Big brother is watching - and so is everyone else, apparently

Last night I dreamt that my mother - who was actually Lea Thompson, the actress who plays Kathryn Kennish on "Switched at Birth" - had begun to suspect that our city was the site of a reality TV show.

To test her theory my mother rented a glider and began taking off  from the shore of the lake behind our house, each time landing further and further out, in an effort to find the border, that false horizon.

Once you had that thought, the signs were everywhere.  I went exploring under bridges, to see how the waterways connected.  I found a young Asian lesbian couple living under the Hawthorne street bridge, nested up atop the power lines that run underneath from bank to bank.  They were very hungry and cold.  I gave them a shortbread cookie and $42 which was all the money in my wallet.

They told me a balding red-haired man had tricked them into a threesome and when they wanted out he ruined their credit.  They couldn't hold down jobs or get an apartment.  Their description reminded me of a friend I'd made just the day before - an older, wealthy man who I'd met at some supermarket and who I had invited over for dinner to discuss a business proposition.  Both girls said they'd rather live on the street than by his rules.

When I looked over the edge of the bridge strut, I could see the river was partitioned by high fences midway between every bridge.  It would be impossible to ride a boat or swim through the water. 

Three hundred yards to the right, I spotted a classmate from grad school and his two young boys standing on the bank of the river underneath another bridge.  They were skipping stones, hitting the fences.  The stacatto "thunk" "thunk" as the stones reached their mark made me feel light-headed and claustrophobic.

I re-traced my steps, getting lost several time along the way.  When I got home I could barely recognize it.  Before it had been a 70s era split level home, and now it was a bungalow with a big yard and rose bushes.

A bouquet of daisies lay discarded in the front yard, and the cellophane wrapper was crawling with spiders and ants.  I picked it up gingerly by one end and carried the package of insects and flowers to the trash.

The businessman's car was parked in the driveway.  I could hear scuffling from inside the partly open front door.  Someone had probably let my indoor cat out.  I nudged the door open with my foot and began inching inside.  From no identifiable source, soft bars of suspenseful music swelled.