I'm a gawky native teen

Grilled cheese sammies, salad with our tomatoes, otterpops

At the home center with my dad; he's a middle aged Navajo man, bellyish in a strange t-shirt. He keeps lecturing me, his Navajo son, to get back into the lawn care program classes. "Have you even been going in after church?" Now I'm a bashfull, mushmouthed Navajo teen aged girl in a brown tent dress and white t-shirt & keds.

"No, I've been staying in the car to sleep." I laugh uncomfortably and cover my mouth, turn away.

My dad has strange sparklers and cigarette lighters attached to his shirt, a shirt I gave him. My mother has encouraged me to get it all lit, to try to appease him. I try, but the lighter hanging around his neck won't light. We're squishing around in an indoor, soupy demo lawn in this strange greenhouse space. I'm a teenaged boy again. A tree, like a lever, a sort of thick bamboo shoot, is an activator for a computer program that I need to reactivate my class program. It's down in the bog and I try to swing it up and get it activated. I'm only a class or two away from my certification."I want something like this vocationally," I tell him.

My father is still angry. "Have you talked to Adrienne [Salinger, the evil photograpaher bitch] about that?" Apparently Adrienne has been my mentor, either in the arts, or in some sort of artistic yardwork direction.

"I can't TALK to Adrienne." She is impossible.

We go through some automatic doors, to an indoor pool full of people, lots of colorful floaties and suits. It's surrounded by chest-high adobe wall, curved into alcoves with computer terminals in the nooks. I re-register for the program.

Guido woke me up at this point to go out, and then there was a lightning storm.