“Have you had any more bad dreams?” “I always have bad dreams,” I said. “Even when you’re not sick?” “Yeah.” He stood at my doorway. He turned around and faced me. “Are you always lost?” “In most of them, yeah.” “And are you always trying to find me?” “Mostly I think I’m trying to find me, Dad.” It was strange to talk to him about something real. But it scared me too.
