Last Night I Dreamed - Carol Arnold

Last night I dreamed that Horace was flying around outside my bedroom window. He had no head, but I knew it was him by his overalls being covered with cow shit. I screamed at him, something like, “You’re an ugly dog turd and the whole world hates your guts,” but the one thing I couldn’t say was, “Leave me alone.” I don’t know why I couldn’t say that.

This time last year was when Horace and me arrived on Mr. A’s ranch. People were probably saying we were friends, but we weren’t really. It’s just that he was the only thing left from home, other than Kiki’s ring, and he still is.

After that day with Horace though, everything changed. Secretly, I collected pieces of hair from Horace’s beard. I’d sneak into his room in the barn and pick them up off his pillow. I don’t really know if they were from his beard or head really, but they were his hair, that was for sure. They had that greasy look. It almost made me throw up to touch them.

I put the hairs in a little cloth sack I made special for that. Bernice taught me about that, that if you save something from somebody’s body you can put it in a little cloth sack and stick pins in it like you’re killing it.

Everything I’ve been through, Pop driving the Ford into the river, Kiki never coming back from summer camp, Delores lying on the couch all day, me taking the bus to Bakersfield, all of it was hard, I’ll tell you that, but this Thing that Happened with Horace, was like I died. Before that, at least I had Bernice, Sally, the blue birds. Now I had nothing.

Now, I don’t even care that Bernice is giving me the evil eye. I know it’s probably because I called her Aunt Jimima. Before, I would have said I was sorry. I would have said I was just a mean old thing and she should pay me no mind. But I don’t say that. I don’t say anything.

Sally, she won’t even look at me when I come in the barn. I don’t look at her either. She saw everything, me lying there in the hay half naked with cow shit all over my blouse, Horace standing over me like he’d just won a thousand dollars. What do I care? She’s just a has-been race horse.

The blue birds took off yesterday. Those baby birds just flew away. The Mom and Pap hung around in the tree for a while, then they flew away too. I thought I’d be sad, but I wasn’t. I just said “Goodbye, stupid old birds.”

Yesterday, Bernice said something crazy. She said, “You aren’t the same girl, Spidee. A light can go out in the heart, and I’m afraid that’s happened to you.” Who cares about some dumb old light? She’s just talking her Aunt Jimima talk. What does it matter to me?