“Mommy!” Susan cried out, but no one came to soother her. Back then, when she lived at home, her mother would rush in, sit on Susan’s bed and take her in her arms. With her head nestled deep into her mother’s bosom, Susan loved to feel those soft hands gently stroke her hair while listening to the beat of her mother’s heart and willing her own heart to synchronize with that steady rhythm. Only then could Susan sleep the peaceful sleep she longed for.
Susan turned on the lamp by her bed. It’s almost morning, she thought, hearing garbage trucks making a racket outside echoing the screams in her dream. That comforted her somehow. The din of garbage truck triggered that dream I had buried long ago, she concluded. With that, Susan turned off the light to sleep a few more, fitful, hours.
