the glass shards sliced into her skin. She screamed. The bridge pulled back, leaving shattered footings like stumps of broken teeth. It all fell into the river, leaving nothing before her but empty air.
Eyes blurred with tears, she screamed and screamed and screamed. Frost coated frozen limbs. She pulled herself upright and felt her legs breaking, the flesh shattering and shearing. The bridge rose in a great metal hand with twisted, jagged fingers that reached for her.
Jennifer went down hard on her side, kicking her legs until she scrambled against the side of the bed. Chest heaving, pain shot up her leg from her ankle and the cuts on her arm throbbed. The reedy voice of her neighbor and landlady came through the wall in a muffled shout.
“Jennifer!” Mrs. Carmody slapped the wall with her bony fist. “Girl, you alright?”
Jennifer rose slowly to her feet, testing each step. She could still feel the glass cutting her skin and carving into her heels.
It’s just a dream.
Barely dressed, Jennifer answered the thumping on her front door to find the aged woman in a pale blue dressing gown and slippers standing there. She looked up at Jennifer with her sad eyes.
“Now, you come over to my side.”
“Mrs. Carmody--“
“Now.”
Jennifer sighed and walked over, locking her door behind her.
The little woman walked through a mirror image of Jennifer’s side of the house to the kitchen. Jennifer sat at the kitchen table, an old one with metal legs and a melamine top. Mrs. Carmody used a gripper stick to fetch a box of hot cocoa packets.
“You’re having cocoa,” she said, sharply.
“It’s eighty degrees outside.”
“Don’t argue with me, girl.”
Jennifer closed her mouth and waited until the old woman finished warming up the milk, then dumped in the powder. Daring to make cocoa with water would earn a severe tongue-lashing from Mrs. Carmody.
The cup was warm, and the cocoa was hot on her lips and spread heat through her chest. The old woman sat down, leaning on the table to steady herself.
“What gave you such a fright?”
“I had a nightmare, that’s all. I’m sorry I woke you.”
Mrs. Carmody shook her head slightly, as if shaking it too hard might send it rolling off her neck. “Don’t you worry about that. You didn’t wake me. I’m too old to sleep. That wasn’t just a nightmare, girl.”
“I dreamed about the bridge,” she said.
“Oh.” Mrs. Carmody nodded heavily with a sad, knowing smile.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jennifer said, taking a sip of cocoa. “It happens now and then. It’s just a dream.”
“I’d say it isn’t.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “It’s normal to have bad dreams.”
Is it normal to wake up on the floor? Is it normal to scream in your sleep?
Jennifer brushed her hair back over her shoulder. The old woman looked at her patiently, as if there were something obvious she wasn’t seeing. Jennifer looked down.
“When are you going to stop wearing that?”
Jennifer drew her ring to her chest. “It’s mine.”
“That boy wouldn’t want you to live like this, child.”
“I’m not a child,” she said sharply.
Mrs. Carmody leaned forward.
Jennifer tried not to scowl.
“I was ten years old before my family owned a radio. I remember sitting right there in front of it when we heard that Pearl had been attacked. That radio sat there all through the war. Used to sit around it and listen and wonder where my brother and uncle were. One came back with one leg. The other didn’t come back at all. My uncle had six children, and them and his wife moved in here, with us.
“That radio broke and we bought another, then one after that. I remember when we first got television. We had one channel, but that was enough. Never thought I’d watch a man walk on the moon.
“My uncle’s children are all gone now. If they were here they’d have grandchildren older than you. I lived my life tucked up in this old house, I don’t want to see you do the
Eyes blurred with tears, she screamed and screamed and screamed. Frost coated frozen limbs. She pulled herself upright and felt her legs breaking, the flesh shattering and shearing. The bridge rose in a great metal hand with twisted, jagged fingers that reached for her.
Jennifer went down hard on her side, kicking her legs until she scrambled against the side of the bed. Chest heaving, pain shot up her leg from her ankle and the cuts on her arm throbbed. The reedy voice of her neighbor and landlady came through the wall in a muffled shout.
“Jennifer!” Mrs. Carmody slapped the wall with her bony fist. “Girl, you alright?”
Jennifer rose slowly to her feet, testing each step. She could still feel the glass cutting her skin and carving into her heels.
It’s just a dream.
Barely dressed, Jennifer answered the thumping on her front door to find the aged woman in a pale blue dressing gown and slippers standing there. She looked up at Jennifer with her sad eyes.
“Now, you come over to my side.”
“Mrs. Carmody--“
“Now.”
Jennifer sighed and walked over, locking her door behind her.
The little woman walked through a mirror image of Jennifer’s side of the house to the kitchen. Jennifer sat at the kitchen table, an old one with metal legs and a melamine top. Mrs. Carmody used a gripper stick to fetch a box of hot cocoa packets.
“You’re having cocoa,” she said, sharply.
“It’s eighty degrees outside.”
“Don’t argue with me, girl.”
Jennifer closed her mouth and waited until the old woman finished warming up the milk, then dumped in the powder. Daring to make cocoa with water would earn a severe tongue-lashing from Mrs. Carmody.
The cup was warm, and the cocoa was hot on her lips and spread heat through her chest. The old woman sat down, leaning on the table to steady herself.
“What gave you such a fright?”
“I had a nightmare, that’s all. I’m sorry I woke you.”
Mrs. Carmody shook her head slightly, as if shaking it too hard might send it rolling off her neck. “Don’t you worry about that. You didn’t wake me. I’m too old to sleep. That wasn’t just a nightmare, girl.”
“I dreamed about the bridge,” she said.
“Oh.” Mrs. Carmody nodded heavily with a sad, knowing smile.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jennifer said, taking a sip of cocoa. “It happens now and then. It’s just a dream.”
“I’d say it isn’t.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “It’s normal to have bad dreams.”
Is it normal to wake up on the floor? Is it normal to scream in your sleep?
Jennifer brushed her hair back over her shoulder. The old woman looked at her patiently, as if there were something obvious she wasn’t seeing. Jennifer looked down.
“When are you going to stop wearing that?”
Jennifer drew her ring to her chest. “It’s mine.”
“That boy wouldn’t want you to live like this, child.”
“I’m not a child,” she said sharply.
Mrs. Carmody leaned forward.
Jennifer tried not to scowl.
“I was ten years old before my family owned a radio. I remember sitting right there in front of it when we heard that Pearl had been attacked. That radio sat there all through the war. Used to sit around it and listen and wonder where my brother and uncle were. One came back with one leg. The other didn’t come back at all. My uncle had six children, and them and his wife moved in here, with us.
“That radio broke and we bought another, then one after that. I remember when we first got television. We had one channel, but that was enough. Never thought I’d watch a man walk on the moon.
“My uncle’s children are all gone now. If they were here they’d have grandchildren older than you. I lived my life tucked up in this old house, I don’t want to see you do the
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