family chapel

It was about twenty years ago. Everyone in my dream, including me, was much younger than they are now - twenty years or so younger. I was at my grandparents' house, looking out the front window. I could see the street stretching up the hill, leading up to where my parents lived at the top. An old model dark blue station wagon raced into view, appearing on the crest of the hill and crusing rapidly down, coasting all the way in reverse. I watched it with excitement as it backed into the driveway and parked in the garage under the house. I knew by the daring driving that it must be my uncle. I heard my grandfather go down into the garage to check over the car, and the rest of the family waited for my uncle, aunty and cousins to come upstairs into the house. I checked my hair and lipstick in the mirror, eager to see them. They arrived; my cousins were young children again and I hugged them to me. We went into a room, much like a family chapel, that had a section for sitting and praying, and an alter section. The entire family sat on the ground as the room sloped dangerously down toward the alter. The wall behind the alter was painted a dark red. I was nursing twin cousins (who don't exist in waking life), admiring their pumpkin-coloured curls, whilst doing my best to control my growing anxiety about the sloping floor, fearing that I would slide down and disappear.