Typically, my nighttime visitations are straightforward remixes of recent events. Nothing particularly enigmatic or creative. But my id had gone the extra mile with this one.
I gave the analysis a good five minutes.
My forebrain refused to interpret for my hindbrain.
Whatever.
I checked the clock.
Eight-forty-one.
Momentary alarm was followed by pleasant realization.
It was Sunday.
I had no class to teach. No lecture to present. No urgent case awaiting my attention at the morgue.
Ryan’s flight had been canceled, so I wasn’t certain when he’d arrive.
Little flip in my southern parts thinking about that.
I got up, threw on shorts and a tee, brushed my teeth, and knotted my hair in a topknot. Birdie watched my sketchy toilette, miffed that his breakfast hadn’t come first.
I’d just filled the cat’s bowl when my mobile sounded.
“Wow,” I said. “Two calls in two days.”
“Very funny.” Katy wasn’t laughing and her voice sounded strained.
“Are we grumpy?” A word my daughter had used to described herself at age three. An expression I still employ, much to her annoyance.
“I’m calling to let you know that Ruthie is here.”
“What time did she get home?”
“Two-seventeen. I know because I couldn’t sleep until I heard her come in.”
“Mmm.”
The irony made me smile. Katy had been a hellcat as a teen. Her difficulty with Ruthie was mirroring my experience raising her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Just mmm.”
A brief pause. Then,
“She wants to go up to Boone later this week with these UNCC students who seem to have adopted her. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“She’s seventeen, they’re in their twenties. I know what college road trips are like.”
“When did you go on a college road trip?” A rebel like Ruthie, Katy hadn’t started at the local university until she was older.
“I sawAnimal House.”
“Belushi was hilarious in that.”