Today’s topic is: Write about a recurring dream you have.
I have had a recurring nightmare for the past few years. I think it started after my motorcycle wreck, which was totally unrelated, but did some things to my brain, not all of which were bad. This isn’t one of the more positive stories, though.
I am on the annual sixth grade field trip to Lake Powell. It’s the pizza party on Thursday night at the resort, and a group of boys thinks it would be funny to “spike” my soda. As they start to pour the drug into the drink, one of the other teachers sees it happening, but is too far away across the room and there is too much noise for him to shout in warning. So I drink it, and as meds always do, it hits me immediately.
Everything starts to happen in slow motion. I fall to the floor, the glass of soda still in my hand. It shatters, and my colleague sees a piece of glass fly through the air and hit my face, where it draws a small drop of blood. He focuses on that drop of blood, he can’t take his eyes off it. He feels like he is moving through gel or mud, and can’t get to me fast enough to stop me from hitting the ground.
I know he is fussing over me as I lay on the floor. There is a crush of people, he leans over me, yelling for someone to call 9-1-1. I am limp, and all I want to do is sleep. Sleep itself is like an addictive drug, and I want it more than anything. Later, I swim to semi-consciousness in time to see a giant needle of some antidote shoved into my arm. I want to scream, but I can’t.
“She’ll be alright now,” someone says, maybe a paramedic. His voice sounds very far away. I am carried out of the restaurant by someone else, and deposited on the bed in the resort room where we are staying overnight. All I want to do is sleep.
Sometime the next morning, my colleague is shaking me awake. “Get up,” he says, urgently, then he puts his arms around my back and practically lifts me out of the bed and out of sleep. “You have to get dressed,” he says, “we are going to be late.” He means be late for the rafting trip that the kids are going on, I think, and I resist. “Shhhhh,” he says, “I am not letting you get on a raft.”
Everything is gray as I try to get some clean clothes on, with help, as I am unable to do it myself because I keep collapsing back into sleep. Eventually, I am packed and ready, and think vaguely how sad I am that I will miss the fabulous breakfast buffet that the resort prepares for us each year. By the time I am ready, it is time to board the tour buses. I am the very last one on, half carried. I am conscious of everyone looking at me, but quickly averting their eyes as they see the grim stormy look on my cohort’s face. He bundles me into the front seat where I always sit, and he sits beside me. I feel his protective body language, although he does not touch me
The bus empties, the kids are gone. They are en route to the bottom of Glen Canyon Dam where the rafting trip begins. I realize that my colleague and I are alone on the tour bus. “Aren’t you going rafting?” I ask sleepily. “No,” he replies. “There are plenty of other adults to chaperone. Besides, you need breakfast.” I almost laugh. I am regaining consciousnesss and control, and he gets the bus driver to take us to a strip mall in Page where there is a small café. He buys me breakfast. We sit and talk, I don’t remember any of the conversation, but I remember I eat two poached eggs, bacon, and toast, my favorite breakfast.
After a couple of hours we head to Lee’s Ferry, where the kids are getting off the rafts. I want to sleep again, and I am pulled into blackness as I again sit in the front seat of the bus. I barely remember anything about the trip home, and all I want is more sleep.
When I finally wake up for real, I am in my own bed, it’s really morning, and I have to go to work. Maybe by writing this, I will stop having this nightmare!