Life Happens Next by Terry Trueman Page B

don’t believe she means me any harm. It’s hard to explain, but since she has joined me, I’ve been pulled away from the absolute freedom I’ve had in my dream and spirit journeys. At first I was scared, then frustrated. Now I’m not angry or sad or even confused. Maybe excited. I think she has a purpose. I just don’t know what it is. If she wanted to hurt me, she’d have done it by now. If she doesn’t care about me, why does she keep coming back? I’m not scared of her anymore.
    I ask, “Who are you? Why are you showing up in my world?”
    She stays silent. But that’s going to change. After all, these are my dreams, my spirit travels, and I have a right to know what’s going on.

27
    I t’s the next morning, Monday. Something weird is happening, something different. I feel it under my skin, a strange tingly feeling—I can’t explain it, but something is off.
    For one thing, Rusty acts as crazy as he did the first day he came here.
    Debi finished making her lunch and putting the dishes from the dishwasher away sooner than normal and went to sit on the bench and wait for her bus. Maybe she didn’t give Rusty his regular morning treat? If that’s what his nutty behavior is about, this dog better plan on a visit to the Betty Ford Doggy Addiction Clinic for Milk-Bone Junkies, because he’s driving me crazy.
    Rusty sits right in front of Debi, barking and whining. Mom calls, “Hey, Debi, tell Rusty to cool it.”
    Debi doesn’t answer. Nothing new.
    Mom yells a bit louder, “Rusty, hush! Debi, pay attention please!” Still no answer from Debi.
    Seriously Debi, do you have eardrums of steel? She must be in one of her zones.
    â€œPaul,” Mom calls, “will you get Rusty? I need some peace and quiet.”
    Paul brings a heaping tablespoon full of Honey Nut Cheerios to his mouth and while chewing yells, “Rusty, come here.”
    Rusty ignores Paul and keeps barking.
    Paul looks up, stops eating, and commands “Rusty, knock it off. Come !”
    Rusty stops barking but continues to whine and still doesn’t come to Paul.
    â€œDammit,” Paul snaps, dropping his spoon so that it clanks loudly as it hits the side of his bowl. He gets up from the table.
    â€œTake it easy, Paul,” Mom says.
    Paul says, “I’m not gonna hurt him, Mom, but he needs to obey.”
    Paul walks through the kitchen and into the living room. I can hear him clearly because Rusty’s whining gets softer, almost like whimpering, as Paul approaches.
    â€œRusty, come,” Paul commands again. From my spot in my wheelchair in the kitchen, I don’t hear Rusty’s claws clacking on the hardwood floor.
    Paul says, “Debi, what’s up? Why’s your dog so—” He stops in mid-sentence. “Debi?” Paul speaks her name in a totally different tone of voice, soft, and now again in that same tone, “Debi? You okay?” There is another brief pause.
    â€œMom, come here. Hurry.” Paul sounds scared.
    I snap to full attention.
    â€œMom,” Paul cries again.
    Mom and Cindy both hurry to the living room, and I hear Mom, her voice as scared and worried as Paul’s, “Debi … Debi darling … Debi.”
    Cindy says, “Oh God, is she—”
    Mom ignores Cindy and says to Paul, “Help me get Debi down onto the floor.”
    Rusty barks, frantic, terrified, threatening barks.
    Paul says, “No, Rusty, sit— sit . Cindy, grab his collar and hold him back.”
    I hear a soft thump sound and Mom saying all the time, “Debi … Debi … sweetie …” She says, “Paul, call 911. I’ll try CPR.”
    Paul hurries back to the kitchen. He picks up the phone and pushes the buttons. His face is pale and his hand holding the phone seems to be quivering. In a matter of seconds he speaks. “Our … our cousin is unconscious … I think