Dreaming a Dream that Will Come True

There are things that happen in our lives that seem almost fabricated because they are so unreal or unexplainable. Here is my story. It is true. Or, at least, as true as is possible because, according to Isocrates, there is no "real" truth and when we add the complication of one's memory we are even further distanced from "truth" much less "real" anything. 

I bike to Turner's school today to retrieve him. I took the bus home after class last night and found it non-threatening, cheap, easy, and efficient. I'm sold! Mass transit saves me gas money and the possibility of getting into a car accident, not to mention the extra time for reading school work and contemplating life with Turner. 

I walk into the trike yard and spot Turner. He is sitting on a trike in his usual garb: Dr. Patrick sunglasses and Riverbats hat. 

"Are we going on the bus now?"

"What?" I'm surprised because I have not mentioned to him that I have ridden the bus nor spoke to him of the possibility of him riding the bus.

"Are we going on the bus now?" He asks again.

Ms. Carolyn joins in, "Yes. He's been talking about it all day."

"Really?" I turn to Turner. "Why do you think you are getting to ride the bus today?"

"Because I dreamed it last night." He rides off on his trike and circles back to me. I am quiet.

"I told him I ride the bus sometimes," offers Ms. Carolyn. "He seemed so excited. Is he not getting to ride the bus?"

"No, I mean yes he is, but he has no way of knowing that. We've never done it before. We haven't talked about it months. I just decided on a whim last night to take the bus home from school. I was scared I guess. I thought it would be difficult. Now, I know it is so easy."

"It is so easy."

"Yes. So I got this big idea to take Turner on it today. I really never mentioned it to him. He said he dreamed about it."

"Weird."

"Yes." I don't tell her this has happened before. Turner and I have the same dreams often. He had the dream about La La too, just a little different version and a week later.

So, Turner and I get out of school (after a thirty minute play time in the trike yard with all the young 'uns). We walk to the bus stop (right around the corner from Turner's school). When it comes I haul my bike onto the bike rack while Turner patiently waits on the sidewalk. I help him up the big stairs. I slide my bus pass (thanks to Crystal). I tell the driver Turner is three.

"Uh, yeah right lady. He's at least four."

"Turner, how old are you?"

"Three." He is already walking down the aisle to find a seat.

"I promise, he's just three. He won't be four until April. He is just tall I guess."

"Yeah, I guess," obviously not believing me. 

Turner grabs us a seat and he asks a series of questions about everything: Why are these people on here? Why is the bus so full? Where is everyone's cars? What is that sign for? How fast will the bus go? Can I pull the string now? Can I pull the string now? Can I pull the string now?

We pass the ten minute ride with stories and an elaborate question and answer session that does not intrigue the lady across the aisle from us who is trying to do her crossword puzzle. Our stop comes up, or the stop that I think is ours, and I tell Turner to pull the string. "Stop requested." 

Turner smiles. "I did that huh?" 

"Yes sir."

We step off the bus. I retrieve my bike. We start the trek to the house (a longer walk now that I had Turner pull the string a stop early). We make it home nonetheless to a tune of "I wanted to ride the bus longer. When will we ride it again? I loved riding the bus Mom. What a great dream come true."