I am awake, but not awake. Alone, but someone is at the foot of my bed counting change off the table. He slides each coin into an open hand. He shakes it. "Get out of my house." I say it calmly. I open my eyes to daylight, but I can't read the clock. I try to look over the comforter not wanting to see anything. I try make a throaty scream. Tiny sneakered feet tap down the hallway to my open bedroom door. They pause, and tap away again. I close my eyes and grab at the edge of the bed to try to throw myself out of it. I heave three times hard. I open my eyes and I haven't moved. This time it's different, there's more than one of them and they're having a conversation, getting ready for the day. Tap, tap, tap towards my door. Tap, tap, tap away. She talks to her mother. I roll over twice. I check my progress. I am in the same place. Someone is rolling dimes down the hallway. If I could just throw myself out of bed I could wake up, if I could wake up it would be over, but I can't throw myself out of bed because I'm asleep, but if I could throw myself out of bed I could wake up . . . . A shoe slides across the floor. A dime hits a wall and bounces. "Let's introduce ourselves." I hear footsteps coming towards my bedroom door, the floorboards creak with them. They displace the air around them as they stand in the doorway. I stare deep into my cartoon sheets and pretend it isn't happening.

I dream again, about pants that won't iron right. I go to a movie barefoot with my hair in a towel. Tom Green is there. I wake up and I can roll over. I can read the clock. I can see the ceiling. I can hear the space heater breathing and beyond that, silence.