EVERY DAY, I GOT UP REALLY EARLY AND HOBBLED over to

my truck that was sitting in the garage. I backed it up into the driveway. There was a whole universe waiting to be discovered in a pickup truck. Sitting in the driver’s seat made everything seem possible. It was strange to feel those moments of optimism. Strange and beautiful.

Turning on the radio and just sitting there was my version of praying.

My mom came out one morning and took a picture of me. “Where are you going to go?” she asked.

“To school,” I said.

“No,” she said. “That’s not what I meant. The first time you get to drive that thing, where are you going to take it?”

“The desert,” I said. I didn’t tell her I wanted to go out and look at all the stars.

“By yourself?” “Yup.” I said.

I knew she wanted to ask me if I was making any new friends at school.

But she didn’t. And then her eyes fell on my cast. “Who’s Ileana?” “Some girl.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Too pretty for me, Mom.” “Silly boy.”

“Yeah, silly boy.”

That night I had a bad dream. I was driving down a street in my pickup. Ileana was sitting right next to me. I looked over and smiled at her. I didn’t see him, Dante, standing in the middle of the road. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat.

In the morning, as I sat in my truck and drank a cup of coffee, my mom came out of the house. She sat on the steps of the porch. She patted the step next to her. She watched me as I awkwardly got down from my truck. She’d stopped hovering.

I made my way toward her and sat next to her on the front steps. “Casts come off next week,” she said.

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“Then therapy,” she said. “Then driving lessons,” I said.

“Your father’s looking forward to teaching you.” “You lost the coin toss?”

She laughed. “Be patient with him, okay?”

“Not a problem, Mom.” I knew that she wanted to talk to me about something. I could always tell.

“You miss Dante?”

I looked at her. “I don’t know.” “How can you not know?”

“Well, look, Mom, it’s, well, Dante, he’s like you. I mean, he hovers sometimes.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I like being alone, Mom. I know you don’t get that about me, but I do.”

She nodded and it seemed like she was really listening. “You were screaming his name last night,” she said.

“Oh,” I said. “It was just a dream.” “Bad?”

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk about it?” “Not really.”

She gave me that nudge, the c’mon humor your mom nudge. “Mom? Do you ever have bad dreams?”

“Not often.”

“Not like me and Dad.”

“You and your father, you’re fighting your own private wars.”

“Maybe so. I hate my dreams.” I could feel my mom listening to me. She was always there. I hated her for that. And loved her. “I was driving my truck and it was raining. I didn’t see him standing in the middle of the road. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t.”

“Dante?”

“Yeah.”

She squeezed my arm.

“Mom, sometimes I wished I smoked.” “I’ll take the truck away.”

“Well, at least I know what’s going to happen to me when I break the rules.”

“Do you think I’m mean?”

“I think you’re strict. Too strict sometimes.” “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.” I clutched at my crutches. “Someday, I’m going to have to break some of your rules, Mom.”

“I know,” she said. “Try to do it behind my back, will you?’ “You can bet on that, Mom.”

We both sat there and laughed. Like Dante and I used to do. “I’m sorry about your bad dreams, Ari.”

“Did Dad hear?” “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t help what you dream.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to run over him.” “You didn’t. It was just a dream.”

I didn’t tell her that I hadn’t been paying attention. I’d been looking at a girl when I should have been driving. And that’s why I ran over Dante. I didn’t tell her that.