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is to have the car for the night. I am so angry at her, I could hit her, and when we round a bend in the trail, and rain has washed away a hillside, Sarah slips, loses her balance, and in one swift, horrible instant, I push her, and she goes over the cliff.
    That’s when I wake up.
    I don’t often go back to sleep after that dream.
    Then something changes. I meet someone who wakes me up from this weird haze I’ve been in, and I don’t know why. He is the last person on earth I would think could wake me.
    The first time I see Krishna, he is walking past me on the sidewalk. I am leaning against the wall outside Sacred Grounds, the coffee shop where I work, smoking a cigarette. Just off my shift, I feel on edge, shaky from lack of sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Sarah. I am haunted by the nightmare, the frightening realness of it.
    So he walks past me, and he is wearing a loose white shirt that sets off his olive skin and dark hair. He is gorgeous, but he is also definitely a hippie type, which I am officially swearing off after David. I know he’s a hippie or some kind of freak because he’s wearing an orange sarong below his white shirt. He even looks a little like David, which is the first thing I notice about him.
    When I catch his eye, I don’t smile. Instead I take a drag on my cigarette.
    â€œThat’s not going to make you feel any better,” he says, and keeps walking.
    I stop midpuff. I wasn’t expecting a lecture on smoking, and he has my attention now for some reason I can’t imagine. Some part of me wonders if he can read my thoughts or feel the darkness of my nightmares. Seeming to sense it, he turns and looks at me over his shoulder, smiling like freaking Gandhi.
    Any other day I would have rolled my eyes and told him to go blow himself. Today though, haunted as I am, I just stare at him with the cigarette dangling from my lips.
    He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and seems to make a decision. Then he comes back and says, “I’m on my way to a community dinner at the meditation center over the hill. Any chance you’d like to join me?”
    I am so caught off guard I laugh. “Really? You want me to fucking go to dinner with you?”
    â€œYes. I do.”
    â€œHow do you know I’m not a serial killer?”
    He smiles, revealing straight, white teeth. Jesus teeth. “I have faith.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t.”
    â€œI’ll take my chances.” He says all this without even the slightest vibe of flirtation, which is confusing as hell. He has the sort of mellow energy that reminds me of the guy my parents used to call their spiritual leader.
    I underestimated his attractiveness when I first saw him. Now that I see him full on, he has these beautiful green eyes that seem unreal next to his olive skin. That he doesn’t seem to be flirting makes him all the more attractive. I’ve always loved a challenge.
    â€œOkay, sure,” I say. “Why not?”
    He smiles broadly. “Great.”
    Almost laughing again, and also thinking I’ve lost my mind, I follow him. I get in the car that he has parked in the town’s main lot across the street. The rusty, burgundy car is so old I can’t even tell what kind of Toyota it is. The cloth seats maybe used to be red but are now faded to pink. The inside is clean though and smells like that incense shit Lena is always burning. From the rearview mirror hangs a string of brass beads that have some Asian-looking symbols etched into them.
    As he gets in the driver’s seat, I note his firm muscles and lightly hairy legs beneath the orange sarong thing.
    What if he’s the serial killer? I don’t think I care all that much. I just want to see what happens next.
    â€œMy name is Krishna,” he says before starting the car.
    Of course it is. “Hi, Krishna. I’m Rachel.”
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you, Rachel.”
    â€œSo what’s