A Night Scare
At 2:00 a.m., my
husband and I hear three wild, piercing screams in a women’s
voice—as
if from consecutive knife stabs. We sit up in our hotel beds.
What happened? Was someone murdered? I look outside our
second-floor window: two big, blinding flood lights from the
ground obscure the view. Soon I hear a conversation coming from
the hall, and some soft laughter. What could that mean?
A man’s voice: “Are
you O.K.?”
I put on my robe and
step out. A group of men and women in their mid-twenties are
gathered by the next door.
“Did you hear the
screams a while ago?” I ask.
“I had a bad dream,”
a young lady says guiltily, her back against the door.
“It must have been a
horrifying dream," I add sympathetically. "It woke us too.”
“I am sorry…”
I cannot get back to
sleep. I open a new poetry magazine: free verse—or
short stories? —about
everything and nothing; nothing to shake me up like this night’s
dream…
Dawn—
the birds’ chorus
becomes louder.
