“Wake me when it’s June,” she says, settling against her mama again despite just being roused.
“I had a great dream,” she says softly to her mom, who smiles at her. Then a pause, and: “Don’t you want to hear it?”
“Was someone chasing you again?” her mom says.
I’d been chatting with the mom a bit while her 9-year-old school-uniformed daughter was curled against her, snuggled partway in her lap. Now the three of us are talking.
“I dreamed about this lady before,” she tells me quietly. “This time she was chasing me with cantaloupes, the fruit.”
“I’ve had dreams like that too,” I say.
“She dreams like this all the time,” her mom says softly, her eyes showing the exhaustion we’d been talking about before her daughter woke up.
“I’d love to have a big pool like in Willy Wonka,” the girl says, “but without water. I’d fill it with all kinds of candy. But I can’t swim, and I don’t want to dive in and die, so I’d just sit on the edge and eat.”
“You should be a writer,” I say. “You have a wonderful imagination!”
Her face lights up. She’s awake.

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