I started having nightmares about my mother's driving when I was nine.
The one that terrified me the most invaded my dreams in the summer of
1967. The dream starts out with our paneled station wagon careening
backwards down a dark highway. I’m looking out the front passenger
window, watching the dim shapes of trees whizzing by. It hasn’t occurred
to me to wonder why we’re going backwards.
When I look over toward my mother, she’s grinning at me and saying, “Isn’
t this fun!”
To my horror I notice her hands aren’t on the wheel.
“Grab the wheel, Mom,” I yell.
But when she goes to grab it, it disappears. I look at her in horror, but
she just laughs her drunken laugh.
“The brakes, Mom, slam on the brakes!”
She hits the brakes with both feet and the car starts to slow down. My
heart stops pounding like a trip hammer and I take my white knuckled grip
off the dashboard. I look out the window and the trees are no longer
whizzing by. The car slows to a crawl and I turn to check on my brothers
and sister in the back seat. All three have identical expressions of terror
stamped on their faces. I feel a strange sensation, and looking past their
heads I notice that the left side of the car is lower than the right side. The
car is slipping sideways and down. It’s too dark to see, but it feels like we’
re falling into a ditch. I grab the dash again and wait to hit bottom, but
there is no bottom. We keep falling farther and faster. Everyone is
screaming and terror fills my mind. I wake up sweating and shaking, the
sheets clenched in my hands.
Like a lot of dreams, that one was based partially on fact. An accident
similar to the one in my nightmare happened when my mother decided to
take us to the drive-in movies.
The one that terrified me the most invaded my dreams in the summer of
1967. The dream starts out with our paneled station wagon careening
backwards down a dark highway. I’m looking out the front passenger
window, watching the dim shapes of trees whizzing by. It hasn’t occurred
to me to wonder why we’re going backwards.
When I look over toward my mother, she’s grinning at me and saying, “Isn’
t this fun!”
To my horror I notice her hands aren’t on the wheel.
“Grab the wheel, Mom,” I yell.
But when she goes to grab it, it disappears. I look at her in horror, but
she just laughs her drunken laugh.
“The brakes, Mom, slam on the brakes!”
She hits the brakes with both feet and the car starts to slow down. My
heart stops pounding like a trip hammer and I take my white knuckled grip
off the dashboard. I look out the window and the trees are no longer
whizzing by. The car slows to a crawl and I turn to check on my brothers
and sister in the back seat. All three have identical expressions of terror
stamped on their faces. I feel a strange sensation, and looking past their
heads I notice that the left side of the car is lower than the right side. The
car is slipping sideways and down. It’s too dark to see, but it feels like we’
re falling into a ditch. I grab the dash again and wait to hit bottom, but
there is no bottom. We keep falling farther and faster. Everyone is
screaming and terror fills my mind. I wake up sweating and shaking, the
sheets clenched in my hands.
Like a lot of dreams, that one was based partially on fact. An accident
similar to the one in my nightmare happened when my mother decided to
take us to the drive-in movies.
Here is an excerpt from The Eleventh Summer!
Excerpt >
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EleventhSummer.com
and hope in courage,
a childhood
traumatized by
an abusive,
alcoholic
parent.