I keep dreaming about my grandmother, the one who died almost three years ago.
This time, we were taking a trip together, alone for once. We were on a bus on its way to oblivion; I had no idea where we were headed, but it was just nice to be alone with my grandma and I trusted her to lead us onward.
At one point, the bus rolled into a rest stop on some dreary highway and we were all asked to exit. The bus driver and another official-looking individual started to check our tickets and also measure our heights. I was confused but we all complied. Somehow, I returned to my seat before Ma, and I didn’t notice her absence until the bus had already started moving.
I frantically scanned the faces of the other passengers, hoping I’d somehow overlooked her, but she was definitely missing. I rushed up to the bus driver in a panic, but he didn’t seem at all surprised.
“We left her behind. Her ticket was invalid and she didn’t have enough money on her to cover the fee.”
I ranted and railed, tried to bully the driver into turning us around.
“She’s 73 years old. How could you leave her in the middle-of-nowhere? Why wasn’t I notified?!”
The driver ignored me.
The dream ended before I could strangle the bastard.
Lately, many of my dreams have ended in my utter frustration and helplessness.