It’s two a.m. by my alarm clock.
I’ve been jolted awake by a dream.
Dad was walking in the park
with a little girl. Holding her hand.
But she wasn’t me.
He was calling her Bindi-boop.
I’m awake now and I’m crying.
Mom would hold me if I woke her,
but she went to bed with a headache.
I don’t want to bother her.
I get up. On my hands and knees
I fish out the sock monkey,
brush dust balls from his tail.
I hug him. Tight-tight.
“Don’t cry, Dusty,” I tell him.
“Everything will be okay.”
Right?