Free Life Happens Next by Terry Trueman

totally covered. But whether people see it or not, there are a few strengths lurking inside each of us too.

21
    I ’m in a wooded area, not really a big forest, just a small grove of evergreen trees, and the light dims, as if a dark cloud is passing before the sun.
    I stretch out, my fists clench, my muscles tighten in my arms, my leg muscles flex too. Man, this feels incredibly great.
    Looking into the trees, I catch just a glimpse—the tiniest, quick image—of a shadowy figure darting behind the thick wide trunk of an ancient pine. It’s the same figure I saw when I was traveling in my earlier seizure, in that library by the raging river, when I woke up with Rusty in my lap.
    This time I don’t feel as scared as I did the last time, but I am curious. Why do I keep on dreaming about this dark figure? Who could it be, coming to watch me? Coming to spy on me and invade my dreams? Could it be someone I know? I’ve never had any dreams or seizure travels like this before, where something so confusing keeps happening. What the hell is going on?
    I call, “Hi.”
    I can’t see the figure now. Why is it hiding from me?
    I move toward the trees, and the closer I get, the more excited I feel.
    Light streams down now, casting shadows through the branches. I look up and see the sun, bright, directly overhead, making splashes of light along the forest floor.
    I reach the big tree and look behind it, anxious to see the figure. But no one is there, and again the sky darkens. Suddenly, I see the dark figure, far ahead, hurrying away, and this time it just evaporates, like molecules melting into thin air. A spirit? A ghost? Made of mist?
    I awaken from this dream with sweat on my forehead and on the palms of my hands.
    My dreams and spirit travels have always been the best part of my life. But now that I’m awake, I feel anxious. From the age of six I’ve always escaped my body, the trap that is my normal, waking life, through dreams and seizures. It’s the only time I’m ever in control. Now, this strange, uninvited figure has ruined my great escape. I tell myself “don’t be afraid,” but even as I’m thinking this, goose bumps cover my body again, and a shiver runs through me. I hate my fear!

22
    â€œH i, S–S–S–Swan,” Debi says, walking into the family room.
    Of course I can’t answer or acknowledge her.
    She’s quiet for a few moments, standing next to me.
    My head shifts a little and I can see her staring through the window. Her light brown hair comes down almost to her shoulders. She’s wearing a red T-shirt with something about a children’s book festival on it, baggy gray pants, and black shoes with Velcro straps. She stands slightly stooped over, her mouth open a tiny bit. I can hear her breathing.
    Several minutes pass. “Purtty,” she says, still staring at the view.
    I think back to her the words “Sorry, Debi, I don’t do chitchat.”
    But she continues to just stand here, until finally she says, “I like McDonnos.”
    Great, I think, she’s starting up her McDonald’s mantra again. Does she think any of us are gonna forget that invaluable factoid about her? As I’m thinking this and trying not to feel annoyed, she speaks again, so softly that I can barely hear her, “I miss Mom and Dad.” Her expression doesn’t change. She just keeps staring out at the cold water, the cold world beyond our window.
    A big lump forms in my throat. My skin tingles. I feel so sorry for her, and I realize McDonnos is not just a place for Debi. It’s a fantasy where she can escape, at least for a few moments, her loneliness and loss. Of all the times I’ve wished I could speak, of all the words I’ve longed to say, I can’t think of too many times when I wished it more than I wish it right now. But of course I can’t speak. All I can do is think the words “I’m sure