Dream

These days I don't quite fit in with my mom's clean house. Most of the time I run barefoot through the fields. In the greenhouse, I reach into a bathtub full of soil to fill the seeding flats and when I work out in the beds mud finds its way pretty much everywhere.

Two nights ago I dreamt that my mom disowned me for being too dirty. I was standing outside the house, in my usually muddy state, and she told me I had to find somewhere else to live. But I have nowhere else to go, I cried. She closed the door.

Last night I jolted up at 2:30am to the sound of thunder cracking. I’m an incredibly light sleeper, but I never used to wake up from the soothing sound of thunderstorms. Now I jump up the minute lightening strikes. I guess that’s because the messiest days at the farm are the days when it rains. Whenever I hear storms in the middle of the night, I feel around to remember whether I am outside in the rain or still under the covers of my bed.

With two hours left to sleep last night, I comforted myself with the words of one of the women from yesterday’s workshift. I had told her about my dream, thinking she would find it funny or amusing. Instead, her reply shocked and reassured me. I bet your mom is really proud of you, she said. I squished my toes around in the mud.

I sure hope she’s right.