She pushes herself to her feet as her mother snores on the couch, and walks shakily to the bathroom, stomach churning. She shivers in a cold sweat and flexes herĪching fingers, grateful that she never seems to get sucked back into a dream once she's successfully pulled out of it. And pulls herself out of her mother's dream. She gathers all her strength and concentrates. Janie doesn't want to watch anymore-she hates this part. She's holding-jiggling-a screaming, red-faced baby. Her shoulders curl over, worn, like thin pages in a well-read book. The hippie man fades, and Janie's mother stands in a line of people that stretches on for what seems like miles. She can never focus her attention in one place for long, though, with all the spinning colors. Janie wishes she could get him to take off his sunglasses. Janie's mother could see Janie, if only she looked. She peers at the man in the dream as she floats alongside the oblivious pair. What's her stupid mother doing sleeping in the living room, anyway?īut Janie is curious. This dream always makes Janie sick to her stomach. Their sunglasses reflect the dizzying stripes, making it even harder for Janie to stop the vertigo. Of flashing, spinning, colored lights, holding hands with the hippie who looks like Jesus Christ.

The one where a much younger, much happier mother flies through a psychedelic tunnel

It's the same old dream Janie's mother always has. Gathers her strength so she can try later, in case the dream doesn't end quickly. The last thing she needs is to crack her head open. She bumps against the wall and holds on, and then slowly lowers herself blindly to the floor as her fingers go numb. She grips her head, cursing her mother under her breath as the whirling kaleidoscope of colors builds and throws her off balance. Janie sprints through the snowy yards from two streets away and slips quietly through the front door of her house.

Wake lisa mcmann series