In my sleep, drunk on exhaustion and emotional turmoil, I had a dream.
I dreamed that I was looking for a hiding place in a large, lavishly decorated house. I ran and ran, dodged and evaded. At one point, I jumped down five stories of a stairwell and slid down polished wooden banisters. (I'm far more nimble and indestructible in my dreams that in real life.)
When I caught a glimpse of a well-dressed woman with straight, dark hair, I knew at once that she was the one hunting me. So I did a forward roll to behind an open door while her back was turned, and miraculously, she didn't see me. As I was hiding behind the door, a rosy-cheeked girl with bangs appeared and motioned for me to follow her.
I followed her to a closet from my childhood, where my parents used to keep Christmas presents and cod fish oil. I groped around desperately in the dark, musty carpet to unlock some secret of how I could escape this terrible chase of running from myself. A trap door, a magic portal, anything.
Then, I knew. All I had to do was stand up straight and look into the mirror. And then I was free.
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