My First Dream
The first dream I ever remember having occured when I was around four or five years old. I had this same dream many times over. I used to go to sleep making myself think about it because I loved having it so much.
It was just me and my uncomfortable “big boy” twin bed with these simultaneously awful and quizzical bed sheets. They had the alphabet on them. All the letters were represented in alphabetical order, of course. They were scratchy; made of some strange nylon/cotton/steel wool blend that was neither warm nor soft. But none of that really mattered. What mattered was that each letter was a monster. As in sharp teeth, crazy eyes and wild hair. I remember “M” was excessively hairy, like It from the Addam’s Family. “T” was pretty ferocious looking with his sharp fangs. “L” was probably lacking a monster chromosome, cockeyed with his long gooey tongue dragging on the ground. It was these sheets that I’m sure provided me with the magic to fly.
It would always begin the same. I would lay down for bed, not really tired. The room would be dark sans the warm orange diffused glow of the street lamp through my window. I had trouble sleeping even in those days. I would lay there, force myself to close my eyes and think about this dream. Then, after a little while, it would happen if I was lucky.
My body, flat on my bed, felt like it was floating on water. A sensation not unlike that of having had one too many drinks and seeing the room spin, but without the nausea. The walls and ceiling surrounding me would dissolve. Nothing but the black of night and the stars existed in my field of view. I could feel it from under the bed. A thrust, a propulsion towards the empty sky. We (the alphabet monsters and I) would rise, first slowly, then quickly upwards. The bed would shift and tilt, providing me with glorious little aerial peeks of Chandler, AZ at night.
I could feel the wind, feel the gravity on my body as I was magically piloted through the sky. I could see the strings of Christmas lights dotting the miniature city of ants below. The saguaro cacti looked like caricatures of themselves, lit by the moonlight from above. This dream was fun, never frightening.
I never remember the landing. I would fly around for an undetermined amount of time and then invariably wake up the next morning to sunshine, Trix and cartoons. My pillow would probably be on the floor. My sheets were in a ball by my legs. I loved this dream.
