In the dream, we are riding on a train. We can’t find two seats together, so we choose aisle seats next to single travelers in the same row. The conductor moves up and down the aisle, and it stops us reaching for each other. Keep the aisle clear.
“Sheila.” I stretch.
“Kermit.” Her voice sounds distant, echoey. My heart thunders, louder than the mechanical chug of the train gears, driving us forward, faster and faster. Out the windows the landscape blurs.
My arm weighs a thousand pounds; the dream weight keeps me from moving. The aisle grows wider and wider. The tracks themselves rise up between us. Clacking and racketing, stones dancing in the railbeds. To reach might be to fall, but I have to reach. I have to.
“Sheila.”
…
“Sheila!”