I wake up from the dream laughing. I cover my mouth because it’s wrong, all wrong. She’s gone, and I’m laughing. Can’t stop. Can’t. Stop. Press my face into the pillow. Try not to breathe, but then the laughter just clogs my chest until my heart throbs on the verge of exploding.
It’s Sunday. Four in the morning. So say the glowing clock numbers.
Matt says he doesn’t sleep much. Let’s test that theory.
Oooh, says Sheila’s voice. You like him.
“Bad dream?” he asks after the second ring.
“No, a good one.”
“That’s worse, isn’t it?”
I love that he knows.
“What was it about?” he says.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Wanna go hiking in the morning?” Matt says.
It’s already morning. And it’s November. But it’s Matt. “Maybe in the afternoon.”
“It’s better in the morning,” he says. “Crack of dawn.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“Me either. All the more reason.”
“I guess.”
“I’ll come get you at six,” he says. “Dress warm.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I was gonna go then anyway.”
There’s no way my parents will be up by then, on Thanksgiving Sunday. I can sneak out.
“We were laughing in the dream,” I whisper. “And then I woke up.”
“It could be worse,” he says.
I don’t see how. So I just lie quietly and listen to him breathing.
“I forget how it sounded,” he tells me.
“What?”
“My mom. The sound of her laugh.”
What do I say? Sheila laughs in my head so much of the time. Laughs with me. Laughs at me. Just laughs.
“See you at six,” I say. “I’ll be waiting out front.”
“See you,” Matt says.