I was young again, maybe 6 years old. Walking home from school, I suppose, a car pulled up beside me. I remember it as a brown station wagon - there was some orange in there too - and the passenger door opened. I cried. I don't remember what was being said to me, but I was supposed to get in the car. I didn't want to get in.
But I did. Then I realized that it was the driver was family, and I thought to myself "it's okay." When we arrived home, I stepped out of the car, and when I closed the door, I was no longer a child in Elementary school. I was an adult and I bowed over in pain. I think I shivered. But there was this howl, or scream, and I stood up looking in all directions like a prairie dog. And I took off running. Though I never looked behind me, I could feel arms reaching for me, gaining on me, and I couldn't run any faster or any longer as the pain in my right leg gave way and I toppled over.
I face planted in the dirt, and closed my eyes. When I came to a stop, I was laying on the floor in my room, supine and sweating. Frantically I got to my feet, checked my leg that it was okay - it was - and looked all around the room. You know what I was looking for. But I didn't find it.
I crawled back into the cool bed and listened to the hypnotizing hum of the fan and prayed for sleep.
