When my mother used to hit me, she’d call me stupid. She’d tell me that I don’t think enough. I just couldn’t help myself sometimes. And I wished for one thing as a child, but I didn’t know its name. Now that I’m all grown up, I know it’s called an emergency brake. 

“you’ve been acting strange lately,” she said, “and it’s got me down,” I just ignored her. 

“I had this dream last night,” I told her, “I was in a car with no brakes. They were gone, somebody took ’em out to try and kill me.”

I don’t think she understood then that my whole world was in my dreams.