I Am Not

I woke up this morning with an odd heaviness on me. I showered, dressed and drove to work. Then I started seeing snippets of my dreams.

Walking by the one room school house
Swimming in the pond
Sitting on the porch swing
Running past the scary totem pole

I yelled back at you to hurry up. We'd been there to long we had to go.
Throwing ourselves through the sun porch door we gathered our things and cast one last look back through the window to the sink she so often stood at, dutiful as ever.
Collapsing on the stoop we raced to lace up the shoes we needed to run to the car for our escape.

But it was to late. In she pulled. Scowling and wretchedly intent on being unhappy as ever.
I don't remember what happened after that. Only the feeling of heaviness. The feeling of dread.

I hate that she's still in my dreams. I hate that she's still floating around in my blood.
When there were rumors of a secret those many but fleeting years ago I, like a child, wished and hoped that it was she was not really blood. I longed to hear that she was other, not the same, not connected to us by anything more than unlucky circumstance.

But there was no such secret.
There was no such luck.

I don't have to run anymore. We've disconnected her from us with the messy chops of a dull knife. But still she remains. Connected all the same.

I know it was just a dream. I know it wasn't real.
But still I woke heavy this morning, trying to remember that she was wrong. That I am not a bad girl and that I am not who she said I was.

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