Episode Three: Dreams and Heroes

Sarah woke before she opened her eyes.

She knew where she was. She could feel her pillow beneath her cheek and the blankets twisted around one leg. Somewhere down the hall, the house was quiet.

But she could still hear her father.

"Sarah!"

His voice was far away. She ran toward it. The ground beneath her feet was dark and uneven. Shapes moved past her on both sides, tall black shapes cutting into a sky she couldn't see. A flashlight beam bounced somewhere ahead of her.

"Dad!"

She ran faster. The light disappeared.

"Dad!"

Something caught her foot, and she fell hard. She pushed herself up. She knew what was going to happen, and that was the worst part. She always knew.

"Dad, wait!"

His voice came again, only this time it was not calling her. Just a sound. Then nothing.

Sarah’s eyes snapped open, frantic for orientation, and her breathing was labored. Her room was dark. For several seconds she didn't move. She listened.

The house made its ordinary nighttime sounds. The refrigerator hummed somewhere beyond her door. 

Sarah pulled the blanket closer and kicked her feet back underneath it. Covers. She knew they couldn't protect her from anything. She pulled them tighter anyway. Sarah hated the dream. Not because it frightened her anymore. Because it never changed. She always ran. She was always too late. And her father always disappeared before she reached him.

Sarah turned toward the nightstand. The penny was there. Breathing felt like it returned a bit.

Morning light had just begun to find the edge of the window, enough to catch the old Indian Head and separate it from the lace doily beneath it.

Sarah reached for it and held the penny between her fingers.

Saturday.

She closed her hand around the coin.

At nine o'clock exactly, Sarah pushed through the library doors, leaving Wayne standing at the curb, saddened because this was one of the bad days. No breakfast. No conversation today. Only a quiet ride to the Library. Wayne knew Sarah had the dream again.

Railroad Bob was behind his desk.

He looked up.

"Morning, Sarah."

"Morning." 

She crossed the lobby. Bob held out his hand. Sarah dropped the penny into it.

Not even a half-hug today

He looked at the coin. Then at Sarah.

"Heavy one today?"

Sarah frowned.

"It's a penny."

Bob snarked.

"Of course it is."

He dropped it into the locomotive bank.

Clink.

Somewhere above them, a latch released. Sarah headed for the stairs. She stopped after three steps and looked back.

Bob had already returned to his book.

"Bob?"

He looked up.

"Does everybody get the same kind of book?"

Bob considered the question.

"No."

Sarah waited.

Bob turned a page.

"That's all you're going to say?"

"Pretty much."

Sarah shook her head and continued upstairs. Bob returned to his book.

The room smelled like real life. Sarah still didn't know how else to describe it. The heavy door closed silently behind her. There were more people on the floor today. A woman sat near the windows with a book open across both knees. An old man stood between two shelves, running one finger slowly along a row of spines.

Sarah found her aisle. Found her shelf. The book was waiting.

Sarah grabbed it and, squeezing as close to the end of the aisle as possible, she sat down. For a moment, she didn't touch it. She thought about the dream. Then she opened the book.

The first words were already there.

I almost wasn't here.

Sarah leaned closer.

More words appeared.

Not almost like falling off a bicycle.

A pause.

Though we'll get to those.

Sarah smiled.

I mean, I almost wasn't here at all.

The smile disappeared.

It was 1952. My mom was seven months pregnant with me when something went wrong. She took a bus to a hospital in Los Angeles because my father wasn't available.

Sarah read the sentence twice.

The letters continued.

The doctor told her the baby had to go or she might die.

The words stopped.

Then—

The baby was me, by the way.

Sarah stared at the page.

The doctor called my father and asked permission.

A pause.

My father said yes.

Nothing appeared for several seconds.

Sarah waited.

Somebody, my Aunt Annie, I think, called my grandmother.

The letters came faster.

My grandfather drove her to the hospital. He was a quiet man. I think he understood this was one of those times when his job was to drive the car and let my grandmother be my grandmother.

She walked into the hospital, and she took my mother home.

