Voices

I cut out of work early to get ready for the big surprise party. Overestimating the time it will take, I arrive hopelessly early. My brother wants to take a nap, so we lie down in the living room to rest. Some ass-hole wants to play an old Sega Genesis game, and will not let us sleep. I finally give in, moving upstairs to let him have the TV. Upstairs, I make my way to the spare bedroom. To my surprise, my best friend and <PERSON> are already there. My friend is on the bed, and <PERSON> is sitting at a computer playing a video game. The room is a total mess. It reminds me of a teenage boy's room. There are stacks of CDs everywhere, with clothes and video games strewn all over the floor. Life size superhero blow up dolls hang from the ceiling and walls. My friend starts to tell me about a dream she had, and reads me a terrible poem about dreams. It uses a metaphor for dreams being like digging through a dumpster. I know the author of the poem from an art exhibition. It vaguely reminds me of a dream I just had about <PERSON>. I try to tell her about it, but I can barely remember, even though it feels important. I only have a faint memory of a huge fat black lady, and a nagging feeling that I need to remember something about it. My friend asks me if I ever dream about her, and I reply, "Yes, but those dreams are very different." I suddenly wonder if my friend knows that <PERSON> and I know each other. It seems to be a strange coincidence that she is here. I am too exhausted to figure it out, so I lie down with <PERSON> on the floor to take a nap together. I wake into a hazy FA sleep paralysis, frightened by the shadowy shape of a life size Incredible Hulk action figure. It is dark and freezing in the house. I have only an thin denim jacket to keep me warm, so I cuddle closer to <PERSON>. I rack my brain trying to figure out why I am sleeping on the floor. I hear voices and music from downstairs. Something about a surprise party? Where the hell am I? I wake Vex to ask her what time it is, worried that I slept through the party. Looking at her, I cannot pin down her age. It seems like her appearance keeps shifting from a beautiful young teenage girl to an old woman. The more I look at her, the more she confuses me. Her eyes are bright and youthful, but she has wrinkly, bumpy skin like a zombie. Her body seems fit, but her skin is stretched and loose like an old woman. I jokingly wrestle with her, giving her a loud raspberry on her bare belly. From downstairs, I hear people yell, "Surprise!"