Parenting Blog

Nowhere To Run

I woke from a dream, startled and out of breath. Beads of sweat were pasted to my forehead. I couldn’t see a damn thing.

The room was black and statuesque. Not even the neighboring cicadas were whimpering into the void. Only the patter of stray raindrops broke the silence.

Reaching behind my head, I yanked two king sized pillows up against the wall and sat up straighter but still slumped. The comforter was pulled up to my waist like a pair of billowing floral pants. I rubbed both temples with only my right hand, the thumb and index finger of which were spread apart like I was sharing news of an exaggerated catch to a band of fisherman at the dock.

nowhere to run

In the dream, my legs were churning faster than what I’m capable of when laced-up and motivated to move for the sake of only that movement. The end was on the hunt and, as the hunted, I had but one choice: run, run and do not stop.

As I sat there, panting in the otherwise quiet dead of night, I asked this question of myself despite fearing that I already knew its answer.

Is there anywhere left, anywhere we might run to together?


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