The only good dreams I ever had were about flying. On second thought, that probably just means those are the only good dreams I can remember. Scary dreams stick with you better, I think. There's more of an evolutionary advantage to keep those things which are dangerous and that frighten you close to the surface of your mind. We'll get to nightmares later.
They, the flying dreams, almost always began on a familiar playground at the top of a familiar slide. I knew what would happen when I went down the slide, and even though I never thought twice about doing it, I still felt fear. I'd be scared, and then I'd slide. The slides in my dream all, apparently, had invisible boosting ramps that turned you sharply upwards at the very end of your ride. I'd shoot up into the air and immediately assume I would fall even though I seemed to be propelled upwards and forwards in a controlled parabolic arch.
Maybe then my flying was more like a well done ramp stunt. Once I decided on a safe place to land I could suddenly sense the arch taking shape. If I took off from the blue slide at school and thought about the pool in the back yard of my Aunt Katy's house, it would just so happen to be exactly where I was headed. I'd begin my descent through the sky and, even though I was in reality lying in bed, I'd feel the G-forces press my insides up against my Adams apple. Down I'd fall through the sky, beginning to recognize streets and intersections near Aunt Katy's house until I saw her brown tiled roof with the olive tree in the front yard and the light blue pool in the back.
I never got to land in my dreams. Never the satisfaction of a splash to complete my journey, just sudden darkness and the strange softness of a warm comforter when I was expecting the bracing chill of chlorinated water. Aunt Katy moved out of that house shortly after she married my moms brother. Their new house doesn't have a pool or an olive tree. It does have a small rock climbing wall on the side of the detached garage. Rock climbing walls don't make very good landing spots. I don't have dreams about flying anymore anyway, so I don't mind. Now I wonder if I no longer dream of flying because I'm too big for slides, or because if I did go up, I'm not sure where I would be able to come down. I'd probably spend the whole time ascending through the atmosphere trying to think of a place to land until I put myself into orbit with indecision. Maybe I just can't remember the last flying dream I had where I end up a satellite drifting around in the exosphere. Maybe I'm still there.
Briefly, on nightmares: The one nightmare I can best recall ended with our Disney Jungle Cruise boat running aground near a grass hut in which waited a malevolent swamp monster with his red 1974 Chevy Nova, hungering for our babies. No need for further analysis; it’s pretty self explanatory.
