I dreamt once of a black midget woman who lives in the spaces between being and counts our heartbeats. Each one is given a serial number, and if you listen close enough, you can hear her assigning them. One day as I was riding the bus to school, I heard them sound particularly loudly. "Wait."

I looked out the window only to see her face pressed against the glass, bug-eyed and small. I gasped. She mistook my shock for distaste and snapped at me.

"I'll leave if you want me to."

Her voice was low and even. "Her words," I would later text to myself, "had resonance." I don't think I said anything, but my reaction must have indicated that I wanted her to stick around. I never left my seat, but she held me safe in a room full of balanced scales and falling sand. Told me that battles are always fought between good and good and good always wins. She was rather cold and always sounded angry, but it was clear that she lived only to protect us--from what, I do not know. I never really considered that she had a name until I heard someone call her Joey. After I woke up, though, I realised that his name was also Joey, which somehow changed things. I never quite tried to rationalize any of this, but I did accept it quite readily. It has always been difficult for me to discern dreams from reality, especially at first.