I celebrated my thirty-six birthday on Friday, July thirteenth. I spent my birthday planning my dish for a potluck the next day. I made salmon stuffed eggs and salmon stuffed eggs au gratin, with white sauce, cheese and bread crumbs. I also made corn bread in cast iron. I went to bed and dreamed this:
A man knocked on my door asking for work. He looked like a hoodlum with his narrow eyes and du rag. Three older men already in my living room all agreed that I should not help this man. I shut and locked my door and walked toward my kitchen. Within seconds, the man unlocked the door, entered my home and threw an explosive that killed my three male friends. I grabbed my mobile off the counter, darted out the back door and hopped the fence.
It was nightfall when I reached the sidewalk. I carried corn bread baked in a square pan into a women's boutique. I set down the pan and looked into a full length mirror. I wore a clingy white top and long skirt split up the middle, a modern contrast to the vintage inspired fashion in the boutique. I selected a corn muffin in a star shape from the food table and ventured outside into the dark. That's it.
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