By Tim West
She was the first to arrive, but she wouldn’t be the last.
Since this phenomenon had begun, she was always my favorite. I wasn’t in love with her, just captivated by her presence. I couldn’t remember her name, Jeanette or Jacqueline, but she was fairly tall, had brown hair with blonde bangs, some acne scars on her forehead, and a tattoo on her forearm. Maybe more than any other of them, she appeared the most intense — the eyes say a lot. Regardless, she always said hello to me every time she woke up.