When I was sick with Mononucleosis, Peter brought me bright pink Matsumoto Asters. The first time he ever brought me flowers. They were from the flower stand on A street and he told the man they were for a friend who was sick. I kept them by my bed there at my parents house and they stayed pretty for a long time. They were in a green plastic cup with ridges on the sides. It was a truly ugly cup. I didn’t even trim the flowers- they stuck out and looked about to fall, but when my mom offered to put them in a vase I wouldn’t let her. That day he took me on a drive, I was feeling so sick. I was wearing an orange v-neck t-shirt and I was sweating because I was sick and trying to get better. I was wearing purple and gray pajama pants. I knew I did not match, no energy to match. We drove to my house, I watered some cactus I was trying to grow. We drove around, took a long drive. I let the wind move my hair and smooth my face out. I felt so glad to feel the moving air. He pointed at a cloud that was leading the way for a few others. Showing them something over the next hill. I was tickled by that image and have held it with me. I also had a dream then, when I was sick, of a steep, grassy hillside at twilight. So steep that you could lean against it like a chairback. And some travelers had lit a fire there at the top, and they played music and danced in black outlines against the red sky. I loved that dream. Illness-addled dreams are so real seeming.