Page 40 of Hot Shot
Which makes me wonder if I’ve missed the nightmares until now. If me being here is prompting them.
Does he know he’s dreaming?
Does he know his grief is visiting him in his sleep?
Does he know he believes he has to let Laura go?
I don’t know what he means by letting her go. Her memory? Because he never has to do that. He shouldn’t even think he needs to do that.
Again I’m reminded of the lack of photos in the house, in his room. I’ve seen nothing. Not even a small snapshot of Laura.
It confuses me. When his mom died, he did everything he could to remind himself of her and one of those things was plastering every photo he could find on the walls of his apartment.
Did he do that here when he first arrived then remove them?
Could that be it?
Could he have once had her image surrounding him and recently taken them down, sending his healing backward?
I don’t know how to ask. If I should ask. Is it even my place?
Sitting on the end of Bran’s bed, I wait for his breathing to even out, go deep and relaxed, before getting to my feet. I leave him to sleep, like I did last night.
And like last night, I return to my room and toss and turn until just before dawn when I hear Bran stir, when he gets up and leaves his room to slip out the front door.
His morning ritual of watching the sun rise hasn’t changed and while I haven’t joined him a second time, I’ve lain in bed every day and listened.
Branton
I’m on the lake.
But it’s different this time.
The trees are closer; stripped of leaves, they reach up to the sky with branches like bony hands, skeletal fingers grasping at the gray clouds hanging low above them.
It’s not the lake. It’s the pond.
I can hear blades slicing, grinding, racing. All sounds from my childhood.
The sky above me rumbles and a little girl giggles.
Laura?
When did Laura learn to giggle?
It’s her. I know it’s her.
Where is she? I can’t see…there!
She’s ahead of me, like always.
Except this time, she’s not alone.
Her hands are held tight by two skaters I can’t see, skaters who are taking her away…
“Laura!” I push hard, skate fast, yell loud. “Laura!”
It’s no use. The quicker I go the further they get in front of me. It’s like I’m going in reverse. Except the trees are whizzing past in my peripheral and I know I’m moving forward because the other side of the pond is getting closer, the trees lining the bank bigger.
