But I do have a quick thought.

In the morning, I will check outside, on the other side of the pantry, and then I will see there is nothing there.

Of course, that is only logical.

Chapter 11

There’s a dangerous time in the morning when I wake up, in that moment between dreaming and waking. It’s a time I’ve noticed I can easily think about the thing to never think about back home. You see, my conscious mind is really quite good at squashing down any unwanted thought and burying it under the rug. But my unconscious mind, my dreaming mind, well, that’s where the trouble is.

I came all the way out to the middle of nowhere to not have to think about this thing and, by God, I am going to stick to it.

Maybe if I set an alarm it will wake me up so quickly, so abruptly, that my subconscious mind will be scattered away. Hurried off in a fit of the living. I’ll banish it.

I know. You’d like to know what it is. I understand. But I know what you’d think if you knew about it. I know what you’d think because it’s exactly what I’d think. I’m not immune to it. Believe me, this is better left under the rug.

Just keep it there.

But maybe I can give you the first part. The part I just dreamed about. Maybe the first part is something nice. Something you could believe in. Something you could love.

That part starts, would you believe it, at a carnival. A state fair. The Nebraska State Fair to be exact. Every fall in Lincoln, Nebraska, all the pig owners and pumpkin growers and children’s art classes and roller coasters and Zipper rides and sailing ships rides come into town, set themselves squarely on the meadows outside of town, and wait for the fun to explode.

And, growing up in Nebraska, that is just what you’d do. You would, as a child, look forward to it, ask your folks about it, when is it coming, when is it coming? Then, as a teenager, you would discuss it with your friends. When are we going? Are we all going as a group? The first Friday? Or maybe Saturday? Are we meeting before?

On this particular night, fall of ninth grade, we were all going as a group. Five girls, from Pound Junior High, in it together. Yes, I realize Pound Junior High is an unfortunate name. Believe me, we’ve heard it. Dog Pound. Roof Roof! Bark bark, how is the doggy pound? It’s okay, we’re over it.

The important thing about all of us girls having gone to Pound is that there was another junior high school on our side of town, Irving Junior High, that fed into our soon-to-be high school. Lincoln Southeast High School. Now, Irving Junior High was the rich kid’s junior high. The kids there lived on Sheridan Boulevard and all grew up in what I can only imagine were enormous bedrooms and additional playrooms piled up to the ceiling with toys and video games and a thousand stuffed animals.