Part 1

                You are five years old, and it is dark. You hide alone in your closet, listening to your mother drunkenly thrash about your little apartment. You don’t quite understand what “drunk” means, but you heard nana and Papa talk about ‘it’ and your momma earlier today, while they looked at you " they seemed sad. This, this noise, the crashing, the giggling, the crying, the yelling " this must be what “drunk” is. You feel tears on your little cheeks, and you understand why “drunk” makes your nana and papa so sad " or is it angry? It makes you sad, too.

                You missed momma all day. You wanted to show her the finger painting you made for Mother’s Day at school today " you made pink, purple, and yellow flowers because they are momma’s favorite; but, she doesn’t know you, she doesn’t love you when she is like this. You don’t love her, either.

                You wipe away the tears, because you have to be brave. Little boys don’t cry, and Nana and Papa wouldn’t be happy if they knew you were sad. But then more tears fight their way from your puffy little brown eyes and roll onto your full little cheeks " how can you be brave when you are all alone?

                But then, a mysterious little hand appears in the darkness of your lonely closet and wipes away the tears for you. A little girl, a little girl that glows. She puts her finger to her lips as if to say “Shh…” though you haven’t said a word, and she smiles. You do not know if she’s real, but you smile too, because now you are not alone.

                You sit still, you sit quietly in that closet with that glowing, golden little girl who does not say a word; she sits with you, hugging her little knees to her chest. She only smiles. Your mothers “drunk” sounds don’t seem so loud or scary anymore, because you are not alone.

                “I am Andy,” You say quietly, “What is your name?” You wonder if maybe she’s a ghost, because she’s so quiet. Maybe you are dreaming. You reach out to touch her shoulder just to see if she’s real, but she takes your little hand in hers.

                “Hope.”

                “Oh.” You say. You don’t really know what to do now, but as the angry noise from outside begins to fade away, you start to fade away too. Sleepy…

                “Sweet dreams, Andy…” A cheerful little whisper from the little ghost girl sends you off to sleep in that cramped little closet; maybe you just needed to not feel so alone, even if Hope isn’t real…

                But you see her in your dreams, and when you dream, everything is so good; momma loves you there, and there is always Hope. You want to dream forever. Dream dreams of Hope.