JULY 3RD, 2017

I woke up with the sun this morning for no reason that I could explain.

I tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to wake anyone, the house still filled with a beautiful, heavy hush. I started to make myself a cup of tea, planning on standing at the window with my hands wrapped around the warm mug, and just enjoying the silence, when my phone buzzed.

It was a text from an unknown number, one I’d never received a text from before, but I knew immediately who it was.

Play him music that he loves, the text read. It’ll help him remember.

My heart clenched when I read it, both at the idea that Damien had bothered to transfer my phone number to a new phone and was thinking about me enough to text me, and at what the text was telling me. Suddenly, I wanted so badly to sleep, to dreamdive into my dad’s head, bring him music.

So I did.

There was fog at first. Deep and gray and heavier than before. But I was stronger now, I knew what to do, so I puffed up my chest and blew it all away. And then it was the canyon again, soaked in color and impossibly huge. My dad sat on the edge, looking out over the expanse, watching the clouds go by. I walked over to him, a Jim Croce song coming up from the ground with every footstep. Like with my mom, my dad seemed to know instantly that I was there. He looked up, smiling at me and humming along to the song.

“Rose!” he said, his smile enormous, as I crouched down to join him at the edge. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to say hello,” I said, smiling back.

“I was wondering when I was going to get a visit from you,” he said jovially.

“What do you mean?”

“Your mom said she thinks she got a visit from you the other night,” he explained. “I’ve never seen her look so at peace after waking up.”

“See?” I said lightly. “Dreamdiving can be a beautiful thing.”

“I never doubted that,” he said. It was an old argument at this point, but the way we were having it here didn’t feel dangerous or heated. We were just talking, with no consequence, enjoying the feeling of being here.

“Are you saying goodbye?” he asked eventually, after the color of the canyon had turned from pink to orange.

“What?” A momentary spike of panic brought a shadow over the world, and it was like my dad’s subconscious self knew a panicked Rose meant panicked dreams because he instantly put his hand over mine and starting hushing me soothingly, like I was a little kid.