Wake Me When Its Over

It was an abrupt and alarming way to start the new day. I woke up with my heart racing like I'd run a marathon. I wasn't sick and my ticker wasn't about to give out. It was just a dream. But when fully conscious and my wack-a-doo pulse returned to normal, I silently thanked God for letting me come out of it alive and apparently still breathing.

I don't usually remember dreams, even the bad ones. Which I guess is a blessing because the ones that stay fresh upon arising are generally of the nightmare variety. Yet if I put my mind to it I can fondly recall a handful of really cool dreams; the kind I'd stay gladly asleep so I could dream them longer. But I don't get to dream like that very often because most of my nocturnal visions seem not very pleasant. Disturbingly tragic yet nonsensical. Think 'King Lear' with Bart Simpson cast in the lead. 

Actually I'm not sure how often I dream, but this one from the other morning I was only too happy to wake up from. I was a passenger in a car being driven by my late grandmother. Grandma Mason was a notoriously bad driver; an accident waiting to happen. Surviving any ride with Grandma- even to the grocery store and back- was good; good for subtracting 6 months to a year off of anybody's lifespan. Anyway, we were on a big freeway going someplace indiscernible. Traffic was generally light, moving along at a normal speed, and it was a perfect sunny spring day. The sun was to the left and going down, but still high enough to produce a rich late afternoon glow.

Grandma was yammering on about something I wasn't interested in and not paying attention to the road, when the car began to drift. It was like something bumped us, but glancing around I noticed no other vehicles nearby. But the car didn’t slow down. It was like nobody was behind the wheel which, when driving with Grandma was probably a good thing. But after the mystery nudge, the car picked up momentum and glided towards the shoulder of the pavement. Other traffic seemed to see us, though, and seemed to gravitate away, giving us a wide berth for us to continue moving off to the right, as if that’s exactly where the car wanted to go.

Feeling a touch nervous, I said, "Gramma slow down a little, okay?" But she wasn't paying any attention to me or anything else; she was gabbing about some apple pie recipe she wanted to try with eyes focused on the horizon and driving undaunted, as if nothing unusual was happening. Still whizzing along on the fringe of the freeway, I stared through the windshield and noticed a drop off in the pavement coming up very quickly. As we drew closer it appeared to be a pot hole. And if Grandma didn't slow down we were going to roll over the concrete depression at about 65 miles an hour; a  jolt sure to cause a blowout or really ding up the alignment. That was my last thought as the front tires went over the lip of the pothole.

But it wasn't a pothole.

As the car cleared the dip, it soared into an abyss as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon. The giant maw looked dark and foreboding, and the walls and base appeared jagged and unforgiving. As we continued to fall, I had the quick presence of mind to wonder why in God's name we were careening into this ocean-sized open trench. Where'd it come from? Who bumped us?  Why weren't any warning signs posted? I wanted to push the door open and jump out. But it was stuck shut and wouldn't have been any help anyway--the car was already tumbling into an inescapable plunge and moments from hitting rock bottom. We were clearly about to die.

That's when I woke up.

My mind ran in a million different directions trying to interpret the imagery I fortunately woke from. Was it a warning; a foretelling of doom and death. Like the 'Ghost of Christmas Furture', was it a spooky spirit showing me how I'm going to meet my mortality? Should I be worried? Should I never get in a motorized vehicle again?

Nah. It was none of that stuff. Just all those terrifying car rides with Grandma finally coming back to haunt me. LOL...Have a nice day.