42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

We’re refugees from some sort of attack. Hundreds of people mill around confused, looking for shelter. I pick up a frightened child, a snotty-nosed, blond little toddler. Even though he’s snotty and dirty, I feel some affection for him, want to help. He’s well behaved, clings to me.

We stand in great groups, trying to draw a line through a small door, struggling to escape. People push, but I hold on to the boy. We’re in a food warehouse now, and I look down at long expanses of frozen meat in darkened freezers. I’m always fascinated by strange cuts of meat; I would never eat it, but always wonder what people are eating.

Things have calmed down now. The child is getting restless. I know I should see if I can find his family. I shout out, has anybody lost this little boy? A couple more shouts, and a massive woman towers above me, twice as wide, and holding two infants. Perhaps they’re strapped to her. She looks very dull, without much interest or intelligence.
Is this your child? She doesn’t say much, but grunts and hold out her free arm for the boy.
Suddenly, I’m reluctant to give him up. I wonder how she can carry all three of these children, especially in this crowded, panicked place. I’m also judging her. What kind of life will this child have with her? Especially since we are all refugees now.
Would you like me to carry him? I can take care of him. Really, he’s not much trouble.

She shakes her head no, thrusts out her meaty, scarred arm for the child, and I must let him go. I hand him over, and the child holds on to the other side of her chest, but is clearly annoyed. He reaches his hand back out to me, but I shake my head no. His face gets a little red, and he reaches out again. The woman starts turning away. She’s taking the child, and I won’t see him again. No thanks, no trying to stick together. As she leaves, the child cranes around her back, squiggling and reaches out. I shake my head no again, and he spits at me.

Now I’m disgusted. I wipe it off and tell him not to do it again. He begins to hock another one and I tell him that if he does it again, I’ll tell his mother. And then he stops, and I don’t see him again.

A fragment finds me choosing between taking an elevator and a set of stairs. I decide I need the exercise and the line for the elevator is crowded. But I didn’t bargain on the slow-going crowd up the set of stairs. The stairwell is open, metal, rickety and many people take their time. At one point, there is a flat section with rollers, and I’m supposed to get on, and let them take me to the next part of stairs. But I look down the stairwell, see the people looking up, and think I will fall. And I will fall on them. Somehow, I’m coaxed onto the section, and indeed, I slip and falter and fall to the side, though not down the stairs. And everyone does laugh.

A fragment of me trying to swim in very warm, blue-green ocean waters. The water is like a bath. I’m with a couple of serious hikers and surfers, and they urge me out. I’m carrying my beloved camera, and I don’t want to leave it out for anyone to mess with, and I don’t want it to get sandy. After dipping my feet in the lovely water, I search for a place to hide my camera bag (though ideally I’d be able to take pictures and swim). As I look around, a ton of people show up, crowding the beach and ruining my opportunity to enjoy the water in peace and silence.

Then I’m in a grocery store, with a group of people competing for their lives. A taunting voice over the loudspeaker tells us what our task will be, to save ourselves. There are several groups, all working on the same task. The group I’m drifting to is frantically looking for an item with marker on it, and is supposed to clean it, quickly. A thin, delicate girl is on a ladder, frantically wiping away. But she’s not fast enough, and somehow, I know she is marked for death. I don’t see her die, but I know she will.

Teams move on to different tasks, becoming more desperate as the tasks become more nonsensical.

The competition finally boils down to being just me and my father. He’s got a grocery cart full of stuff, is frantically trying to find some item. Like a demented version of Supermarket Sweep. He shouts at me to try to find the item, and to divide attention. If we’re both moving targets, perhaps we won’t be killed.

I run through the store, with a feeling that I’m being chased. I come up against two clerks in green aprons, with deranged eyes and some unknown weapon. I skid back away from them, trying to find the item, or at least escape with my life, and again, the young men return. One of them holds out a dusty, yellow balloon, and the PA voice asks me a question. Should I run, or try to complete the task. I don’t remember what I was asked, but it seemed like a riddle, and in the end, I use a dirty, yellow object I find in my pocket, first licking a dull end to make it wet, and enscribe DUSTY in careful but shaky letters.

The loudspeaker voice is angry. I apparently performed the challenge correctly, and did not pop the balloon, and now the challenges are over. Wherever my father is, he is safe.