Life Is but a Dream by Brian James Page B

feelings you may not even know you have. —
    — What a load of crap — Alec says under his breath—just loud enough for her to hear and quiet enough so that she can pretend to ignore it. She takes a step over to stand in front of him.
    — Mind if I look at yours? — she asks.
    — No problem .— Alec pushes his paper across the table so that it takes flight just above the table’s surfaces and slides nearly onto the floor.
    Mrs. Weaver catches it before it falls and holds it in her hand. She examines it for a few seconds before turning it around. It is a picture of a man in a suit, carrying a briefcase. Next to him is a woman in a suit, carrying a briefcase. Alec has used the red paper nose I gave him and made an identical one. He’s glued both on the foreheads of the two figures with squiggly red lines running down from them.
    — In this picture … who do you imagine is the shooter? — Mrs. Weaver asks. — Is it you? —
    — No — Alec says. — It’s nobody … because it’s just a stupid picture. There is no shooter because nobody got shot. —
    — Yes, I understand that. But what would you say this means? —
    — They’re photos from a magazine! — he shouts, pushing against the table with both hands so that the legs squeal across the floor. The violence of it startles Mrs. Weaver but not me. I know how much he doesn’t like her. — It doesn’t mean anything … none of these mean anything, so why don’t you just leave us alone! —
    Like all of the nurses and doctors, Mrs. Weaver is very good at not getting upset but I can tell she’s struggling this time. — I’m going to ask you not to speak to me in that tone. —
    — Then why don’t you stop harassing us. —
    — I’m sorry? Harassing? — she asks.
    — Yeah. You kept picking on Sabrina when she obviously didn’t want to talk anymore. Then you accuse me of wanting to kill my parents or something — he says.
    — It’s okay, Alec — I say because I don’t want him to get in trouble. If he gets in trouble, we’ll be separated. Even if it’s only for a few hours, I hate when we’re separated. — It’s fine. —
    — No it’s not — he says. — This whole thing is ridiculous. —
    — Maybe it would be best if you left for the rest of this session? —Mrs. Weaver suggests.
    — And maybe it would be best if you went off to teach grade-school art class — Alec barks, but Mrs. Weaver is already walking away. She’s on the other side of the room using the phone on the wall to call the nurses’ station. — I don’t even belong here! They put me in this place as a favor to my dad! Some favor! —
    The rest of the kids are staring at him—at us really, because I’ve locked my elbow in his hoping to keep him close the same way the mother in my art collage is doing with me.
    When the door opens, the nurse has two security guards with her and Alec shakes his head. Once they approach, he throws up his hands. — This is crazy — he says. A guard puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him nicely to come along. — Fine! I’m going. Happy? — he shouts at Mrs. Weaver on the way out.
    I want so badly to follow him but I’m not allowed. As soon as I take one step, Mrs. Weaver stops me. — He’ll be fine, don’t worry — she says to me. She sends me back to my station where I finish my collage without much interest. She doesn’t ask me any more questions. And when it’s time for me to go to group, she doesn’t ask for my picture. The only picture Mrs. Weaver keeps is Alec’s.
    I follow the other kids out of the room. All of us have group sessions next and I shuffle a few paces behind. Even in the middle of their voices, I feel lost. My hand feels empty without the familiar shape of his long skinny fingers. The sooner he’s back at my side, the better I’m going to be.
    They are talking about him—the two girls in front of me who I don’t know. I hear them say they were scared when Alec yelled. They don’t