"Wake up, little man." Rita's voice is coming under the covers at me. It's warm under the covers, smell good like Rita and clean like sheets. I curl up tighter, squeeze my eyes shut, and go back to sleep. In the dream it's Mommy's birthday party and she's holding me in her arms kissing me and dancing with me. Our house is smelling like lasagna, wine, and people, mostly girls sweating and perfume. One girl is smoking weed. Everyone is laughing. Mommy puts me down and goes to open her presents. She's sitting in the blue armchair under the light. All the people have presents in their hands and are holding them out to her. A lady, who looks nice but when she smiles all her teeth is black, is holding out a pretty present tied with a gold ribbon. No! No! NOOOO! I want to say, but no words come out my mouth, and Mommy takes the box. And I want to stay asleep, even though I know it's a bomb and I'm not dreaming anymore, and if I was dreaming, the bomb would be exploding now. And now that it's too late, my voice would be loud. "Abdul." Someone is shaking my shoulder. Rita. I squeeze my eyes shut, 'cause when I open them, when I stick my head out from under the covers, my mother will be dead and today will be her funeral. "Abdul." Rita shake my shoulder again. I try to go back to the music, people dancing, and our house smelling like lasagna again, but I can't. "Nuh uh," I tell Rita. "Five more minutes," she say. The music is all gone now. There's clear plastic tubes stuck in my mommy's nose, they come out her nose and is taped to the side of her face, go up to a clear plastic bag hanging up above her head. Another tube is stuck in her throat, it has tape around it. Her hands got tubes stuck in 'em too and is all swole up. A machine is going whoosh- rump whoosh- rump whoosh- rump. The doctor is from Africa. He talks to me in French sometimes and looks at my homework. He tells jokes. But today he is not joking. "She's doing her very best to stay here, little man." He grabs me up in his arms. "But God may have other plans." He hand me to Rita, but Rita's skinny, can't hold me, puts me down. He leaves, comes back with a stool. "Here, stand on this. Come on, little man, your mommy's traveling. I want you to hold her hand." In the hall the nurse say, "I'm very sorry her condition is critical, absolutely no visitors except — " "Let them in!" Doctor say. White lady and lady with long dreadlocks come in and stand behind Rita at the foot of the bed. I'm scared to touch Mommy's hands with the tubes sticking in 'em. I look up at the doctor, frog eyes of his red, but he ain't cry. I ain't crying either. He walk over put my hand on Mommy's shoulder. "Wake up, Mommy." But her eyes don't open, she don't move. Then it's like when you turn down the TV set and can see the pictures moving around but ain't no sound. It's quiet. Mommy cough then go like ahh-ahh. Her head raises up a little but her eyes don't open then her head falls down. "Oh my god!" Rita say. Then the room is all noisy again, nurse in the hall talking, ma chine going whoosh- rump whoosh- rump, somebody drop something. The doctor pick me up like I'm a baby and carry me out the room. I look back as the door swing shut, the nurse is pulling the tubes out Mommy's hand.