I dreamt I was on a bus with Dorian and Maya. They were about the age they were while we still lived together. It was a brand-new bus, and it was on some kind of test ride, but it looked like something from the Fifties. It was roundish in shape, and it had smallish windows. It was dark green and it had a white roof. I remember that we were going down a steep ramp in an old multi-floor garage. My vantage point kept shifting. I was outside and above the bus as it kept turning down the ramp. I remember watching a small white van that maneuvered its way into a corner of the ramp to avoid the bus, but the bus still went for it and squeezed it into the corner. “This was deliberate!” I kept telling myself as I watched the crumpled van scurry away. One floor down, already on the ground level, the bus swung itself sideways into a concrete wall, and then rolled to its side. “This was deliberate!” I kept telling myself and the people who came out to see what had happened. “Hurry,” I told a couple of fellows who wore uniforms, “my children are inside!” And then the bus opened sideways in some strange way. People started coming out. It seemed no-one was hurt. First I spotted Dorian and then Maya. Frightened, they were crying. I was crying, too. I knelt on the concrete pavement and opened my arms for them. They came to me and we cried together. Painful as the whole experience was, it was wonderful to hold the children in my arms. I was still crying when I woke up.