Sometimes she rises stiffly, as anyone would who's been sitting for years, and other times quickly, as if the wheelchair were just another seat — like the pink recliner she had at home. My mother can drive in dreams, too. Where does she go? Maybe to the hair salon, or to a large retail store, where she browses each narrow aisle at her own pace, or to a small café for a quiet cup of coffee in a tight booth, or to the movie theater where she sits in the very top row. My mother, in my dreams, thinks it's true that she can walk and drive. She doesn't know, like I do, the cruel lie of it; or how, soon, I'll wake up, sad and disappointed, the way I feel each time I see her sneakers at the back of her closet. ###
My Mother Can Walk in My Dreams
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