Chapter 25Dwight was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, even though there was nothing surreal or odd about the dream…no slow-motion running, no impossible changes of scene, no falling off a cliff and then suddenly taking flight.
This dream had all the earmarks of memory. Dwight found himself in a schoolroom. There were the desks, all lined up in six rows with military precision. Each desk had an arm that jutted out from the right side for writing. Dwight murmured and rolled over in his sleep.
His eyes, under their lids, moved rapidly back and forth.
He hated those desks and felt frustration as he walked toward one of them, his “assigned seat,” to sit down. He was left-handed and the placement of the writing surface always made it hard for Dwight to write.
But writing wasn’t the only pr
