I awoke to find my son seated on the edge of my bed. Before I could wipe the sleep from my eyes or begin to focus, his booming voice queried:
“How will you help?”
Huh? Help? Help who? With what? I wasn’t even sure I had actually spoken the words. I think in my dazed confusion I had merely thought them. Even so, he heard them.
“You know,” he said. “The President. He needs your help.” His bright blue eyes never left mine. It was almost as if they, not the deep voice seated within this tiny boy, were speaking.
I began to understand. But before I could answer, I woke up. What was it I was going to say?!
One problem here: I don’t have any kids. Makes this sound all the stranger then, doesn’t it? Who knows what thing in my psyche tripped this imagery. It's been an interesting few days, so I guess anything is possible. But what made my dream state recognize this child as my own? And dear God what was with this kid’s eyes, voice, and his hands?
Yes, his hands. It was only after I woke up – courtesy of Toby the Cat – that I realized that this tiny boy had the hands of a man, a really big man at that. They weren’t misshapen, which I think was my first reaction. No. They just were too big for his little body of maybe a kindergartner.
I don’t know what it means, but it was weird and freaky and made it impossible to go back to sleep. So it was already set up to be a really long day.
It’s gray out and miserable after raining on and off most of the morning. It’s not cold … yet. But that’s coming. And I had planned a vacation day for tomorrow though now it looks like I’ll be working a half-day instead.
Well, I wanted to be busy again. And I sure got it.