Page 89 of In a Word, Yes

“Well,” Roger says. “Up, yes. Not really at ’em yet, though. Everything okay, hon?”

“Yes. Fine, fine. Had your coffee?”

“Workin’ on it as we speak. How’s everything? Does the hotel have a good exercise room?”

“Yes, yes, just got back. But I need to tell you about my dream. I’d forgotten all about it until just now, when I was doing my makeup.”

“Oh boy.”

“Yep. Another weird one. But this one felt ... different somehow.”

I pop open my pill organizer, remove the day’s vitamins and supplements. Then make my best attempt at describing for Roger the broad country road of the dream and how vividly, boundlessly blue the sky was as I walked along. And how, before my eyes, clouds as wispy as eyelashes gathered together and took on the form of angels. I wish I could adequately describe for him how feathery these angels were. Like swans, but not.

“There’s a word for it,” I say. “Wispy and see-through. Starts with ag.”

“Gauzy? ...Gossamer?”

“Or no, ac.”

“Cobweb-like?”

“Diaphanous!”

“That doesn’t start with—”

“Anyway, it looked like one of them was blowing a trumpet.”

“You heard a trumpet?”

“No, I did not hear the trumpet. I heard something else. Did I mention there was a lot of birdsong? And then ... and then, oh honey,a voice. But here’s the thing. Ifelt itmore than I heard it.”

“And it said...?”

I draw a deep breath. “Ready?Courage, dear heart.”

“Are you ... telling me to have courage, or...”

My poor Rog. I always do a ridiculous job of explaining these things. I wash down another pill with a sip of water. “No, no, babe, that’s what I heard. What I felt.Courage, dear heart.”

“Oh. Like in...?”

“Yes, like in one of those Narnia books. I know it sounds preposterous. You don’t have to believe me, but I—”

“Of course I believe you.”

“Aww, thank you, sweetie. Is that the grinder? I’ll wait.”

“Okay, go ahead,” Roger says, when the rumble dies down.

“Anyway, as I’m watching this big blue sky, a jet appears, low and loud but arcing higher in the sky, like it’s heading west. And it bisects the row of diaphanous angels. Flies right through them.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes. But thenyouare with me, and we’re in our bathroom at home, and I’m standing at the sink complaining about my eyebrow pencil—you know, the one that has two ends, a pencil end and a brush end?”

“Okay, so we left the country behind?”

“Just wait. So then I say something complainy to you, like, ‘Every time I open this stupid thing to use the pencil end, I get the brush end. And whenever I want the brush end, I open it up and get the pencil end.’ This is a true frustration, by the way, honey. For some reason, the two ends of my favorite eyebrow pencil look exactly the same, so you never know which end you’re opening.”