I feel the sheets beneath my back as I open my eyes and…stars. Literally. My wallpaper of a starry night. Or ceiling paper? Roof…sheets? Ah well, the fan blades run after each other lazily and impose an effect on the wallpaper. I don’t have a particular name for it, but it is as though beauty’s face is constantly going out of focus and materialising again in less than a second, and for some reason, it is soothing.

I hear Momma coming up the stairs and turn to stare at the door, willing it to stay shut and yet knowing it will swing open in moments, knowing and dreading it. Before the thought settles in, her face fills the now-ajar door, and my open staring eyes stop her in her tracks for a split second.

“No school today?” she asks.

She holds my gaze until I return it to the “roof sheets” and close them shut in defeat and with one last desperate prayer for time to stop. Before she says another word, I take a deep breath, wave the woolen blanket away and swing my legs over the side in one fluid motion. The door closes behind me by the time I stand, and I can no longer feel her presence in the room. Mission accomplished, I guess. Her footsteps recede with each second until I can’t hear them anymore; I realise I haven’t taken a step yet. I look around morosely at the clothes hanging on the chair and the thick drapes that keep the sun out, and longingly at my bed. I really do not want to do anything today.

I get to the bathroom regardless. There’s a lot of shuffling and sighing at first, and then, brushing and bathing. I remember thinking the tiles were white — remarkably white, and shiny. Every groggy person’s dream, no doubt. I’m more awake by the time I step out of the shower, and I pull the curtains apart. Warm golden light filters in, and I shut them immediately with more force than is necessary. The familiar, comfortable dullness returns to my room.

The smell of breakfast wafts in and a smile creeps onto my face. I take a sniff and…toast? Yes, toast. And eggs. Toast and eggs are my favourite, and as I get dressed, I wonder if Momma made it by coincidence or if she picked up on my foul mood and wanted to cheer me up. The second is more likely and fills me with the familiar warmth of being loved and being seen.

I make for the door and open it, and…blackness — total, unforgiving — as the supports give way and my dreams fall apart and morph into reality and a most depressing silence.

I feel a gentle hand on my left shoulder and reach for it with my hand. I follow the hand up the arm to the face and the smile on it, and I instantly know it’s my mother. I mumble a greeting and realise that I can still feel the bed beneath me. My eyes are open, but the blackness remains absolute. Two streams of tears escape my blind eyes and run towards my ears, and I imagine the concerned look on Momma’s face a second before she asks, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

I cannot help the small smile that upturns my lips. “Nothing”, I say in little more than a whisper. “I just had the most beautiful dream”.