At the Twilight's Last Gleaming by David Bischoff

heart racing. I began to perspire. I knew that sound. To my mind, it was mystery. But to something else, something deep and instinctual — it was all too familiar —
    I ran…and ran…and…ran and…..
    Something gripped my shoulder.

    “Rebecca! Rebecca, sweetie. Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”
    I opened my eyes.
    I was back in my room. My familiar room, not the woods at all.
    My father, looking tousled and garbed in pajamas and untied robe, was sitting beside me on my bed.
    “Sorry if you were having a good time,” he said. “I was on my way to the bathroom and I heard you gasping and crying, so I figured I’d better check on you.”
    I was too groggy and upset to have any pride. I just lifted myself up and hugged him.
    “Thanks, Dad.”
    “You okay?”
    My eyes were all gummed up. Things were faint and blurry. But I had my father’s arms around me, and suddenly I wasn’t frightened anymore. I felt safe.
    “I am now, I think.”
    He just held me quietly for a bit, stroking my back gently as he’d done since I was a very little girl. Dad was an affable Eisenhower Republican — all tradition, fusty values, awkward manners and golf whenever possible. I’d gotten a bit irritated with him lately. Especially when he seemed to not think that the current popular music was particularly wonderful, the Summer of Love in San Francisco wasn’t the best thing to ever happen to this country, and that the war in Vietnam was not the absolute worst ever and should be protested. Otherwise, though, he was a pretty good Dad.
    A fervent advocacy of reading, he was the one who kept my brother and myself in paperback books. And although we didn’t much like the Ian Fleming and thriller books he enjoyed (“
Fail Safe
! Now that’s one hell of a book!”) he was known to read some of the books we read.
    “You sure you aren’t scaring yourself too much with those gothic romances, hon?” he said finally.
    “No.”
    “And this Dracula business?”
    “No.” I’d told them about getting the part of Lucy in the play the previous evening. They seemed mostly pleased that I’d be socializing more, although I suspect they would have preferred a nice Methodist church group.
    “Well, that’s good…”
    I was a little girl again. “I think I am a little upset about one thing.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah. I was…..” Should I? Why not, I thought.
    “You know the principal?”
    “Sure,” said Dad. “He’s been at the PTA events I’ve attended. Good guy.”
    “He’s kind of strange.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah, he had me come to his office and told me he didn’t like the clothes I wore.”
    “Hmmm. Nothing against the dress code, though is it? he asked. And modest?”
    “I guess,” I said.
    “Still, he’s a straight up guy. A disciplinarian, I suppose. Likes a strict chain of command. Nothing wrong with chain of command.”
    “He’s just kind of intimidating. He said I was of leader material, not follower or rebel material.”
    “Hmm.” Dad looked thoughtful. “I guess that was a compliment.”
    “I didn’t feel like it.”
    “Well, tell you what,” he said. “I’ll have a talk with him and see what’s what. I need to get a bit more in the loop of my children’s education anyway.” I could almost see him stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe he plays golf.”
    “I think he’s, like, more of a hunter, Dad.”
    “Yes, he does seem the hunter type, but golf’s a much better place to talk. Meanwhile, I appreciate your self-expression. But I happen to think you are a very pretty girl and you’d look good in a bit more color.”
    I was thinking about future rehearsals. So far all the black garb hadn’t gotten much attention from Peter. So why not add a bit of color, and a maidenly smile?
    “You know, maybe your right. But Dad…”
    “Yes?”
    “Maybe sometime you can talk to him. You know, man to man…”
    Dad had big sloping shoulders and a broad face centered with a big nose. But the biggest