Chapter One: Dreams
“I saw her again last night.” Dylan paused, the phrase tickling at the back of his mind. “That’s from a song, isn’t it?” “The woman in your dreams?” Dr. Richards inquired, professionally ignoring another of Dylan’s tangential comments as he scribbled on the notepad he held in his lap. “Do you know who she is yet?” “Not yet,” Dylan said. “Though I can make out her face now. It’s like she’s slowly coming into focus, night after night.” He shifted slightly on the cushion. He never knew why television always showed people lying down when talking to their therapists; the couch was uncomfortable enough sitting up. “It’s been almost three months now, and every time I think I’m going to recognize her – I feel certain that I should – I can never quite place her.” He sighed, an explosion of breath from deep within his lungs that he didn’t even realize he had been holding. “I’ll tell you this, though. She looks a bit like my mother. Not exactly, but there are definite similarities.”
Dylan grimaced.
“Am I really dreaming about my mother? Do you think this is some kind of Oedipal thing?”
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