The adults

Mom used to tell me, whenever I dreamed of her, to be careful. Maybe I'd parked too far from the house. Maybe I'd walked through the wrong backyard. (Hey, where did they get that basement entrance?) In later years I told her to be careful around the liquor. It would take her a minute and a half to get a sentence out, time we'd want back as soon as we heard it. It would bum dad out. He'd set his rum down, look displeased, tell her that's enough. Lucky for her she had Edna. They'd go out to the kitchen, pour another. Once they woke me up with their loud whispers outside the lower bathroom, next to my bedroom.