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I talked to Tracy
I talked to Tracy yesterday. My dad was on duty for the whole weekend, working overtime to cover for someone who was on vacation. So we had all of Saturday and Sunday together. Zachary was spending the night with a friend of his. So Tracy and I decided to go out to dinner and then go see a movie.
We watched a movie that was filmed, at least a little bit, in Albuquerque. It was based on a Dean Koontz book, on a character who’d had a series of three or four books written about him. That character, a kid not too much older than I am, sees people after they’re dead. It’s always someone whose death was troubling or unsettled in some way. It’s always someone who needs his help.
After the movie, Tracy and I went to the Frontier Café to share one of the giant cinnamon rolls they have there. And we started talking about the movie and that character. She seemed fairly open to the whole idea, the idea that something like that could be real.
I finally decided to tell her a little bit of what I see. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t laugh at me or look at me like I was crazy. She just said that she realized it must be hard for me to carry that, alone, all the time. She said she didn’t really understand it, because she can’t see those things herself, but that she could tell I’d been carrying some sort of burden.
I explained a little bit to her about how I’d had a feeling that something bad was going to happen near my mom, just before she died and how I’ve felt guilty all this time for not being able to stop it. Tracy didn’t say anything to comfort me or dismiss the way I felt. She just absorbed it. And acknowledged it. And then we went back to the cinnamon roll. We finished it in silence. That night, I slept like a baby.