I wake up to an alarm clock that won’t shut up. I slam my fist down on the snooze button a few times. Once I’ve dragged myself out of bed, I hurry to get ready. On my way out of my bedroom, I grab a pen and cross off the last day of March on my calendar and flip it over to April.
I rush downstairs to find an apple sitting on the dining room table with a sticky note stuck to it reading Don’t be late to school! Luv you, Mom. Moms really shouldn't use slang terms. It’s just too weird.
I take a bite out of the apple as I throw my hair back into a ponytail. A piece of the sticky note gets caught in my teeth, and I end up having to pick it out with the tip of my fingernail. Then as I’m pulling my hair through the end of the hair tie, it snaps. Damn, I think, searching for another hair tie in the bottom of my half-opened backpack.
You’ll be late to school, forget the hair tie, I tell myself. I rush out the door after quickly grabbing a water bottle from the refrigerator that I filled with orange juice last night.
After locking the front door behind me, I accidentally drop my key in the rose bushes. Seriously? I internally scream at myself. Once my arms are thoroughly scraped against the thorns, I dig my key out of the dirt and jog down the driveway. I check my watch. I beat the bus. Thank God.
Soon the bus comes into view, and it’s down the street picking up a few other kids from my school when I see a little boy playing with a basketball on his driveway. He can’t be more than 4 or 5. I vaguely wonder whether his parents even know he’s outside this early.
The ball rolls into the street, directly in the path of the big yellow school bus. Then everything starts happening in slow motion. I know what’s going to happen. I’m too far away for the bus driver to see me waving my arms, too far away for the kid to hear me screaming. I can’t stop it. All I have the power to do is stand and watch.

Then I’m back in my bed. My alarm clock’s blaring in my ears.
“Get out of the road!” I scream, flailing crazily. It takes me a moment to get my bearings. It was a dream. But it felt so real.
I sit up and look at my calendar. It’s still turned to March. And the last day of the month hasn't been crossed out yet. Thank God, it was just a dream.
I wake up like a zombie, still obsessing over how real my nightmare felt.
Meandering into the kitchen for breakfast, I catch a glimpse of red on the table. An apple. It has a sticky note on it. Don’t be late to school! Luv you, Mom. An incredible feeling of deja vu passes over me, but I can’t figure out why. I shake the deja vu from my head and grab the apple, taking a huge bite. I get a piece of the sticky note caught on my teeth, swearing as I try to pry it out with my fingernail. Then the deja vu’s there again. Maybe that nightmare’s just messing with my head, I tell myself.
I instinctively dig into my backpack, grabbing a hair tie as I eat my apple. I pull back my hair and twist the hair tie around once, then as I twist it around for a second loop, it snaps. Damn. I can’t find another hair tie, so I have to go without one.
After locking the front door behind me, my key slips out of my hand and falls into the rose bush. And again, my memories swim with the feeling of having forgotten something. I pick up my key and pry my scraped-up arm and hand from the ride bush. Then I move to the edge of my driveway to wait for the bus.
A kid down the street is playing with a basketball in his driveway.
Deja vu. The feeling of complete hopelessness from my nightmare comes back in full force.
The apple. The sticky note. The hair tie. The key. The kid with a basketball.
I’m reliving my nightmare. I must be asleep. I pinch myself. Nothing.
My mind is spinning, and somehow my feet have begun to move. I’m sprinting down the road, painstakingly slowly closing the distance between me and the boy running into the street. The boy hasn't noticed me. He’s bending over to grab his ball. The bus is coming quickly down the road. The driver has headphones in. His eyes are wandering. He doesn't see us. I slam into the boy and attempt that move the hero uses in the action movies where they rush in and shove the civilian out of the way of a car and somehow they both make it safely to the other side of the road, but it doesn't work out quite so eloquently for me.
The bus is coming towards us, its yellow side hits my head, I hear a crunching sound and I feel the boy cowering next to me on the pavement, his small eyes widening in fear.

Then I’m back in my bed, and my alarm clock screeches at me once again.