Epiphanies for a Dream

...Cecila often dreamed of what it might be like to fly away, to taste the clouds. At night, she wet the pillow with the fantasies of young pioneers, drifting, gliding on familiar foreign surfaces.  Her mother, a woman who had long since put her dreams into storage bins, believed her daughter’s dreams to be a folly. At night, she would peek past her daughter's room only to shake her head in dismay, though jealous with admonition: “We’ll never fly,” her mother would whisper to herself then retire to her bedroom, carefully laying down her tired body beside her old-married, holding her breath with her mouth agape as not to wake him...