.
I sat dow and started to slide, but when I reached the tunnel cover a few feet down the first drop, I didn’t fit. I had to squirm my way back up and off the slide. I decided I was just done. Since I’d come in on the third floor, I decided to just go back to my car and either drive around to the outside entrance or head to the grocery store.
It was getting late, and the wing where I’d parked was eerie and ominous win its emptiness. When I got to my car, I found I had left my purse behind somewhere. Probably the food court. Or maybe the slide.
I went back to the food court first, and asked around, but no one had seen or turned in a purse. There were even more plates, on all the tables and all along the floor, and I had to be careful not to step in refried beans or tamales in chili con carne. As I neared the slide, there were plates of Indian food, fragrant with curry and cumin and cardamom. I had to wait in line to get to the person running the slide so I could ask about my purse. Dozens of bystanders were hanging around, and they recognized me as the woman who didn’t fit.
My purse wasn’t there either. They directed me to the lost and found. On my way there I passed a pet shop with dozens of puppies in the window, available for adoption. I stopped to eye them wistfully. A woman came out to encourage me to come get a puppy, but I had to explain that I was just visiting from Seattle. I couldn’t bring a puppy back on the plane, and my apartment didn’t allow pets anyway. She was shocked and refused to believe such a rule could exist anywhere. I took a deep breath to try to explain, and then I woke up.
