One In The Same

They sat in the same boring room every Tuesday.  Kristin Miller and her therapist.  She was a 12 year old prodigy who called herself the loneliest popular girl and while she showed signs of concern over what that said about her character or lack thereof, as much as humanly possible, she tried not to lead on that anything was wrong.

"Is it the same dream every night?" Dr. Benjamin Ince asked her.

"Yes, I think so.  I mean, I'm pretty sure it's the same.  Except for last night," Kristin answered.

"What time of day is it in the dream?" he asked.

"It's the same time every night.  Magic hour.  It's like that point between night and morning when you're just on the crux of whether tomorrow exists.  Know what I mean?" she said.

"Yes, I know.  But obviously if there is even a centimeter of sunlight off in the distance, then tomorrow, or today in this case, is imminent, no?" he said.

"I suppose," she admitted, not completely opposed to the idea of optimism, but not completely on board either.  "But there's a set of train tracks.  And it's really far away," she explained.

"Far away where?" he inquired further.

"I don't know really.  Some forest.  Nowhere I've ever been.  I'm not sure.  I just have a feeling about this forest.  A feeling I am supposed to end up there.  But every time I get closer to the forest, pieces of the tracks disappear.  The track keeps going and going and going and going--"

"But last night was different?"

"Yes."

"Why's that?"

"There was a body there.  When I got to the beginning of the track.  It was my child," she said as she choked up and looked behind her at the wall.  Showing tears was not a hobby of hers and she intended to keep it that way, regardless of whether this room was the safe house Dr. Ince claimed it to be.

"But you don't have a child," he said fearfully.

"No, not now I don't," she agreed.

"But you predicted the death of your child?  Of a child you will have somewhere down the line?" he said, somewhat appalled by this seemingly unnecessary pessimism.

"Yes.  And I don't know what the train meant.  I know I've always feared death by transit.  So maybe that was it, but that seems too silly, doesn't it?" she asked of him.

"Nothing is silly in here.  Having such a premonition must be scary, no?" he asked.

"Not really.  It's what I deserve in all of this.  They used to bark at each other and then at me.  They told me that from the get go," she explained to him.

"Who?  Your parents?"

"Yes.  This was imminent.  This was to be expected," she said with confidence.

"Kristin, your parents were dead when you were born.  Did you know that's why you never knew them?" he asked, uncertain of whether she was hearing this information for the first time.

"No, I thought they left when I was a baby and that is why I was an orphan."

"Your mother was in labor.  Your father was behind the wheel.  There was a disagreement that resulted in a loss of control of the vehicle.  They pulled you out of her, literally. From the wreckage of a fatal car accident.  Do you understand me?"

She was unable to blink or regain feeling in her left hand and for the next minute and a half, they sat in silence.

"Do you understand me?" Dr. Ince repeated.

"Yes.  But you must be wrong.  It must have been a locomotive.  I'm certain of it," she said and walked out of the room.

Dr. Benjamin Ince knew that Kristin Miller was grateful for all the listening he had done over these past years.  But he also knew he would never see her again.  Mismatched premonitions were the most inadvertent yet egregious forms of disagreements between two human beings.  He was now an enemy adult of sorts.  They did not and would not hate each other.  But Dr. Ince and Kristin were merely a means to each other's end.  This they knew all too well.

There was nothing more and nothing less to say than that.