In his dream, Adam ran into the kitchen to find Mrs. Might with a bowl of batter in one hand and a thick stack of pancakes beside her.
“Hon, why don’t you sit down and pour yourself a glass of milk? Your father will be done soon and then we’ll eat some breakfast.” Adam sat down and did what his mother requested – except for getting himself a glass of milk. His father came in a few moments later and sat down beside Adam. The bitter smell of cut grass clashed with the sweet, welcoming odor of fresh pancakes. Mr. Might was sweating buckets. “Gross, Dad,” said Adam. “Go hop in the shower or something.”
“It’s OK, son. Have some milk.” Mr. Might reached over Adam to grab the milk carton and poured Adam a glass. Sweat poured off of Mr. Might as though some invisible hand dumped water on him from above.
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Now, Adam, don’t make me tell you again. Drink your milk.” Adam grabbed the glass of milk and took a sip. It tasted salty.
“This milk is bad,” Adam said as he set down his glass.
“Nonsense, Adam. I just bought that carton yesterday,” said Mrs. Might as she brought the pancakes to the table. “Let’s just eat, shall we?” Adam looked up at his mother. She, too, was drenched with sweat. Everything in the kitchen glistened with a sheen of moisture. Mrs. Might plopped a plateful of pancakes in front of Adam. Fins and tails and scales poked out from every inch of the breakfast treats. “Eat up, hon.” Adam look from his plate back to his mother. A slick, gray fish wearing an apron asked him, “Aren’t you hungry?” Adam turned toward his father. Another gray fish sat in his father’s place, reading the morning paper. Adam looked down at his own hands. Fins had replaced them. “Aren’t you hungry, Adam, honey? Aren’t you-”