The child is her own and yet he’s not. June recognises her eyes but the hair is different. It’s a sandy brown she knows to be soft and fragrant, unlike her own dry blond. His hand is snug in hers, pulling her shoulder down so she stoops to the right. His grasp is firm, confident of her care.
He is three. She has seen him at many ages, from crying newborn to sulky teenager. He never speaks, he doesn’t need to.
Now he needs a bathroom. She must find one.
His safety and happiness are her responsibility. June isn’t weighed down by this but freed from her own selfishness by it. She would starve so he could eat, thirst so he could drink; this never-born child.
He fidgets a little. His need for a bathroom increases. She must act to save him from an accident.
They are in a long corridor full of doors. It is a dormitory and she knows there are bathrooms halfway down. They walk together but she sees swathes of toilet paper flowing out the doors. June can’t bring him in; can’t expose him to the student toilets. That is not the solution.
How can she know this boy? A woman who never gave birth. She doesn’t know his name. Perhaps he never had one.
They walk back along the corridor and start down the stairs. June pauses on each step while he steps beside her. His grip tightens on her hand, the urge increasing. Now he hops ahead of her.
June accepts the boy’s appearance in her dreams with resignation. First she fought against the guilt and fear that followed in his wake. Now she is comforted by his return in a life of departures.
She hurries down but the stairs spiral ahead with no end. Should she stop him and allow him to relieve himself against the wall? Should she pick him up and run? Should she run back up the stairs?
There is a problem to be solved. One she cannot avoid. She must let go her fear and see beyond herself. A solution, dread by day, becomes the only one in the clear light of her dream.
She looks down at the boy. He smiles up, a pure radiance of hope. She smiles back. Everything will work out.
