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she died Michelle knew she would never forget a single detail about the dream she had that night. In fact, most nights after that October night on the veranda, Michelle fell asleep thinking about the dream. The dream of The White Room.
    Michelle Annabelle Lewis fell asleep under the stars to the rhythm of the waves cresting and beating against the rocks of the shore. When her mind pulled gently away from reality and entered the dream, she was still in the hammock, and had the fresh scent of the ocean in her nose.  
    The soft white light of the room emanated strong enough through her eyelids to let her know she was no longer swinging in the dark, suspended in the hammock above the veranda floor. Michelle had opened her eyes in the dream, revealing a sky above, filled with white puffy clouds that reminded her of a certain summer day spent in church. She heard the chirps of song birds in the distance, and instantly she felt welcomed, and at ease.
    “Shelly, sit up, we need to talk to you,” a man’s voice spoke to her. It was the soft tenor of her father’s voice.
    Michelle sat up in the hammock, steadying herself in the mesh of snow white rope. She swung her head around in the featureless white space, looking for her father. “Daddy? Where are you? Are you okay?”
    “I’m right here peanut.” From behind her.
    Before Michelle turned to the direction of the voice her heart was already pounding with glee. She had worried so badly about her mother and father since June. She had spent many an uncomfortable, sleepless night wondering what their fate was. When she turned, she saw her father sitting in a white chair against a white wall. He was dressed as she remembered him, wearing cotton khaki slacks, a button up white shirt, and a sweater vest. He loved his sweater vests.
    Michelle got herself off the hammock and ran to him. In The White Room she was barefoot, and her delicate feet danced across the soft white floor to him. He stood and embraced her for what felt like forever, and yet was not long enough.
    “You look good.” Her father smiled at her. She absorbed the familiar wrinkles of his face as she gazed on him.  
    “I look terrible. I haven’t taken good care of myself lately. If I were awake right now, you’d be chastising me for playing in the dirt.” Michelle smiled and wiped away the tears of joy running down her cheek. “How is mother, are you both okay?”
    Her father never lost his smile as he shook his head at her. “Oh no Shelly. We’re dead.”
    Michelle’s tears of joy abruptly stopped. “Wha-? What? How?”
    “We died in a bombing I think. We were at the townhouse we just bought in Richmond. We were doing well. We had plenty of food and water. One minute we were there, then we heard some loud explosions outside, then the next second we were gone. I just hope the explosion was powerful enough to destroy our bodies. I’d hate to think we are still out there menacing the living.” He smiled sadly.
    Michelle shook her head the whole time he spoke. “That can’t be. I mean…”
    “Oh it can be Shelly. It's okay. It was our time. No sense arguing the point. There are far bigger fish to fry now.” That was one of his favorite ways to distract her. Whenever Michelle became angry, or frustrated, he always told her to not worry or fret. After all, there are always bigger fish to fry.
    “You’ve met Oudry already?” It was less a question, and more of a presentation. As he asked her he gestured down and to his side, and Michelle noticed her dead guide had joined them in The White Room.  
    He sidled up next to her father and smiled a normal, boyish grin. His ravaged arm was made whole in the dream, and his ashen skin had returned to a healthy, dark sheen. Oudry’s smile was infectious, and Michelle couldn’t help but soak it in. He seemed so normal and loving here.
    “Hello Michelle. I’m glad to have been chosen to be with you.” Oudry said in clean accented English, in his own voice.