The Urban Legend

The urban legend was this:
If you die in your dream, then you will most certainly die for real the very next day.
I heard this rumor kicking about the soccer ball one afternoon at recess. I was nine, and my childish ears curiously listened to my "wisened" friend as she explained to me what her older sister had told her:
"She knows someone who knows someone who died after they had a dream where they drowned. For real." My friend said this in a knowing whisper, and it raised goosebumps on my arms.
But the moment passed, and I gratefully pushed it from my mind.
And then one night I had a dream.
And in the dream I died.
And I went up to Heaven.
And Jesus was there, and really, I had a lovely time, and I wasn't scared at all.
But then I woke up, and I was my nine-year-old self again, very alive.
And I was scared.
And right then, I just knew. I knew that I was going to die.
All day I waited for it to happen. Would it happen at school? On the bus? I hoped that it would just be me, and that my twin brother wouldn't die too, or my mom, but I did worry about being terribly lonely without my mama and my brother.
And I was sooooo scared.
I wasn't ready to die! I wanted to write the next Great American Novel, and I wanted to be an Olympic gold medalist, and I wanted to go to college and have babies. I didn't want to die. Why did I have to have that awful dream?! It wasn't fair, and I was so, so sad. So scared.
Well, the whole day passed and I never died.
But then I knew how it must work: I figured that the next night when I went to sleep, I would be taken to the next world while I dreamt. And then I was relieved, because I didn't think that would hurt very much.
So that night, I carefully brushed my hair and my teeth. I changed my underwear.
I pulled out a clean sheet of paper and wrote in my childish script careful instructions on how to feed my cat and my fish. I said goodbye, and that I was sorry.
I hugged my mom extra hard that night, never wanting to let go. I was never going to lie in her lap again, smell her shampoo, feel her warm hug.
And it hurt too much.
So I ran from her, ran outside. I curled up in the garden and wept.
My cat came to me then, curious as to why I would be outside like this at such a late hour. And I was so happy for the company! I hugged her fiercly, sobbed the Dying's Cry of all that could have been and all that I would miss.
And then I dried my eyes.
I stood up.
I went to my bed, crawled under the covers, closed my eyes.
And I waited to die.
And in so many ways my eyes have never opened.
And I am waiting.
Still.