I dreamed last night:
I lived in the attic of an old Victorian house where a man, who wasn’t my husband, was in charge. In the evenings, the man would call me down to the bedroom. I felt nothing, just resignation, because I had no choice in the matter. I sat in my room—waiting—knowing—that when the man called, I would go.
Another dream about The Handmaid’s Tale. That’s what I get for binging on the show three nights in a row. After viewing the first few episodes of season one, I had resisted watching any more. That was three years ago. Last weekend, when a writer friend shared their enthusiasm for the upcoming season, I thought I should give it another try—this time without my husband. After years of watching everything side by side, we had started watching shows separately. In a sense we were drifting into separate cinematic universes—like the Marvel comic characters, but, in our case, I wasn’t sure our universes would ever converge again.
Alone in the living room, our Yorkshire Terrier puppy curled up next to me, I could hear Bill through the study door, laughing at some comedy special. Starting The Handmaid series at the beginning, I consumed one episode after another...
A dream from 1995:
Alone on an island. The grass was lush and green, but the windswept landscape was void of trees or large vegetation. Standing on the highest point, overlooking the ocean, I could see in every direction—nothing but the infinite sky and a vast, calm sea. Inhaling the ocean air, my whole being expanded to embrace the panorama saturated with sunlight and crystal blue hues. I felt energized, strong—stretching my arms wide, I embraced that limitless horizon.
Week two of the pandemic lockdown, I lay in bed. Waking was painful. Remembering a dream I had long ago, I asked myself:
Where had she gone, the girl in the dream--the girl on the island?
With nowhere to go, most days I was free to lie in and burrow under my covers. I longed to return to my slumbers and escape, but a slave to routine, I rose immediately. Crossing the room to grab my robe, I paused at my grandmother’s antique mirror. What would they say, the women in my family? The female lawyer, who drew up the papers terminating my first marriage, assumed I would return to my maiden name.
“No,” I told the woman, “it was my stepfather’s. I want my grandmother’s name..."
Recounting the dream, I remembered an episode from the past...
Abe exploded... Startled, I retreated to the bedroom. Abe followed me. Picking up a bed pillow, Abe gripped it in both hands. Terrified, I ran from the room, but Abe chased me down, the pillow held to the chest. I tried to escape, like I had to, many times, but this time I tripped and landed on all fours, just feet from the bedroom where Emma was sleeping.
Abe crouched down next to me and raised the pillow in the air. “I'm so sick of you.”
I curled up as best I could, wrapping my arms over my head. Emma, nearly three years old, emerged from the bedroom, still groggy from napping. Seeing us, Emma stopped and turned rigid. I tried to shield myself as Abe brought the pillow down over and over again, pounding the floor next to my head, while spewing a relentless stream of anger.
"I don't want to hear any more complaints."
It was the first time I really thought Abe would kill me, and in front of our child... As Abe got up to pace the room like a big cat circling its prey, my only thought was to protect my daughter.
I was dreaming::
Looking out the bay window of my old flat, it was the morning after the blizzard. The blue sky sparkled with clarity. The trees were freshly adorned in snug white coats that shimmered in the sunlight. My Honda Accord, parked in the driveway, was buried under at least a foot of snow. I had to dig it out as soon as possible, so the couple living in the flat above could get their car out too. Donning my snow gear, I trudged outside with a shovel, and began to excavate my car. After several minutes trying to remove the snow drifts that kept piling up on both sides of the Honda, I wasn’t making any progress. With an exhale of frustration, made palpable by the frigid air, I changed tact. Walking to the end of the driveway, I tackled the crusty barricade left by the plow. After clearing it without much trouble, I turned around expecting to see the stretch of driveway between my car and the road socked full of snow. I was surprised—the path directly behind my car was already clear. Why hadn’t I noticed? All the effort I had expended previously, digging at the piles of snow alongside the automobile, had been a waste of time. All I had to do was put down the shovel, get in the car, back it out, and drive away.
A nightmare:
Dressed in scrubs, I stood next to a stretcher. On it lay a barely conscious woman, who was also me, but another version. A man, who appeared to be a doctor, stood next to the upright version of me. When the man leaned over the horizontal woman, I assisted by holding the woman down. The man bit the woman's neck, sucked all of the blood and left the lifeless body for dead.
Waking suddenly, shocked and frightened, I sat up. My hands grasped my neck. I could feel the bite and the physical sensation of my life’s force draining from my body.
Checking the bedside clock, it read 3:00 AM. Claire, my first child, just six weeks old, was fussing. Rising, I lifted Claire from the bassinet next to the bed and pressed that tiny body wrapped in flannel close to my chest. It’s then that I noticed Sean’s absence—that side of the bed was empty. Did Sean fall asleep on the couch? Pacing the apartment awkwardly trying to comfort my baby, the combination of Claire's agitation and my anxiety crescendoed, I started to panic—Sean’s not here! What should I do? In the age before cellphones, I had no way to locate my husband.
An old dream:
Back in my college dining hall, I was seated at a table next to the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the lake upon which my campus was situated. Suddenly, I could see and feel a large tidal wave approaching from across the lake. No one else seemed to notice or tried to escape. I rose to my feet to flee, but it was too late. In those last remaining seconds, I was engulfed by horror, as a wall of water crashed through the large picture windows. The tables, the chairs, and the students were violently tossed about as everything was washed away in the water's wake.
Two years after dropping out of college, I had just quit a restaurant job I hated, when my mother phoned me. At the time we weren't talking much, so a call was a bit unusual. Since leaving school, I avoided my parents as much as possible. Worried my mother had heard I was jobless, I answered with some trepidation, "Hi, Mom."
In a strained voice my mother made a surprising request, “Would you please join your sisters and me for a session with a social worker?”
“Your sister is suicidal...."
February 20, 1965:
Standing beside the bed my mother, Anne, yelled at my father, “Get up! Get out of bed you dirty bastard!” Laying out Harold’s things, as Anne did every morning, a letter fell from Harold's wallet. Signed by Jane, it confirmed Anne's suspicions.
My Mother's Dream:
It was late night. Barefoot and pregnant, wearing a night gown, I walked across a large, empty parking lot. Across the lot I saw my husband and his new girlfriend leaning against Harold's car. Acting very intimate, they were engaged in conversation. Even from a distance, I could hear them laugh as they made fun of me.
It was eleventh grade:
"Eric kissed me...The alcohol on Eric's breath nearly extinguished mine. At once, my head started spinning. Overcome by a dizzying mix of sickness and panic, I abruptly pushed away. Eric slumped back, surprised, but non-reactive. I spiralled down…losing all sense of time and space, I had a flashback.”
Another water dream:
I invited a group of my college friends to my favorite swimming hole. Picking up our books and our backpacks, we rushed to the lake without our swim suits. Stepping to the edge of the water, I pointed. “If you dive from this spot you can swim to the spring below.” I dove into the water with my clothes on.
A reoccurring nightmare:
I arrived at my grandparents’ house, happy to be there. Oddly, instead of running to the kitchen to greet them as I usually did, I climbed the staircase to the second floor. The bedroom doors were open. It was daytime but all the shades were drawn. My grandparents and some of my relatives were lying in their beds.
My fourth birthday:
The nurse wheeled me to the visitors' room. "Your family's coming today." I couldn't respond. It still flashed across my mind. The bathroom... the faucet... trying to scream... no words, my body, frozen... my confusion, when I stopped feeling anything... the hands holding me down as the tub filled with scalding water.
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