That last awful incident in Murfreesboro is happening all over again. Only this time, one of our friends is taking up for us.
"This is my house as well. You're my guest," he says.
I put on some crazy outfit. Something with leg warmers and high heels and belts that buckle around my neck before gracing my waist. I'm excited because we're going out to celebrate the reunion, the two kids in town and our supporters. Things that matter are being treated as if they matter. Night birds are chirping. Planets are vibrating. We're entitled to at least one more night, if not many more.
And then I wake up in a bed sweaty with my decisions and no-hard-feelings clauses. I feel sad, then defeated. I know there will be many more dreams like this because the fright and confusion are registered like tender college freshman. Though I know it's silly, I'm pissed that no one cared enough to protect me, to protect us, from a lifetime of bad dreams.