2 YEARS LATERIt’s 6:27 a.m. on a Saturday and I’m up early. All night long, I’ve been in and out of strange dreams, hearing echoing voices from people in my other life. Sometimes their faces flashed before me. The last dream, which was vivid and is still on my mind, was a swirling kaleidoscope of Ted and Crystal. In it, they were calling my name. Until early this last year, I haven’t dreamt of them in a long time. Not that I don’t think of them now and again, I do, but this is my life now and dwelling on things I can’t—and honestly, don’t want to change—serves no one. Still, I wonder: why now after all this time? Is there still some unfinished business I haven’t worked through? The human brain is a mysterious thing when it’s left to its own devices.
I start coffee for the morning and empt
