Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Just a dream.

The blinds were closed. The room was a normal temperature. Was she holding Grace Kelly? Not really sure. The girl seemed to resemble Monaco's Princess and the film world's sweetheart. Regardless, "Grace" was thrashing about the room, somewhat like a mentally ill child. The conversation was normal. Questions and answers. Stories and jokes. Outbursts and calming, soothing reassurances.

Then it happened. There was a loud crash from outside the house. Screams. She jumped up and ran out of the room. Outside, her dad and several siblings are kneeling over something or someone in the front yard. There is a miniature collie sitting at the end of the driveway, licking her paws.
She see headlights in the ditch across the street. She runs, screaming all the way. "Please, don't be dead. Please, don't be dead." Finally across the street, she sees that the drivers window is unrolled and there is a white bib over the face of the driver. Tears streaming down her face, she lifts the bib to find that a breathing tube is already coming out of her mother's mouth. She whispers "I love you, Mom." Barely audible, her mother whispers the same and her eyes close. Dead. She thinks that there is a little girl in the back seat, but can't get back there to find out.

She sits up straight in bed. It was only dream. Just a dream. No one is dead and there was no crash. No dogs. No Dad kneeling over something in the yard. No screams. No impaired child thrashing on the floor. It was just a dream. Nothing horrible has happened. All is right with the world. It's all over. She's awake now.

And this is why she hates to dream.

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