She closed the book and looked at her son closely. "What kind of dreams, darling?"She saw him flush lightly, and knew the type of dreams he was having. Brian had always confided in her, letting her in on all his secrets. But he seemed hesitant now.She noticed he was trying to keep from looking at her tits. The thin blouse molded them, and her nipples protruded at the material."I can't help you if you don't tell me about them, Brian." she said softly."They're kinda well, weird, Mom." Darling, no one is responsible for their dreams." she said. "That's your unconscious mind and when you dream, you can't be held accountable." They're... Mom, I dream about you!" he blurted, his flush deeper.A chill went through Sabrina. Was it possible? she thought. Was it really possible they were having the same dreams? Of course not... no one had the same kind of dream, did they?Her voice was very low, quivering when she said, "Tell me anyway, darling."Brian stammered over the words, but managed to get. The train will slip away, leaving my nose filled with tunnel air, stale and temporary. I will walk to Puerta del Sol, past painted young women offering morning sex. I will enter the cafe. I will hear the rattle of silver spoons on china saucers, and the motion of smooth plates in stacks. Things will be given and taken. There will be a hum of collected conversations. Words will be given and taken. Hands will be held. Love will be given and taken. I will sit at that table. Yes, that one. My back will be to the mirror, just as it was. I will order the same coffee, in the same way. The waiter will have the same look of detached politeness. I may even catch the heel of my shoe in the same knot in the floorboard, and sigh. I will look up and see you. As I did that day. That day you smiled and watched as I slipped my foot out of my shoe, leant down and twisted the heel carefully to release it. My eyes meeting yours, again. And again. You will come over to me as I slip my foot back in my.
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