by Corinne Stikeman

“Were you having the same dream as me?”

My eyes were still puffy with sleep when I turned over to face Jerry. He was staring at the crack in the ceiling that reminded me of the frozen lake.

“What was the dream?” Jerry must have turned up the heat last night. The room was dry and brittle.

“There were cars everywhere, but we were looking for a bus. Or maybe one of those two-seat bicycles.” As soon as I said the words, they became less true.

“A tandem bicycle. For what?”

“It was really important to both of us at the time.”

“I don’t think we share dreams.” He paused. “Did you hear that?”

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