Dream

I am driving. Surprising, actually, considering how much I drive on a daily basis that I don’t dream about driving more often. There is a familiar feel to being in my car, a kind of stillness that sits in stark contrast to the motion of the world around me. I am on the interstate. There’s road construction ahead and I slow to a stop. Cars begin to queue behind me. Slowly I inch forward till I am standing beside what looks to be a foreman.

I am no longer in my car. I look behind me; the other vehicles are still lined up in the same place. There is a white safety line, the kind you would see at a pedestrian intersection, drawn across the road. The foreman points to the construction. An entire section of the road is missing. Another man approaches and they begin talking about how long the work is going to take. He must be a geologist of sorts. He talks about the forces of weather, the wear of the wind, the elements, and the stability of the bedrock.

Glancing over his shoulder, I notice that I am sitting beside a cut through that leads to the other side of the interstate. There are other vehicles parked there, but there is room enough for mine to squeeze through. On either side of the interstate there is a small highway. I can double back, take the first exit cross over the interstate and drive along the feeder road to circumnavigate the construction.

I begin driving. I am back in my car. I look in the rear view mirror. The other cars are beginning to disperse. Some are following me; others are not patient enough to use the cut through and are driving over the median. Again others are opting to drive directly to the feeder road. I consider this for a moment, and recall the time I nearly got stuck in the mud and decide against it. There are cars coming. I dash across the highway and onto the opposite side of the road, only to realize that one of the cars is a police man in a black squad car. He passes me, but I see two more coming up in quick succession. I begin to accelerate and put on my blinker to merge into traffic. Suddenly a small black sports car shoots past at an incredible speed. The two highway patrolmen behind me take pursuit. For one brief instant I am sitting along side the officer, the radar reads 101.2.

“He was going over a hundred miles an hour” I think to myself. I am back in my car. The sports car has been pulled over. I pass them and get off on the next exit. The road rises over a small hill then drops down into a small country town. I take the first left and intend to circle around. I am a bit surprised that there is no bridge. No interstate either. I drive through the town a short distance before coming to an intersection. Glancing to my left I can see a short way down the road there is an onramp onto the interstate. I turn, but instead of taking the ramp I veer right and head towards the side highway.

I find myself wondering how I passed through the town without crossing the interstate. “A tunnel” I conclude, and while this makes no sense what so ever, I proceed with a kind of certainty that can only be found in dreams. I am on the edge of town when I see a train about to pull out along side the road. I park my car and, like Humphrey Bogart, jauntily hop on the caboose as it passes by.

The train is long and narrow. More like a children’s train that you might find at a zoo or a metropolitan park. Nonetheless I begin making my way across it, climbing steadily toward the engine. A conductor stops me and I hand him my wallet for safe keeping. As I continue to make my way forward the train becomes more crowded. A pair of young women dressed in swimwear lay in repose atop two of the carriages, one after the other, evidently tanning themselves.

I gingerly pick my way from carriage to carriage. Like the scene of a train culled from some film about nineteenth century India, the carriages become more and more crowded. Soon I find myself dropping over onto the sides of the train scaling the carriages in quick succession. Process continues to slow. Passenger cars are replaced by those carrying produce. The wooden panels are replaced by chicken wire and plastic mesh. Strawberries, peppers, and cherry tomatoes pass by. I am literally clawing my way forward.

Suddenly I have arrived. I stand up and look out over the country side. The interstate runs beside the track. I can see the construction that delayed my progress. It is slowly diminishing into the horizon. “I am going the wrong way!” The train is moving back towards the town! Somehow it has turned around. I look about frantically. I think “I need to jump off!” But the momentum of the train is too great. There are others here. A few young men, Hispanic, I think. I look at them imploringly and they return my gaze with one that is equally quizzical. We are all in the same boat. I pop a few tomatoes into my mouth. While bright red their taste is bitter, unripe.

I try to relax. “The train has to slow down as it passes back through town” I think to myself. Indeed it does, and I and two of the boys hop off with me. “I have a car” I say. We can all travel together. They nod in agreement.

As we make our way back to my car we seem to be passing through a series of tunnels, darkly lit passages that emerge periodically into terraced gardens. Progress is slow. Night seems to be approaching. As I make my way down one flight of stairs and then up another I run into yet another group of itinerant wanderers. We stop and explain our situation and they ask if they can come with. Agreeing I begin to jog forward towards my car. We are almost there. I look down and see a crumpled one dollar bill on the ground. I am afraid that one of my fellows may have seen it also and I hastily pick it up. Suddenly I remember that I had given my wallet to the conductor. “I don’t have gas money” I thought. “We will just have to make do, I guess.”

I push the dollar bill deeply into my back pocket. There is something else there: My wallet. “Where did that come from?” I flip it open, fives and tens are crammed into its folds.

“Whoa! You’re loaded” exclaims one of the boys behind me.
“I am never getting gas money from them now” I think.

My car is parked by the side of the road on a lawn of soft green grass that compliments the bright red paint of my Jeep. It looks inviting and I immediately feel a sense of relief. As I head towards the car I begin to wake up.

The predawn light is filtering in through the seems of the screen. It is early 6:30, possibly 6:45. I check the clock. It says 6:40. I swing my legs gently over onto one side and then carefull raise myself to sitting so as to assist my back with the weight.

Sitting on the edge of the bed the house is silent. Everyone is still asleep. I think about me dream for a minute. Suddenly the truth of it hits me. “Where was I going?” I shake my head and rub my eyes in a single gesture with thumb and forefinger before going to start the morning ritual of coffee.