Her eyes moved around, taking in her surroundings. I followed her gaze, trying to see my world—or her world, our world, whatever this shared dream was—through her eyes. The large, lush trees, with leaves as big as horses, branches that sparkled and bent of their own volition, reaching down to touch the ground like a kiss, the grass stretching up to meet them. Her mind, the landscape her subconscious conjured up as she slept, is rich and full and wonderfully imaginative. I could see colors I don’t think exist in the real world, feel textures that are completely impossible to describe.

It was beautiful. So why’d she sound so sad when she spoke about it?

“It isn’t real,” she continued, answering my unvoiced question. “Just like the future, this place isn’t real. The only importance it carries is what we give it.”

I understood. But why wouldn’t I want to live there, in that faraway place?

I asked her this, out loud this time.

“The dreamworld is Emerald City,” I explained, all the conversations I’d had with Damien echoing in my head. “And life is the yellow brick road and I don’t want to keep walking along that road, getting pelted with apples by cruel trees and running into dangerous witches when I could just be there.”

“But remember what happened when they got to the Emerald City?” she asked.

“They got a dope makeover.”

My mom laughed, the sound turning into pure music in the air, the melody winding its way into the roots of the great trees.

“Well, yes, that’s true.” She chuckled. “But they also found out the wizard was a fraud. It’s all just a mirage in the distance that evaporates into smoke when you reach it, only to re-form even further down the line. The only thing that’s real is the road beneath you.”

She touched my cheek, like that simple gesture would keep me grounded, keep my feet firmly rooted on the path instead of racing toward a horizon I could never reach. I put my hand up to cover hers and then we, and the world around us, evaporated into smoke itself, just like that far-off, glittering city.

She didn’t remember saying any of that to me, I don’t think. When I asked her how she slept, my mom just kissed me on the cheek and said that she’d had the most wonderful dream.

“I don’t remember a single thing,” she said, “but I know it was peaceful.” But she gave me a look like she knew that I had been part of that peace somehow. That we shared it. And that was enough.

July 2nd, 2017

Dear Mark,