That night I had the same bad dream I’d had, off and on, since I was little. I am standing on top of a house, any house, it changes. The stories change—two story house, six stories, town home, out in the country, it’s just a house with a roof and I’m standing there, looking out and there’s always this river moving fast, the water misting into this wind, the water turning white when it hits the rocks. Sometimes I see the river clearly, sometimes it is hidden by other houses or buildings or land. I am there and there is the water off in the distance and then the flames start and I feel the heat through the roof to my bare feet and everything is on fire and the smoke and there’s yelling inside and I can’t do anything or go anywhere because I have melted into the tar of the roof and she’s inside yelling my name.

I woke up already crying. Not loudly, just wetness on my cheeks letting me know. Velcro is there, awake, I saw his eyes catching the light. He never whimpered or barked when I woke up from my dreams; he just looked at me, made this deep growling sound, then went back to sleep. I put my hand on my stomach, near his nose, so I could feel his breath. I would know he was there even with my eyes close. I counted his exhales until I fell back asleep.

After church on Sunday my mom made fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Aunt Bess came over with her kids, Neil came over with Teri, his wife. We ate dinner and then moved outside so the kids could run and play and Aunt Bess and my mom could smoke.It was almost dark then; just light enough you could see well enough to catch a quick thrown ball, that kind of special time when the lightning bugs come out and everything is still enough you forget you have a body.

Since the wreck people would allow me to fade out of conversations. They would let me sit there, like furniture, figuring that either I was become to worn out and needed to rest or, like my Aunt Bess thought, earthly things now longer concerned me as much seeing as how I’d met with the Great Redeemer. So she thought.

That night I faded out. It wasn’t for either of those reasons. I just got tired of pretending to be interested. I watched my mom and Aunt Bess smoke. I watched the way they would inhale and the ends of their cigarettes would glow, casting their faces in red. Aunt Bess would constantly flick her ashes into the tin bucket filled with sand set between the two women while my mom would let the ash build, blocking the glow of the fire, build until it looked like a sigh from Aunt Bess over a democrat senator would knock it right off and then, with a quick tap on the rim of the bucket, dash it off.

“Time for a walk,” Teri said, nudging me.

It took me a moment to realize what she said. I started to stand.

“He’s already walked enough today,” my mom said. “He’s too tired.”

“I’m fine. I need the exercise.”

“I don’t even know why I bother,” my mom said.

“Helen, let him go,” Aunt Bess said.

Advertisement