Wives and Mothers

Julie forced her eyes open. The image of a cabin in the shelter of pine trees, of people on the far side of a lake, hung in her mind like swirls of smoke in a crowded bar. She had been straining to cross the lake -- to join the people. Tight bands of pain stretched from her abdomen to her ribs from the effort. Pain circulated in her calves and needles poked around the back of her neck. Julie took deep breaths to calm her heart.

Eyes open, she stared in the darkness up at the ceiling. As the overhead light fixture came into focus, the dream receded and began to fade. Her legs relaxed. Her stomach relaxed. It was then that Julie became aware of the other pains -- in the palms of her hands, in her jaws. Recognition of this pain was not enough -- she had to tell herself to unclench her teeth, open her fists. She had to calm herself like a mother to her child, you were only dreaming. Sleep.

The sound of a car chugging down the avenue distracted her. She imagined the white smoke from its exhaust drifting up and dissipating in the cold early morning air. As the sound grew distant, Julie readied to turn over. She grabbed her long auburn hair up in a bunch and pulled it out from under her back, spreading it out on the pillow behind her head. The pillow case was cool against her neck. With much effort, she turned onto her side. A new position would bring new dreams ... would change the channel. She listened for the steady shh of her husband's breathing, picked up his rhythm and fell asleep. She slept without dreaming until something woke her.