Flood at the family Table

"So the water was rising outside. I could see it through the window, coming up the street, brown and slow and carrying stuff, branches, a trash can, somebody's folding chair. And I'm yelling at my mom, like "we have to go, we have to go now" and she's in the kitchen setting the table. Plates. Napkins. The good silverware. Like it was Thanksgiving. She kept saying "sit down, it's almost ready" and I'm looking at the window and the water's at the driveway now and I'm like "mom, there's no time" and she just kept folding napkins into these little triangles. One after another. I remember counting them. She had like ten done and she kept going. There were only four of us in the family. I don't know who the other napkins were for. I went to grab her arm and the kitchen was suddenly my grandma's kitchen, the old one with the yellow linoleum, and my grandma was there instead, stirring something on the stove, and the water was gone from outside. Everything was dry. I asked her where my mom went and she said "she's coming, sit down." So I sat down. Then the water came back. Through the door this time, under the door, spreading across the floor, and my grandma just lifted her feet up one at a time so her slippers wouldn't get wet and kept stirring. And I'm sitting at the table with my feet up on the chair and the plates are floating now, just drifting around the room, and I started laughing. I don't know why. It wasn't funny. But I laughed until I was crying and I couldn't tell the difference anymore. I woke up and my face was actually wet. I was crying for real. Took me a second to figure out where I was. My mom's still alive, by the way. She's fine. I called her that morning just to hear her voice and she talked about a coupon she found and I just listened. Didn't tell her about the dream. Didn't know how to explain the napkins. Or why I was crying over floating plates. I just let her talk about the coupon."