Maybe it was all just a really, really, really bad dream.I must have screamed, because Mom was there in a moment, her weight pressing down the mattres..., rolling me toward her. Untangling my fingers from the collar she leaned over and gathered me into her comforting embrace. "Bad dream?"I buried my face against her warmth, her sweet scent pushing back the mountain of doom threatening to crush me. I nodded, shuddering as I struggled to regain my wits.I had a dismal image of me shuffling into. In high school it was freedom to go to school early when working on the newspaper, and to leave late without having to wait for hours for my mother to finally deign to remember she’d promised to pick me up at 5:00. 7:00 was more likely and 9:00 wasn’t unusual. It was also the freedom to visit my first girlfriend — 10 miles away, without having to catch a ride with someone — without having to explain why my breath smelled like pussy before I had a chance to get home and brush my teeth. Good. More

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