That night I awoke with a snort in the middle of the night; thunder was crashing around my shaky little farmhouse, drenching the flat fields of grass and crops surrounding me, hurling warm rain onto my porch. I sighed and rolled over; I closed my eyes but sleep refused to bless me. I laid awake, listening to the thunder, wondering if that squeaking was actually the rocker out on the porch or if I was about to get stabbed in the back by some bloodthirsty maniac who'd broken my front door lock. That notion startled me, so I rolled out of bed and stumbled around in the dark towards the kitchen. The rain was streaming down the glass of my window, and as I sipped some chocolate milk and listened to the crashing and pelting storm around me, I reminded myself to get that lock fixed on the front door. It wasn't exactly broken so much that a little twirp could break in and steal all my English papers or something, but a burly guy with money on his mind could probably crack it open with his bare hands and sneak around my house, chuckling wickedly to himself because I was sound asleep in my nice warm bed, totally oblivious to everything...

I should have put being randomly sidetracked on my list of faults to the Authoress. I laughed at myself and finished my cup of chocolate milk, then curled up on the couch, tugging fingers through my matted curls, and stared at the blank blue TV screen. Woohoo, no coverage. Oh well, I hadn't really wanted to waste my brain cells on late-night talk shows and football, or perhaps one of those gory police flicks. I'd practically felt my synapses growing farther and farther apart during some television shows I'd watched in the past. It's ridiculous what people will come up with in their spare time. Another commercial for insurance, because, of course, you're going to get almost killed in a car accident next time you drive; another weight-loss program which doesn't work because, of course, you're a big fat slob; another bad movie, chock full of casual sex and curse words just thrown in for the fun of saying something which sounds threatening. I flicked the TV off with the press of the remote in disgust. Who needs it? Life is depressing enough. Who cares about the President making new taxes or the dozens of people getting shot by some madman? So much for the economy! Perhaps going to England wasn't such a bad idea. I could scope out cheap real estate and set up somewhere in the peaceful green country, where I wouldn't be continually bombarded by stupidity.

Heck, am I a snob or what?

The rain began to let off several hours after I'd already fallen asleep on the couch. I had the weirdest dream. I dreamed that I was sitting in my regular booth in the little diner, and in walked this ravishing young woman with fiery red hair. She came up to my table, ordered a Coke from the astonished waitress, and then turned to me. Her eyes were greener than grapes. "Hi Cameron," she said. Okay, I thought, so now I'm officially freaked out. I'm having dreams about crazy redheads who know me by name. I didn't even have a redhead in my class. I brushed it off as something random and strange that popped into my head during a restless sleep, and climbed back into my bed. I lay awake for a couple of minutes, watching the moon coming out from behind some dark clouds, throwing its pale silvery light across the rain-spangled yard. The crickets began chirping again, I recalled that it was almost summer break, and I worried right before I drifted off that the Authoress did indeed think me fault-filled.