My friend Tristane Penelope Nelson dreams. She used to tell me about her lucid flying dreams. More recently, she’s been dreaming about her dead sister.
I can still see a round clearing in a crowded dance floor at an illegal warehouse party in Vancouver in February 1998. There was a girl dancing in the centre of the circle. Everyone was in awe of her. I was 17 and she was 15. That was the first time I saw Tristane and I’ve been in awe of her ever since. In September 1998 Tristane’s older sister Julia moved into my dorm. I was a lonely, asocial misfit with ugly glasses and bad teeth falling asleep in math and computer science classes. They were intimidatingly cool and charismatic sisters with great style and wit. Julia was in religious studies.Read More