“I do not dream.”
Sarah nodded absently, her left arm curling her cereal bowl toward her, and grabbed the spoon with her free hand to take another bite.
“I never wake up wondering what would have happened next, like you’ve described.”
Sarah glanced at her roommate. “Or with the taste of the dream, but no substance to hold on to.”
“Exactly. Except this time, I remembered.”
“Does that mean something is wrong with me?”
If something’s wrong with you, the dream is late to the party came to mind, but Sarah squashed the thought. “Depends on what the dream was, probably.” That might not have been better.
“I was posing with the Easter Bunny.”
“An auspicious start.”
“But the Easter Bunny was actually Santa underneath, trying to warn me about something.”
“Probably that your naughty level is almost too high to compensate for by Christmas.”
Her roommate slid onto a chair opposite her at the table. “I woke up drenched in sweat. I’m convinced that he told me what the warning was, but dream-me didn’t carry it along to awake-me. What do I do?”
Sarah fished for the last few cornflakes in the milk. “I dunno, Chelsea. When that happens to me, I never find out.”
Chelsea had woven her fingers into the hair at her scalp and was holding on.
Sarah relented a little. “Sometimes I make up the rest of story. Why don’t you decide what Santa was warning you about? Give you resolution — closure if you will.”
Chelsea’s wild eyes fixed Sarah’s gaze. “I felt like what he told me was that someone was coming after me.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Sarah blurted. What have I done?
Chelsea released her grip on her hair and sat up straight. “Maybe it was about a threat to the pope and I’m the only one who can save him.” She jumped to her feet.
Chelsea strode out of the room, running through the scenario to herself. When Sarah couldn’t distinguish the words any more, she pushed the bowl aside and laid her head on the table. “It’s too early for this.”