I am sitting here looking out the window that is adjacent to my desk, at a frosty field behind a row of trees that are raining orange leaves. It reminds me of the frosts across the Solebury lawn, and how I used to arrive at school there by 7am on some days, and eat breakfast before the bordering students woke up; and then I'd leave the theatre after 2am, after most the borders went to sleep.
Montana has been in my dreams for the past two nights. In the dream that just ended, she was talking to me about how whenever she spoke to someone at Bennington about my mental health, they instantly assumed there was a problem between she and I. And in the dream, they were right. But not so in real life. It was bitter. This week is the first time I have dreamed of her for months and months; maybe a year.
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