Tracy fought for consciousness. The words on the computer screen blurred, forming crooked images in front of her watering eyes. She suppressed a yawn, and typed a message over InstantMessager. I should go to bed. I feel like I’m going to pass out here.
A moment later, a reply appeared. Fine! Go. Get some sleep and leave poor Taylor alone. *pout* Actually, I was about to say the same. The letters are starting to make as little sense as you. *g*
Hey! Well, okay you weirdo. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?
Okay. Let me know when you get my letter, all right?
Okay. Goodnight, T-Bone.
Hey! Enough about the Montreal concert. I’m never wearing those pants again.
Good! And, good night. ’Night. She logged off and shut down her computer. Her bed loomed a few feet away, seemingly agreat distance. She stepped forward, and collapsed on top of the comforter. She struggled underneath it, and became one of the sleeping.
Tracy awoke the next morning to sunlight pouring into her room through the dainty white curtains, illuminating the wall beside her, and the picture tacked to it. She sleepily ran her fingers over the snapshot of the Hanson family, in all their respective blond, and brunette glory, waving at the camera. That one night would never leave her, and neither would they. She smiled, and cuddled up with her pillow in hopes of a few more moments of rest before the day challenged her to actually do something.
“Tracy Dennis?”
She sat bolt upright in bed. Ice cold sweat formed on her neck, and ran down her back. She glanced around. “Mom! Don’t scare me like that!”
Her mother chuckled. “Okay. Just wanted to let you know that Taylor’s on the phone.”
She glanced at the clock. 11:47 AM. She sighed in relief. Everything would be fine.
