I had a dream that my brothers and I were walking home from school. In this dream, we walked to school and lived in a castle. We got home and mom had changed everything inside. The walls were covered nightmarish images of corn fields and wandering freight trains, and houses with no lights on, everything was brooding and maroon. Disjointed sculptures dropped from the lowered ceilings and we dodged their reeling projections. It was like stepping into a more colorful The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, if The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari had taken place on the outskirts of town, leading into farming areas. My mom explained, “I had the neighbors over to decorate. We assigned each of you a symbol, yours is a prairie girl.”
Before I stopped remembering my dream, I saw a painting of myself as a little girl, wearing a simple dress and a wide-brimmed hat, in front of a blackened farmhouse in a threateningly open field of tall grass.