Friday, September 25, 2009

Disneyland, a Little Girl, and a Dangerous Walkway

I've decided to share my dreams with you all more often than I do now (which is pretty much never.) When I say "dreams" I don't mean hopes and visions for the future. I'm talkin' about crazy, strange randomness that happens in my brain when I'm sleeping.

The primary goal of this dream disclosure is, of course, entertainment. However, I'm not closed to the idea of feedback - thoughts as to what my dreams mean and such. If you can make sense of the madness, by all means speak. :)

Let's talk about last night's dream, then...

I'm at Disneyland with my family - parents, brothers and sisters and their spouses, and a little girl. It's late in the day - that time when the sun has fallen behind the mountains - but the sky retains the brilliance of the moments before when the sun was out. Disneyland isn't Disneyland. It's like a mix between Disneyland, Hogle Zoo, and the west desert of Utah. I look down at the little girl who holds my hand and walks tired next to me. She's probably about two years old. I ask my parents, who walk ahead of us, who she is and they look back at me like I'm a moron but don't respond. I realize, then, that I'm wearing one of those strap-your-child-to-your-back contraptions and carrying a diaper bag to boot, giving me the vague impression that she might be my daughter. Usually this thought would freak me out. I've got a little girl who could be my daughter next to me and I have no idea who she is nor who the mother could be. For some reason, though, I'm not fretting, but instead I accept the situation and continue on as if all is normal.

We get outside the park to one of those motorized walkways. Colorful signs indicate that this walkway would take us out to our parking spot, so we climb aboard. Things are good for awhile, as the walkway moves along at a reasonably slow pace. My family is talking about the day and laughing about this and that - their voices muffled by the similar conversations of people around us. Its really nice. I look ahead of us and see that the walkway climbs steeply in the distance, like a roller coaster. I notice, too, that the walkway is going faster. I look around, trying to hide my panic, hoping that somebody sees what I do, but my family and everyone else on the damned thing seems completely oblivious to the fact that we're now hurdling through the desert at an insane speed. With little time to act, I decide to strap the little girl into the article on my back for safety and just barely get her in when we hit the incline.

Momentum carries us almost all the way to the top of what is probably a fifty foot rise, but the slickness of the walkway becomes very apparent here and I start sliding back down toward people. I drop the diaper bag, watching the wind carry it away from us to where it crashes violently into the windshield of a car below. Bending down, I dig my fingers into the walkway, which was made of felt and leather, all grey, and desperately try to cling on as we rise over the incline.

As we come over the top I see that the walkway splits into multiple directions below, twisting and passing each other like a California freeway. My parents and family are already well ahead of us, having taken one of the off-shoot walkways. The descent is horrifyingly long and steep, and as we begin to fall I pull the little girl around from my back and hold her tightly in my arms. In an instant, the path my parents took whizzes by us - nothing more than a blur - and I see them in the distance raising their hands as if to say "where are you going!?" I have no time to respond, though, because in a flash we're well down the chute and out into the middle of the desert. I begin to panic; not because of how far away we are from everybody, but because I can see the walkway suddenly end ahead. I look behind me and see nobody. I wonder how in the hell everyone else got off - my mind as blurred as the landscape that shoots by us - and then feel the walkway disappear beneath us.

There is a moment of peaceful weightlessness. The cool desert air rushes against my face. The only sound is the wind. And then we begin to fall. I look ahead and below us, observing the abandoned gas station that we're about to hit and scarcely have time to think of the ramifications of such an impact before the collision happens.

The next thing I know, I'm sitting in the middle of a dirt road. The gas station is on my left and is on fire - part of the building collapsed and broken. On my right, in the road, there is a car turned over, badly contorted and on fire. People have stopped to help the people in that car and an ambulance whines in the distance as it makes it's way toward us.

I stand up and realize that there is no sign of the little girl. I walk into the gas station and see nothing. I walk outside and ask the people if they've seen the little girl and they reply in the negative, then tell me I need to sit down and wait for the ambulance. I shake my head and start walking down the desert road, intent on getting home. The people shout at me and ask where I'm going, but realize that I'm not listening and continue tending to the accident victims. I pull out my iPhone to make a call, marveling at the fact that it is unscathed, but I realize that I have no signal out there and put it away. I keep wondering about the little girl - where she went, if she's still alive, how she disappeared - when a young man, Latino, dressed like a gang member, walks up to me and tries to talk to me. I'm afraid he's seen my phone and is about to mug me. I don't remember what he says, but I brush him off and he returns to a small hill adjacent to the road, where he and his friends warm themselves over a fire in a barrel. I walk off into the desert...

And then I wake up.



  1. Weird! I seriously love that you can remember then so vividly. You're going to be a dad soon, weirdness...just kidding

  2. Clearly, you hate your mother.

    hehehe, love mom.

  3. lol @ mom

    Barry go to the and see what it means! that's crazy!!!

  4. I have read your blog often but this is the first time I have commented. This is very vivid and well written. It reminded me of the opening scene of a sci-fi movie. Maybe you should consider a career as a screen writer. :)

  5. I think it's about time that I talk to you on the phone while you're sleeping/dreaming again, because that "It's the Indian Way" comment was just too priceless. I wonder what you would've said during this dream?