Sarah waited.

The doctor bluntly and with great passion told her my mother could die, and it would be “on her head”.

My grandmother took her home anyway.

The page went still.

Somewhere across the room, a book closed.

Sarah looked toward the sound.

Then back at the page.

Two months later, on Labor Day, I was born on my grandmother's kitchen table.

Dr. Sakaguchi came to the house.Doctors did that back then.

My grandfather was told to get towels, which apparently meant (to him, anyway) get in the car and drive somewhere, because that's what he did.

Sarah laughed.

The letters continued.

My grandmother and Dr. Sakaguchi delivered me.

So I entered the world on a kitchen table in a house in Sylmar.

A final sentence appeared.

Not bad for somebody who had already been voted off the island.

Sarah smiled. Then she stopped smiling. She looked at the page for a long time.

Finally, she asked her question.

"Did you ever hear your grandma say anything to you about this?"

Nothing happened.

Sarah waited.

Then one word appeared.

No.

More words followed.

She died in a car accident when I was eleven. All I remember about that day was standing in the street, watching my mother’s car drive away to go be with other grownups. They left me there. Alone.

Sarah's hand tightened around the edge of the book cover.

I didn't know enough to ask important questions when I was eleven.

The letters stopped.

Sarah waited.

That's one of the lousy things about time. Sometimes you finally think of the right question after the person who knows the answer is gone.

Sarah stared at the words.

A new line began.

You know what's strange? You ask me questions about things I haven't thought about in years.

The writing stopped again.

Sarah leaned closer.

Sometimes I think I'm remembering the answer as I tell it to you.

Sarah didn't move.

Then—

I couldn't ask my grandmother.

A pause.

But you can ask me. Sarah touched the edge of the page. One final line crossed it.

I'm telling you instead.

Sarah sat very still. Mungie had been alone a lot. She knew that now. But when he told his stories, alone never seemed to be the whole story.

She wasn't sure what that meant yet.

Sarah closed the book.

On her way to return the book, Sarah noticed the quiet. Not library quiet. Something more than that. The room was absolutely still. For a moment, she had the strange feeling she'd been forgotten. Locked inside after everyone had gone home. The air felt colder than it had when she arrived.

Sarah stopped.

Her eyes moved toward the heavy door.

Then she heard it.

A sniffle.

She turned.

The same boy from last week sat cross-legged in aisle G, surrounded by a small mountain of crumpled tissues.

Sarah stared at him.

He didn't look up.

For half a second, she thought about walking over, but didn't. Rules were rules. And whatever this place was, she loved it too much to risk losing it.

Sarah slid Mungie's book back into its place. Something felt different. She couldn't have said what. Mungie had seemed closer today. Closer like—

Sarah shook her head. She didn't know. Then she thought about Bob. Did he know? Of course he knew. Bob always looked like he knew something.

Sarah headed for the stairs.

Halfway down, she remembered the way she'd treated him when she came in.

No hug. Barely a good morning.

"Gotta fix that."

There was a little hippity-hop in her step the rest of the way down.

Bob wasn't at his desk. Sarah found him near the self-service computers, helping an older woman who appeared to be losing a fight with the printer.

"Hey, kid!"

Bob looked over.

He raised one finger to his lips. "It's still a library."

Sarah grinned. "So I've heard."

The woman returned to her printer battle.

Sarah walked over and wrapped her arms around Bob. A real hug this time. Bob didn't ask why. When she stepped back, he smiled.

"Good visit?"

"Yeah."

Sarah thought about it.

"I'm better than when I got here. For sure."

"That's usually a good direction."

"Sorry I was so grumpy this morning."

Bob shrugged.

"We're good."

Sarah started toward the door.

"Sarah?"

She turned.

"Thank you for not disturbing the boy in aisle G."

Sarah stared at him.

Bob had already turned back toward the printer.

"He's just learning the ropes."

Sarah stared at him.

"Bob?"

"Sweet dreams, kiddo."

Sarah stood there for another second.

Then she walked outside.