Sickbed

My mother must have donated some money to the Lakota tribe all those years ago when we were in South Dakota because every now and then the St. Joseph's Indian School sends her little trinkets made by Lakota children or stickers and return address labels, things like that.  Twice they've sent her dreamcatcher keychains, both of which I inherited.  The first was metal and about the size of a quarter, but the other dreamcatcher is more what you would expect of a dreamcatcher, with leather and pony beads.  But, it's too big to be a keychain, as it's about 10 inches long.  Instead, I have it hanging above my bed, from the swag of my ceiling fan, which was really tacky and 1970's-ish before and is (only slightly) less tacky now.

I woke up this morning an hour earlier than usual, feeling hot, panicked and feverish, and broken in six places.  I tried to push it all away, but the pains in my back and stabbing hunger won out.  Breakfast was nothing more than the usual, but it left me feeling nauseous, lightheaded.  I collapsed back into bed, but this time the blankets over my head left me feeling like a cooing baby, not a claustrophobe.

Paralyzed from the waist down by what must have been a touch of vertigo, I lay on my back, listening to Devendra on my iPod, marveling at my hands as they made a tent with the sheets above my head, illuminated as they were by the long-forgotten sun shining through my window.  I was thinking about something that happened, maybe years ago at this point, or maybe not so long ago.  Or maybe it never happened at all.  Either way, I was remembering and dreaming and staring at the dreamcatcher above my bed, trying to decide whether or not to hold on to the memory.  I must have decided against it because just then the feathers on the dreamcatcher quivered, then fell still.

Daymares, daydreams, they're all the same I guess.  My dreamcatcher couldn't even tell the difference.