These Dreams…

It was my father I first talked to about my dreams. I wasn’t sure who else to approach, and it was such a strange problem to have. It’s just that I don’t remember the vast majority of my dreams. I know, most people don’t. We wake up recalling what we’d just dreamt, but within minutes the clarity and detail is lost.

Except, I had certain dreams that didn’t fade. The memories stayed with me, haunting me. They weren’t bad dreams, but I always felt like there was something important happening. Why else would I remember them?

But this isn’t why I’d come to him. The more recent problem was. I’d begun to experience moments that felt like I was reliving one of my dreams. I would have the exact same conversations, go through the same actions. Of course I already knew what déjà vu was thanks to Monty Python, and this didn’t seem right. I didn’t feel like I’d done the same thing. I felt certain it was my dreams guiding me.

So I went to my father, who listened patiently before suggesting that I needed to keep a written description for any dreams that might seem prophetic. That word stuck with me. These were prophetic dreams, dreams of a possible future, but one that might be altered if I had forewarning that the moment was coming.

And the funny thing is, for many years after that point, I had no more dreams that felt like messages of the future. Perhaps it was psychic performance anxiety. I went to bed and thought, Tonight, I want to be open to the future. And so, I was so eager to perform that I couldn’t give my mind over to the state of calm that must be required for such a feat.

But, years, later, I did have a dream, and I did make an effort to jot down a note about it. There was a car wreck, and I was driving. The car I was in was red. I saw the hood and thought it was some kind of sports car for the steep sloped angle. It was snowing, and there was ice on the road. I was slowing down to turn in at an apartment complex, and someone was talking to me. I couldn’t hear them under the radio, and I never really saw who else was in the car.

The car slid and I tried to yank the wheel into the turned, making the slide faster, and bringing the car around in a swerve. In the driveway of the apartment was a brick-lined sign. I didn’t see the name because my attention stayed with the bricks as the driver’s side door moved to meet the wall. It did and then I was looking down at the dor shoving my legs, mashing them together, and then snaping them both. I felt nothing.

I woke up and jotted a note.

Four months pass, and I get a phone call from my aunt. I have to give you some history to appreciate this. I have never really cared for this aunt, nor did I ever truly trust her up to a certain point in my life. To me, she was “the bad guy” or one of several “bad guys” who had managed to turn my young life into a living hell.

So imagine my surprise when she called at my mother’s apartment, asking to speak with me. She and I hadn’t spoken in years. I took thephone from my mother and we exchanged greeting before my aunt said, “I know this is unusual, but I wonder if you’re okay?” I said I was, and she explained, “I had a dream about you. You were hurt in an accident.”

I felt cold. The memory of my legs breaking came back with dreadful ease, and I aksed my aunt to be more specific about the accident. Was there another car? “Oh, no, just yours. It was a red car, and you slid on some ice. I think you broke your legs, but I wasn’t sure if you survived or not.”

Well, this was a new dimension to the dreams. Not only was I really seeing the future, but I was sharing it with someone. But when would it happen? Obviously, in Winter, and obviously, not in San Antonio, because it almost never snows in San Antonio. Still perhaps I was due for a move to some other city with a similar style.

More time went on. I joined the Army, had many misadventures and came close to serving time for…stuff. I came home and got back to work. This required a car, so my step-dad got me a Dodge Neon.

A red Dodge Neon. Yes, alarm bells went off the first time I got in the car. The hood looked just about right. My step-dad said I was being paranoid. Mom wasn’t so sure, but I did need a car.

I met Naomi in October, just one month after I left the Army. I was still sporting short hair, but I’d grown out the facial hair on my lip and chin and dyed it all black to make the clear hairs visible and give me a fake moustache and goatee. I had plans to start filming my public access show again, and I was pulling together whatever friends were willing to try their hand at comedy acting. (Which is sometimes an oxymoron, as I’m sure you know.)

Naomi was a friend of a friend, but from the moment she saw me, she was interested. No, really interested. I’ve never seen a woman throw herself at me so fast. I later found out why; I looked like a shorter, younger version of her ex. Given that I had the chance to have hawt sex with a genuine fashion model, I wasn’t complaining about being the bounce-back fuck. Sure, eventually it meant she’d drop my ass like a bad habit, but I wanted to enjoy the ride while it lasted. (And oh, what a ride.)

In any case, Christmas-time found me with a hot girlfriend, a shiny red Neon with a sports racing package, and…a white Christmas. Huh, imagine that. And, you would think that I would notice these prime dream-doom conditions, given the several warnings I’d already received.

Nope! I had no clue because I was taking Naomi back to her place for some intimate time. I was thinking about as well as you might expect under the circumstances. In fact, my exact thoughts were something like, Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy…

But the slide started and I realized that the sign I’d only glimpsed in my dream was the sign to Naomi’s apartment. Then yes, I remembered the dream. Unsure of what else to do, I turned the wheel in the opposite direction, trying to slide the car bar out into the middle of the street.

The car shuddered, spun a few inches more, and then stopped. We were nowhere near the wall. I panted laughter, eyes wide as I started to smile. Naomi demanded to know what was so funny, and of course, I couldn’t tell her. What was I supposed to say? That after fifteen or so years of trying to figure out how my powers worked, I finally got it right and had proof.

Sadly, I don’t have proof. I’d lost the note I wrote before joining the army, and now my aunt is gone. I had another dream a few years alter, a dream I shared with a cousin. But that was not a dream of the future, and so I don’t feel it rightly belongs in this account.

And no, since then, I cannot recall ever again having a prophetic dream. It’s like my desire to know the future clouds my ability to actually see it. I’ve been given proof that my powers work, but I can’t really tap into them because I give myself performance anxiety.

I also don’t remember most of my dreams. So, if I ever run across a dream I really remember, I’ll be sure to blog about it. Who knows? It might help me save my life again.