Dream Smashers by Angela Carlie Page A

air.”
     
    ***
     
    Ma sits on a lawn chair next to a picnic
table covered in more garbage on the patio. She clenches her beige
sweater around her body and sucks a cigarette. Her sweater looks
like the same one she wore when Jacinda was a kid. Ma would sit in
the rocker in the front living room with her sweater wrapped tight
around her small frame. She always had a smoke in one hand, coffee
in the other, and a worry line in between her brows. Some shit
never changes.
    After Jacinda got knocked-up, and the brat
popped out, Ma would stay awake for days, waiting for her daughter
to walk through the door to tell her she was fine. She’d let her
sleep it off in her old bed. But that’s about all she’d let Jacinda
do—sleep it off.
    Now, the sweater is all patched up and
missing a top button and shit. The worry lines on her face are more
like canyons than lines. She coughs and takes a sip of whatever’s
in the Starbuck’s cup she’s holding. Probably coffee, black. Its
heat races into the air.
    Jacinda wonders if the sweater still has the
same smell: Avon perfume, coffee and nicotine. “Where’s that beer?”
Jacinda steps from the house into the bright, cold air and sits in
the other chair next to the table. The sun nearly blinds her.
    Ma pulls a paper bag squished around a forty
from her giant purse and sets it on the table. “I came
prepared.”
    Ah, Ma. Always thinkin ahead. “Give me one of
those.” Jacinda reaches for Ma’s smokes.
    “Here, I brought you your own.” Ma hands her
an entire carton.
    “Cool.” It must be Christmas. Jacinda rips
the carton open. The packs fall onto the table and she opens one,
pulls out a single smoke and lights up with the Zippo.
    Ma points to the lighter. “You be sure to
give that back to me before I leave. Don’t worry, I won’t be here
long.”
    “Good ‘cause it’s as cold as fuck out here.”
Jacinda wraps the blanket she stole from the room around her
shoulders. It stinks like dead flesh.
    Ma turns toward Jacinda. When did her eyes go
gray? Her dark brown eyes have a film or some shit over them. The
lids have no elastic, just flaps of leather that someone super
glued around her eyes. “I had a dream last night,” Ma says.
    Oh great. Now Ma’s gonna say Jacinda’s gonna
die. Well, woopty-fuckin’-do. Jacinda don’t give a flying fuck if
she’s gonna die. It’s not like she can stop it or nothin’. People
die every stupid day. It’s about time her turn came along.
    Ma crushes her cigarette out in the
over-filled ashtray on the table and lights another. “Aren’t you
going to ask me what it was about?”
    Ma has dreams. And when she does, everyone
stops their lives to listen ‘cause she dreams about people’s deaths
and shit. She dreamt that her sister would die in the snow, and
then her sister died in a freak snow storm the next month. Once,
she dreamt that her fuckin’ brother would die in a plane crash, and
then he died in a plane crash. The kicker about that is after
hearing about her dream he wouldn’t even fly. The plane crashed
into his car. Trippy shit. She also dreamt that Pops would die in
the hospital at Christmas time, and then, he died of lung cancer in
the hospital the very next Christmas.
    “I know what the stupid dream’s about. Well,
I hope I do die. So there. How do you like that?”
    Ma’s wrinkles scrunch up around her eyes, the
anger spills from the gray veil covering them. “It’s too bad you
don’t appreciate how good you’ve had it. You think the world needs
to cater to you. But, you know what? I’m done doing that. I love
you so much.” Ma’s voice croaks. She coughs and clears it, sitting
up straight. In a quieter voice, she says, “I love you. I’m sorry
you can’t appreciate that. But, this is not about you this time, my
dear. This is about your daughter. I had a dream about Autumn.”
    “So, she gets to die then? Figures.” Jacinda
grabs the beer out of the paper bag and twists the cap off. It’s
nice and