It wakes me up . . . I’m not sure if the Emmy that screams is real or not: if she’s screaming because they’ve found me and I’m not meant to be here; or if she’s just part of a dream. The reactions of the crew tell me that it’s neither. They panic and bluster. ‘No, god, I just had a nightmare.’ She gasps, laughs, asks for somebody to fetch her water. The psychiatrists told us that nightmares were common for people in our situation: that being confined, nowhere to go, in such a volatile and extreme set of circumstances could only lead to confusion and possible night-terrors. Emmy had it once, a few days in, and this is that time. I remember this. I unlatch myself from the floor and shuffle towards the cabin wall, where I watch myself and Quinn helping her up, both soothing her. I’m surprised at myself, at how forward I am. I didn’t realize. Guy passes her a water flask, Quinn bends down, tells her to Aaah for him, jokingly, and I stand behind them all and watch. Another thing that I didn’t realize: I’m quieter than I remember.
