The fireflies flew closer to her, or else they grew larger. When Linda looked closer she saw that they were round pools of light and not fireflies at all. And for the first time she realized that the porch swing seemed awfully big. Her feet dangled over the edge of it, and when she lifted one, she saw that she was wearing her favorite red "cut-out" shoes that she wore when she was seven years old.
She was dreaming! Oh my god, she thought. Let's not screw this up! Slowly she eased herself off the swing, letting her feet plant down onto the soft, loamy grass. She wanted to shout out "I'm dreaming and I know it!" but the voice coming out would have been the high-pitched wail she'd had as an elementary schooler. Once she'd stepped off the porch swing, she turned and saw the pillars of the house where they'd lived in Jefferson City, Missouri. Where was her mother? She ran around the yard, past the bushes, smelling honeysuckle in the air.
The house seemed grander than she remembered, with clean, gleaming windows that beamed her reflection back to her as she ran past, and lush flowers in beds forming a soft, surreal border around the foundation. Linda reached the heavy, arched oak front door that had gleamed with varnish. She put all her weight down on the latch and pushed it free, the door opening inside the house. "Mom!" she called out.
Details of the staircase, the decorative urns in the front hallway and the black rotary dial phone on the table near the coat rack started to fade. She jumped up and down, turning all around, looking at the floors and the wall, which were washed out by a bright light. Someone called back to her in a loud, booming voice: "Linda. Linda."
Her head felt lighter and the sound of the voice calling out to her dropped in volume. She found herself back in her nineteen-year-old body, with the mask over her eyes. Geraldine had been calling her, tapping her lightly on her arm. Linda pushed back the sleep mask so that she could see her and she immediately winced at the bright light.
"We got REM on the sensors," Geraldine said. "Were you having a dream?"
"Yes!" Linda sat up excitedly. "I got to be a seven-year-old girl again!"
Geraldine smiled. She held a clipboard with a pad of paper in front of her and began to write. "That's great. Were you lucid?"
"Yes, of course." She told her about the porch, the lemonade on the table beside the swing, and the fireflies. Geraldine worked pen to paper briskly as she attempted to jot down everything Linda was saying.