She looked tired, worn out, and somehow not complete, as if only a portion of her soul had managed to force its way through to me. No doubt about it, it was my grandmother. I push back the blanket and get up.Īs I’m groping my way down the hall, the memory of the dream returns. Laura is lying next to me in perfect peace, breathing silently, sound asleep. The pattern on the carpet is symmetrical, but if you look at it for a long time, it captures your attention, gripping it until you can’t shake free. The morning sun pushes through the slats of the blind and draws fine lines in both carpet and wall. How long can I pretend I’m asleep? I would love to give up and sink back into unconsciousness, but I can’t. She’s crying so hard that the mattress is shaking. Eyes closed, I know that the voice is Laura’s, or, rather, that suddenly it’s been hers all along. At first it was a sound in my dream, but now the dream is over and the sobbing is coming from the woman next to me. I’ve already been hearing the sobbing for some time.
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