Isabel was sitting cross-legged on her made bed. She didn't seem to make any indentation or even crease, like she was floating on the surface.
"Hello, Isabel. I'm Bob," he said, holding out his hand just like he would to anyone. He would not treat her differently until he himself saw a reason to.
Isabel grabbed his hand with both of hers and said, "to some people I would say, 'stop looking at the sky. Look around you,' but to you I would say, 'look at the sky.'"
Unlike with Sarah, Bob knew not to expect anything, so he was not disarmed.
"How can you tell so quickly?" he asked.
"How long does it take to see something? How quickly can you tell me that it's raining?" She looked straight at him. "Autistic my ass," thought Bob.
"How long have you been sitting in that position?"
"A few days."
"But don't the nurses want to make the bed?"
"I have not disturbed their bed."
Days. Without moving enough to crease the sheet. She was like a yogi of the highest caliber - surrounded by fools.
"Why are you here, Isabel?"
"To dream."
"Are you dreaming?"
"I am the dream."
"But why did they put you here?" he asked.
"Who are they?"
"The doctors … your family."
"When you blow, which way does it go?"
"Whichever way I'm facing."
"No," she said with complete authority. "Whichever way the wind blows."
"So the wind brought you here?"
She smiled at Bob. Or rather, she smiled and Bob was watching.
"Would you consider leaving?" he asked.
"I am not concerned about such things. Have you seen the maples?"
"What maples?"
"The two maples," she answered. "I will show you." She slipped off the bed without a trace of stiffness. The sheets were still perfectly smooth.
Objects: two maples