|This is the view from the top of the grade I lived on. Our home was about halfway down the hill.|
When I was thirteen years old, shortly after meeting the man who would go on to to abuse me, I had a dream I’ll never forget. I’ve only told a small handful of people about this dream, but it keeps floating into my consciousness lately and I’m learning that usually means something. So (big surprise) I’m sharing it.
My dream takes place at my childhood home on the Lewiston grade, which had a breathtaking view of the Lewis-Clark valley below. We lived on this property until right before I turned thirteen, when we moved to Moscow in order to be closer to the Christ Church community. At the time I had the dream, we’d just moved into a small home in the woods on Moscow Mountain. I missed my childhood home dearly, though I had no idea what kind of silent hell my life was about to turn into.
In my dream, it’s summertime and I’m sitting on my Secret Thinking Rock behind one of the pine trees lining our long driveway. This particular rock has a large metal bolt sticking out of it, and I wiggle it back and forth with my fingers while I look down over the valley. Behind me, there’s some kind of potluck happening on our concrete patio. Church folks are standing around eating and talking, and my family is there with them. I can faintly hear the sounds of their conversation, as well as children laughing and playing.
I’m fiddling with the bolt on the rock when I suddenly notice something is wrong. A thick, black, bubbling tar is covering the entire valley and is now moving up the valley toward our home. There is an evil, dark energy in it that makes my skin chill even in the hot sunlight. Certain the tar will consume all of us, I jump off my rock, duck under the branches of the pine tree and run across the driveway to the patio where everyone is talking and laughing. I point to the valley and yell at them to look down the hill, but no one seems to hear me. I yell louder, running from one person to the next, but no one looks at me or even bats an eye. They just keep talking. I become more and more frantic. I’m crying now, searching for my parents. The bubbling tar is rising higher. Finally, I find my mom and tug at her shirt, screaming at her to come and look, but she doesn’t see me either. I can’t understand why this is happening - why is no one listening to me? I’m trying to warn them. Something awful is coming.
I run back to my rock and climb on top of it. The tar is much closer now, just a hundred yards down the hill now, and I can feel its heat and its appetite. Sobbing and terrified, I know no one is going to save me. I close my eyes tightly and clench my fists at my side.
Then something happens. I start to float off the rock and I suddenly feel weightless. When I look over my shoulder, I see that massive, black wings have sprouted from my back and are lifting me from the earth. Once I realize what’s happening, I’m in control. Uncurling my giant wings, I rise higher and higher from my secret rock, from our home on the hill, and from the bubbling darkness. I can see everyone on the patio, still talking and laughing, still unaware of the bubbling, black, tar rising up behind them. I tried to save them and I couldn’t, I think.
After one long gaze at the earth below, I turn and fly into the sunlight, and my dream ends.