Last night I dreamed that our family–including Jim and the four children who suddenly are all away at schools in four states–was at some kind of combination kids’ store and restaurant.
In my dream, I left to get the car because it was snowing and I didn’t want Jim and the kids to have to battle through the storm. My feet were bare, however, and first I struggled to find the car. Then I had to extricate it from a densely packed lot and re-park it without careening into another car. As I did so I thought that at any second I’d hear the screech of metal-on-metal and there would be no warning sound: any skidding would be muffled within the white vortex. I’d be alone inside the car as glass shattered and steel bent. No one would hear me scream.
Somehow, the crash did not come.
Finally, at the end of the dream and the beginning of my waking, I went back into the building where Jim sat at a table with the children seated next to him. I looked at him and knew that something was very wrong.
Oh, I thought, waking up. The rain outside had turned into a trickle of tears down my cheek, a trick of mind into matter relegated to dreams.
“Oh,” I said, out loud, though there was no one to hear me. “Is today the twenty-second?” Continue reading “When September Ends”