Memories

The Recurring Dream

My sister and I are sitting in the front seat of our Marc III conversion van. We are young and bored, waiting for our parents to come back from inside the house. As small children, our cheeks are rosy and our hair is silk. We also wear matching outfits, because that’s how my mom liked to dress us. Though we were two years apart, we were practically twins, always competing for attention.

Sitting in the front seat, my sister pretends like she’s driving. Jerking the wheel back and forth, she laughs at the thought of commanding the road. Nervously, I tell her to stop. It’s too late. She managed to pull the gear into drive and slowly, we roll like molasses down the driveway. I see my parents from the front porch. Their mouths are agape and they don’t know what to do. We scream with fear, but firmly, my sister takes the wheel in her hands. With no other option but to drive, she pulls out into the road and we go.

I wake up.

(Repeat this scene in my next dream sequence.)

 

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