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Scene #7
Sleep Visions
Dreams are fleeting, or at least mine are. Once awake, my mushy brain floods with an abundance of annoying information sweeping away any remnants of a pleasant dream and the slim chance of making my humdrum day brighter. The busier I become the less likely I will recall that romantic interlude; frolicking in the morning sunshine amidst a field of flowers; or my husband Evan's favorite, winning the lottery.
As the day progresses, my daily column for the local newspaper finished, my sight and thoughts drift beyond the window to Cape Cod Bay. The curtains billow slightly and a warm breeze floats in with the wonderful scent of saltwater. With a deep breath, I relax considerably, my mind and body temporarily relieved of daily burdens. A slight wisp brushes my memory so faint and untouchable, much like that warm breeze. It's right there, but I cannot grasp it. The dream was sweet; I am sure of it since it left behind feelings of comfort, contentment, and happiness. Nevertheless, no matter how hard I struggle, it eludes me. I often wonder if this happens to others. It seems unfair that everyday life eradicates sleeping desires, however unattainable they might be.
Bad dreams, nightmares, and night terrors, of course, are entirely different. Those I remember in vivid detail leaving an indelible splotch for many years, if not forever. However, recurring nightmares are the most horrible unless one is fortunate enough to overcome his or her fear and take control of the dream. I have only succeeded in accomplishing this once.
Unlike most of my bad dreams, which always play out in daylight, I find myself walking along the edge of a dirt road late at night. Tents and old wooden stands litter both sides of the road, each with vendors selling wares of some sort. Behind them, several people mill aroung a campfire drinking and laughing. Although I cannot understand a word, I know they are making sport of the tourist that dare to venture here. Ignoring them all, I keep walking. My destination is unclear; I only know I have one.
Suddenly, an inexplicable feeling makes my skin crawl and I know without a doubt something ominous lurks from behind me. Glancing around I realize these strange people would never help me, I asked many times before. Briefly,I question why I return here in my sleep, but that thought quickly passes and my instincts rally along with my inner voice screaming, Jessie, you idiot, run!
Instantly the air becomes thick and my legs laden. Looking down, I half expect to find myself knee-deep in mud, but there is nothing, so I continue to try, although my fright is overwhelming.
To my left a shadow passes, skirting around the campfires. Everyone lowered his or her eyes, not willing to face evil head-on, except one small boy who looked directly at it. An elderly woman rushed to the child, swept him up and dashed inside a tent. The menacing shadow faltered which provided me a split second to see it for the first time...ever. It was a man—a large, frightening man-but just a man nonetheless.
Somehow, I know in the deepest part of my being he does not want that boy; he craves girls—my girls, and the two of them are in the tent ahead. Anger quickly replaces my fear. Forcing my legs forward, I break through to clean air and unhampered movement. Reaching my daughters long before he could, I snatch up their little hands, move them to another tent, and hide until the man gives up his search.
I awake triumphant and secure in the knowledge that that particular nightmare will never darken the recesses of my mind again. Yet, in order to conquer the dream, I interjected my daughters there, and placed them in harms way. Perhaps I had to save them in order to save myself.
My conquest,however, was short-lived. A week or so later, in a dream, I witnessed my older sister, Cassie, foolishly mount her husband Jim's motorcycle, position her hand on the accelerator and swiftly rotate it forward. The bike was large and powerful and Cassie, much like me, is short and petite. Simultaneously, the front end of the motorcycle rose up, shot out from under her, and she sailed off the back. Jolting upright, I was awake and gasping for air before she hit the asphalt.
Mulling this nightmare over for several hours, I considered how abnormally familiar it was. Typically, in my nightmares, almost everything is strange or even bizarre, whereas in this dream I stood at the end of her driveway, on her road, observing the houses across the street from her house. It all appeared precisely as it is in reality. I found this a little disturbing.
Approximately a month later Cassie phoned, laughting uncontrollably, relating what happened that morning when she attempted to drive Jim's motorcycle. The entire incident mimicked my dream exactly right down to the clothes she wore. Cassie managed to escape with only a few small cuts and bruises. Jim's bike however...let's just say it's a good thing she fell off
it.
Possibly Cassie would not think me deranged or deluded, but I did not confess to predicting her accident. I convinced myself it was a fluke; an implausible coincidence—until it happened several more times.
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