point of awareness

i half-dreamed i was talking to an old lady on a bus, and she asked me to hold out my hands, palms up, and depending on which hand was lower, right or left, i'd know how many good dreams, and how many bad dreams, i had left in me for the rest of my life. i couldn't tell which hand was lower and was about to ask her which hand meant good and which hand meant bad when she raised her own hand to me and slapped me square in the chest, hard and purposefully, as though she were trying to pound life back into me, clucking angrily. "there!" she cried, "there! stupid girl. this was a test! the dreams aren't in your hands. they're in your heart. wake up!" she slapped my chest, right between my breasts, again. hard. she was furious and frustrated with me. the thumping noise her palm made against my sternum dragged me up from my half-sleep. i lay there wondering what on earth that was all about.