"It was you, wasn't it." It was a harsh statement for her ears only.
She shuddered, and tried to focus. Everything had changed. Train, Bus. Thailand, jungle deep south. Where were they now?
"Yes, I think so." She watched as the white kitten disappear into thin air, as the once train windows wobbled, now liquid like silver. The lights flickered.
She was tired of this. Tired of him, Mister Gorilla Munch Face Too Close To Breathe.
She opened her eyes wide. She wanted to be in a field, yes a meadow. On a warm fall afternoon, swinging from a seat high on a branch off the oak tree. Gorilla Munch, since he had to follow her everywhere she went, would be far below.
And just like that, it was so. The bus-train-subway disappeared, warping into grass and orange leaves and back and forth lazy motion.
It was a dream, she knew. He hadn't figured it out yet. When they woke her soon enough, she would remember that she was hooked to wires to monitors to sensors. Had she drempt longer this time than last, before he lucid imagination kicked in gear? Would they praise her, or chastise her? She would see the man in the chair next to her, hooked up too, and it would take a moment to remember him. But she knew him she knew him she knew him.
But for now, she watched him in the mild sunshine, glaring up at her, as she continued to pump her feet back and forth, reaching to the top limbs.

It's like I want to kick her when she's down. And stretch her tendons out across this city--through the parking lots and intersections--just until that last tiniest moment before she breaks. I want that tension to hold her, to expose those red frantic muscles, naked and wide open before the neon lights and showcase windows. A social vulgarity that would seep even into her hands. It would be just like her to shiver in an alley--that fucking shield of emptiness--to cower in the door behind the door. I will turn to see your faces, as her skin is pulled taut, thin enough to catch the sudden shift in tone, the change of light; a sort of public translucency. And when her eyes finally rest heavy on your expressions, when her abundance drifts loose and baggy to the outskirts of this city, I will face forward once again, smiling as the trees drip slowly into red--their death pooled clumsily on the sidewalks.

mother

I knew Gorilla Munch's mother. True story:

I worked at the probation service for a couple of months before I left for Korea. I was in the department responsible for courses criminals were sent to, writing letters to tell them when to attend and things like that. The office was a mess. Our manager was a middle-aged woman with a homely face, though her smile was a little worn. She bustled round showing me the ropes on the first couple of days, then disappeared for the next couple of weeks. Either she was off sick, or she came late after letting in some builders. I still can't believe the contracts they give out for council workers. Walking up the stairs to our office was exhausting for her. She hired another worker, but didn't see him for a week. Despite it all, she had a great confidence in the reason of the office. Though only a tenth of offenders got to the end of their course, I think she really believed in what we were doing. There was a performance review a little before I left, she got a real drubbing. This was a great calamity, a terrible twist of fate to her, but she never lost faith.

When I told her I was leaving England behind, leaving my family and friends for a new life, she encouraged me. She told me her son lived in Thailand, had been there the last 4 years in a tiny village. He was disabled and wheelchair-bound, but was treated with warmth and love by the villagers. He had married a Thai woman there, and told his mother the visas wouldn't let them come home. It seems he lived a simple life there with his wife, helping work on a farm as much as he could. Of course, there was not much that he could help with. She thought of him all the time, and always believed he was doing what was best.