A Midsummer Night's Dream
I had a dream. I dreamt of a girl. Her face shifted every second but she had long, red hair. I dreamt of hugging her. I dreamt of sitting by a riverside hill, crying, and telling her in whispers that I wasn’t sure if I was a man. She didn’t say anything. I dreamt of going back in time, like those trashy wish fulfillment Chinese web novels, except instead of taking advantage of my foresight, I just fucked up again in different ways informed by my current wounds. That’d make a good story, I thought. Subversive. I dreamt of an old teacher that I never had. His name was Mr. Jay, young, Korean, long hair tied into a man bun, and a bright smile on his face. We were gathered in a dark classroom, for some reason, everybody hanging their heads low. Mr. Jay stepped out of the crowd and told the Guy In Charge that he had to go somewhere, and clumsily, but still with the biggest smile, gave us some corny motivational speech. I chuckled. “I like this guy,” I said to the student next to me. No...
