Silver Girl and the Infinite Groove

The dream is always the same, me looking up at this impossibly tall man smiling down at me, after saying something adorable, and shocking.

He wants me to stay. He wants…to kiss me.

I am the girl in his pristine white and towering loft, a lighthouse by the sea, where he can always watch the ferries come home.

I am working on deadline, a project that requires use of three major metals: gold, silver, and bronze. As the final touch, I spray-paint my black hair silver. On second thought, I’m about to wash it out, when I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I am beautiful, with silver streaks through my hair. Young again.

The phone or doorbell rings, delivering the good news. I’ve got the part. I’ve already memorized half the script, based on a Victorian novel the size of Dallas.

“You’ve got this,” he smiles. “Maybe you can make a living doing Shakespeare. Something like that.”


As we go our separate ways, he calls out after me. “We forgot the toast!”

I run to him, halfway down the path to a waiting phalanx of cars. The Hippie Speedball gig. My mom’s there, too, changing into her bar clothes behind the wheel. I meet and hug Dylan, the lead singer and songwriter, for the longest time.

The toast.

He kisses me. Or I kiss him. Again and again, as time stands still, and my mom screeches, “But I like the other one! It’s too soon!”


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