Even now, she's the thing I always dream of losing. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be completely certain that she's here.
We were in a parking garage, walking hand-in-hand outside the airport, just me and the girls. The flight had been long and cramped. Our legs were sore. Katherine's hand was strong in my hand, but Penelope broke away -- the way she does -- and ran forward.
"Come back," I called. "We're in a parking lot, baby. It's dangerous. Come here."
She was skipping along a concrete block, but she twirled toward me when I called her. Her skirt flared. She was wearing shoes with straps, I noticed. The heel caught. She wouldn't have lost her balance if she hadn't twirled, if I hadn't called, "Come here."
"Help me, Mommy! Help me!"
I lurched forward the instant she fell. I reached the drop while she was still in the air, but she just fell and fell and fell. A hundred stories, maybe more. She was screaming.
"Katherine," my voice was stern. "Katherine, stay right here."
I found a flight of concrete stairs: corkscrew steps, plunging downward, into the gaping darkness, into the mouth of Hell. I ran down them. Her screams bounced off the concrete, rushing like blood in my ear.
But no, she wasn't screaming. I was the one who was screaming. She was so far beneath me. I looked over the rail. She was lying quiet, twisted on the floor.
"Help me! Somebody, help me!"
I'll call a doctor. (How will I call a doctor? There isn't a phone. I'm all alone.)
I'll call a doctor. I'll keep running. I have to wake up. I have to get there.
"But you did wake up," Chris whispered through the darkness. He wrapped his arms around me.
"I know," I snuggled closer. "I know. I woke up. I went to her. She was there."
We were in a parking garage, walking hand-in-hand outside the airport, just me and the girls. The flight had been long and cramped. Our legs were sore. Katherine's hand was strong in my hand, but Penelope broke away -- the way she does -- and ran forward.
"Come back," I called. "We're in a parking lot, baby. It's dangerous. Come here."
She was skipping along a concrete block, but she twirled toward me when I called her. Her skirt flared. She was wearing shoes with straps, I noticed. The heel caught. She wouldn't have lost her balance if she hadn't twirled, if I hadn't called, "Come here."
"Help me, Mommy! Help me!"
I lurched forward the instant she fell. I reached the drop while she was still in the air, but she just fell and fell and fell. A hundred stories, maybe more. She was screaming.
"Katherine," my voice was stern. "Katherine, stay right here."
I found a flight of concrete stairs: corkscrew steps, plunging downward, into the gaping darkness, into the mouth of Hell. I ran down them. Her screams bounced off the concrete, rushing like blood in my ear.
But no, she wasn't screaming. I was the one who was screaming. She was so far beneath me. I looked over the rail. She was lying quiet, twisted on the floor.
"Help me! Somebody, help me!"
I'll call a doctor. (How will I call a doctor? There isn't a phone. I'm all alone.)
I'll call a doctor. I'll keep running. I have to wake up. I have to get there.
"But you did wake up," Chris whispered through the darkness. He wrapped his arms around me.
"I know," I snuggled closer. "I know. I woke up. I went to her. She was there."
I got teary reading this. Those fears are *so* real sometimes, for me too. And then I play this dumb game-- like if I'm so scared, there must be a reason? Of course, logically, I know that's crazy. There reason is I have an awful anxiety problem.
ReplyDeleteThose kinds of dreams are the worst! Thank goodness it was only a dream.
ReplyDeleteyou inspire me. to write. to see.
ReplyDeleteYikes!
ReplyDeleteI agree with Angie. Thank goodness it was only a dream.
The mind has a horrible, wonderful way of forcing us to face out deepest fears. You did what you had to do and she survived. Hang onto that
ReplyDeletei have the chills, your words pull me in, the ending is a relief.
ReplyDeleteOh Emily I have these dreams too often. They are terrifying in their own reality. But you wake up from them with such relief...and then I must of-course go check on them.
ReplyDelete---you bring me inside your words
ReplyDeleteevery. single. time.
you amaze me w/ your gift. x
just catching up on penelope's birth story... so glad your nightmare was only a dream and your precious girl is safe. may He who watches over her neither slumber nor sleep ( a prayer i pray for my own daughter.)
ReplyDelete