spots, fever, layers, song and shower

In the late afternoon, in the family home of my teenage years, I noticed a ring of raised red skin on my forehead, and another on my chest below my collar bone. I went to my father, who was sitting in his chair in the lounge room, to show him. We found a few more and I was a little perplexed. I needed to be somewhere in about half an hour (a class?) and I noticed I was wearing a green tailored suit, not at all suitable for where I was going. I thought I'd race upstairs and leave the jacket on but swap the pants for jeans; however, in the process of dressing, I realised I was thoroughly saturated with perspiration. I needed to have a shower and quickly. In the bathroom, with the door locked, I began to undress and, while I did, I sang. The acoustics of the bathroom were wonderful and I played with pitch, high and low, devising the song as I went. My clothes, soaked through, were difficult to peel away, and I seemed to remove layer upon layer. Jumpers, tops and more tops. Pants under pants under pants. Even when I finally made it down to my underwear, I found I was wearing several bras and layers of underpants. People - not family - began to queue at the door, waiting to use the bathroom, and I knew I was running late. After discovering yet another layer of underwear, I decided that I would shower regardless. I closed the glass door behind me and washed away the sweat, all the while singing a lilting, lovely song. Upon finishing, the door opened and two old women wandered in. I tried, kindly, to usher them out, encouraging them to wait just a few more minutes while I dressed.

feathers

My father had soft yellow feathers on the soles of his feet. Not stuck to his feet but growing out of his skin, sprouting like the plumage of a luxuriously fluffy bird.

strangers

I was living with my parents in the house we built when I was young. My bed was in their bedroom - 'the main bedroom', as we called it - and their bed was in an adjoining room, where the verandah was in real life. It was the middle of the night and, instead of sleeping, I was walking as quietly as possible around the house, looking at my artwork. I was trying to price the various pieces for sale, doing my best to set a good price with which I was happy, but that I knew would move the work. I noticed that the frames of several paintings needed repair, that the work inside had slipped. After making some decisions, I walked through the dark to the bedroom and lay down on the bed. The mattress was on the floor, as though I was there only temporarily. I noticed that it was warmer than it had been when I first arrived some months before, and that I no longer needed the quilt; it was heaped in the corner. Suddenly I noticed a light - torchlight - beaming about the room. I hid under the quilt and the intruders obviously thought there was no one home, for they immediately began talking loudly and switching on lights downstairs. They flicked on the television and the stereo and the house, in the dead of night, was filled with ugly noise. I went into my parents' room; they were waking, not sure what was going on. They were each holding a cigarette and a packet of tobacco was lying on the bed. They looked surprised, as was I, as neither of them have ever smoked. They put out the butts and we went downstairs to see what was going on. I went first, my temper flaring as I saw two people - a young man and his girlfriend - taking food out of the refrigerator, helping themselves. I raced up to the man, whose horrible energy betrayed the kind of person he was, and shouted at him: This is not a share house, this is a family home. You have no right to be here. Take yourselves out of here. Get out. Instead, he grabbed me around the throat and pushed me up against a wall. I could feel how strong and wiry he was, how pumped up with aggression, and I knew that I was in an extremely dangerous situation. The girl kept laughing, louder and louder. Her mouth was open, screaming with laughter. My parents stood to one side and I knew my father was about to intervene.
Later, I was on a beach. I could see my family (my extended family) swimming in the water, but I sat up on the sand. Finally, my father came to fetch me. We walked down the sand and stepped into the water, which stretched out under a ceiling of rock - a cave of sorts - before continuing on past the cave, out to the ocean. Under the arch of rock, the water was in semi-darkness. It was quite scary, not being able to see properly. I felt bits of weed and other creatures brush past me, and I was not sure that I liked it here. My father assured me that it was alright. After a while, someone came to usher us out. It was another family's turn to swim in the sea. We filed out and up the sand, while a Maori family filed down the sand and into the water. They were also going to give a small performance for their extended family, later in the day, and I wondered if we were to stay to watch. I saw a woman sitting to one side, someone I have not seen for twenty years and whom I was excited to see. I ran over to say hello, but she didn't recognise me. I reminded her of our connection, but she was entirely unenthusiastic. I wished her well and walked away; as I went, I could hear her laughing behind me.

missing out

I was at a lunch function where hundreds of people had gathered. I went to the bathroom and realised that I had not told anyone about my food intolerances and would probably have difficulty eating what was to be served. I went outside and looked for the right person to talk to. A young waiter asked if he could help, but I was determined to speak with a waiter that I had seen earlier - I felt that he would know what to do. I found him and followed him to the service kitchen where a team of chefs was preparing the meal. He went inside and asked the head chef if it was too late to cater for a wheat-free, dairy-free person, and I heard the chef reply that it was. The waiter came out to tell me and I assured him that it was okay, that I should have planned ahead. I thought I could probably go and eat at the local pub, just down the road. I felt that I had missed out and, out of view, shed a few tears.
I was in an airport terminal with my father. We waited in the departure lounge to board the plane for what seemed like a long time. Finally, the plane was due to board, but I had opened my suitcase and was rearranging my luggage. I had a spare corner in my bag and offered it to Dad. He sorted through his things, deciding what he could put in my suitcase to lighten his load. The air stewards announced the final call and we were still occupied with our luggage. I closed my suitcase and hurried to the gate, but my father (who in waking life is always on time) was still in the seating area. I showed my boarding pass and went through, waiting for Dad on the other side, terribly anxious that they would close the flight and not allow him through. I woke.