i went back in time…  to the early 80’s.  but everyone was the age they are now.  and we all knew each other as we know each other now. but i was the only one that had seen the future. we were volunteering at a church to take the community census.  sandy and her kids lived upstairs.  sara and i were bringing chairs up and down the stairs to make room for homeless people.  the place was full of hallways and stairways and doorways.  i was amazed that sara seemed to know exactly where to go so i followed her.  coming back downstairs alone i walked into a dim red room and saw a middle-aged black woman sitting there alone.  she looked frightened like i was going to kick her out.  i told her we were making food downstairs and that she was welcome to join us.  we wanted her to be warm, we weren’t going to kick her out.  she looked relieved and tears streamed down her face but she didn’t move or speak.  i went downstairs and surfer was there bragging about his music which was all yacht rock and he was acting like it was the most hardcore music that could ever be created.  i laughed it off knowing he will always be right in his own mind and told his friend that he should hear what we are listening to now, meaning in the future, and left it at that.   i hoped i wasn’t stuck in the yacht rock era.  it wasn’t fair to have to live through it twice. i began to get very annoyed at everyone’s optimism.  a girl asked me what the future was like.  i told her that they were fucking it up.  that they, right this very instant, blindly serving the government and praising reagan, they were fucking up the future.  she asked how our savior reagan could possibly do harm when everything was wonderful! i screamed at her.  i told her to enjoy her middle-class status while it lasted. i congratulated her on buying the Band Aid album and told her it didn’t do shit to help the oppressed or the hungry or the dying. that it only gave people an excuse to feel good for doing so little, for doing nothing. NOTHING. i told her that upstairs there were 3 homeless people.  that in 30 years there would be hundreds, so many homeless people right in her hometown that the churches and shelters couldn’t hold them.  that people would freeze under bridges and no one would care. i told her to enjoy her fast food knowing the chains would grow and grow and never would they pay their workers more than minimum wage and that the minimum wage wouldn’t rise for a decade while the people serving food and their families were starving.  i told her reagan looks good because he’s wrong and the establishment only holds mirrors up to smiles, cutting off the view of decay and deceit behind the pretty silvered glass.  i told her she was part of it.  i told her she needed to open her eyes to it, ask questions. i told her the economy only looked like it was working because everyone still had savings and the middle class was huge but the gaps were growing already and the middle class was dwindling and in her time everyone was fine with stealing from the poor to give to the rich and telling themselves they were doing the opposite. i told her she was in for years of unjustified war and the end was nowhere in sight. i was so angry i spit when talked. my head was pounding. i left her crying there with her head in her hands, kneeling on the ground, and i went to make scones with lauren.  we had a bag of mix and she (sometimes she was sandy) had made balls of it and put it in the oven but when i checked on them they were all flat like wet cookies.  she hadn’t added flour.  i threw her batch out and added my own, carefully rolling and patting each in flour first.  but the oven heated them unevenly so while most were cooked to perfection, the two biggest of them were still raw.  the boys came and took all of the the good ones without thanks, laughing at me and telling me i’d make a horrible wife one day.  i glared at them as they went upstairs thinking that all the awareness gained from the the future world still won’t erase misogyny.