16

I AM DREAMING, AND in my dream I am riding the Green Line. Calmly. After that experience with Heather at the rotary gate today, I am much wiser. Now I know that my vision of Dad was just that. A vision. It is perfectly, rationally explainable.

It was caused by power of suggestion. Months ago, I must have heard Dad talk about the station. I must have heard him tell Mom about his imaginary “home.” I wasn’t conscious of hearing it, but the words stayed in my mind. And months later, after Dad was gone and I was under stress, the image appeared to me. As for the blue business card, it had probably been lying on the platform for ages. Crazy Anders must have thrown it there. I probably saw it many times without taking notice—and it worked its way into my fantasy, too.

Simple.

I will definitely major in psychology in college.

So in my dream, as I’m reading my newspaper, I don’t even look up when the Granite Street station approaches.

Not even as the train begins to slow down.

Only when the lights go out do I peek out the window.

And there’s Dad. Waiting outside the door. Smiling. Looking totally healthy.

The door slides open. Nobody is moving or noticing, just as before.

“Come,” Dad is saying. “Don’t doubt.”

I try to get up. But I can’t. My arms and legs are frozen.

I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a moan.

Now Dad is beginning to fade. “I will come for you,” he says.

“D—D—” Nothing. My mouth is locked.

“Alan…ALAN!” It’s Mom’s voice. She’s in the train, too! I turn to her. I want her to stop Dad from disappearing. I try to plead with her, but—

“ALAAAAAAAAN!”

My eyes opened. It was Mom’s voice. Calling for Dad. From her bedroom.

I sprang out of bed. My dream was still with me.

I shook all over as I tiptoed closer to Mom’s room.

Her door was open a crack.

“Stay…there!” Mom was crying in a sleep-slurred voice. “Don’t fade, Alan! Let me come for you!”