In celebration of 11/11/11 I am happy to announce that I published my novel Sight to See through Amazon.com for the Kindle!!! It's available here. If you don't have a Kindle, not to worry, you can get the Kindle software for free to read books on your computer here.
It is such a joy for me to finally be able to share this story. It was an amazing adventure writing it...
Years ago for the second year of the Project Greenlight competition I wrote a screenplay called "The Badianus Manuscript" and submitted it. The script made it into the top 250. Some of the feedback I received was that it would make a good novel. So foolishly I thought ok, I can do that. And I did.
Writing the novel was a wonderful process. It was like taking dictation as Dawn came and sat with me and told me her story. It was quite a journey, filled with incredible coincidences - including the hurricane in the story being name Hurricane Juan and there being a Hurricane Juan that year! It came to a beautiful conclusion with a trip to the Hopi reservation in Arizona to visit a woman there who had been willing to read the story for me for authenticity. At the reservation I found a church without walls just as I had written about in the story, though I had seen it in my mind I had no idea there was actually one on the reservation!
Here's the synopsis of Sight to See: Dawn Saunders, a young woman of Hopi ancestry, is on a spiritual quest to discover the true meaning of her gift as a seer. Dawn’s journey begins at a tender age. In a dream when she was eight she saw her father struck by lightning only to see the image come vividly to life soon after. Consequently, Dawn considered her sight to be more of a curse than a gift. By the age of thirty, Dawn’s gift urgently demands her attention through a series of dreams and waking visions. Drawn by the power and spiritual nature of the visions, Dawn sets out upon a journey that will teach her to trust herself and her ability to see. In her dreams and visions she is visited by an ancient Aztec woman and an eagle who reveal to Dawn both the past and the future. The dreams and visions lead Dawn to her Aunt Meredith, also a seer, in New York City and eventually to a connection with a grandmother Dawn never met, whom she inherited her gift from. She also encounters Juan, a 450-year-old Aztec man who is strangely familiar to Dawn, and Juan the category 4 hurricane. Dawn must choose between believing in herself and her ability to see, and questioning her own sanity. Overcoming her doubts comes at a high price, as it takes standing in the eye of the storm to alter Dawn’s sight and enable her to see clearly.
There are so many that believed in this story along the way and who have read it for me and encouraged me. Thank you!
If you read it and enjoy it share it with friends or post a review on Amazon! Enjoy in joy! Lynda
*cover photo for Sight to See was taken from the Hubble telescope by STScI for NASA under Contract NAS5-26555
Friday, November 11, 2011
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Chapter 3 ~ The Eagle's Flight
I am soaring. Dipping and playing on the waves of current in the air. Floating to the top of a wave and plunging back over the side of it and into the trough. It is glorious. Below me the desert stretches away to the east and to the west it gradually becomes a forest at the foot of a range of mountains. I’m drawn to the forest. I swoop down closer to it, skimming the tops of the trees until I reach the foot of the mountain. I glide effortlessly through the trees as if I have made this journey thousands of times.
I see her through a break in the trees. I land gracefully on the ground before her. She sits very still at the mouth of a cave. I’m not sure if she is even breathing. Her eyelids flutter momentarily and that is the only way that I know she is alive. She is small in stature, hunched over by time or toil, but powerful. I can feel the age old wisdom and the power that comes with it emanating from her. Her long wiry gray hair falls in braids over her shoulders. She sits serenely, undisturbed by my arrival.
I call to her in the voice of the eagle and she opens her eyes and whispers, “Quauhtli.” Her words are unclear and her language unfamiliar at first, but as she continues I find I can understand her. She speaks in her native tongue, the language of the ancient Aztecs. “Awaken. We have returned and you have just to remember. They will look to you. You must awaken.” She falls back into her trance as if I had never been there and she had never spoken.
I find her words unsettling and raising my wings lift off the ground, calling back to her in the harsh, clear voice of the eagle.
I sit bolt upright in bed, beads of sweat on my forehead. I look around my room confused, lost. I push my hair out of my eyes, drag myself out of bed, and go to the mirror on the closet door. I’m not sure why, but I gather all my hair into two sections and begin to braid it, staring at myself. I look just like the woman in the dream, the seer.
The silence is abruptly broken by the sound of a screech from outside. I rush to the window and pull back the long, wispy curtains. There in the gray light of dawn an eagle soars, circles, and lands in the old oak tree beside the house. My eyes take in the field that the tree stands at the edge of. It's the beginning of an extensive farm that Dad has spent a lifetime building and nurturing. The soft, green buds of the soy bean are pushing up through the earth as far as I can see. My eyes are drawn back to the eagle who sits contentedly in the tree. I watch him preen his feathers and then without warning he is in the air, soaring, searching. The cryptic message of his call lost on me.
“Dawn? Honey, are you ok?” I look blankly down at my mother who stands in the backyard looking up at me. “Dawn?”
-----------------------
Mom’s soft but weathered hand reaches out and strokes my hair as I sit at my desk lost in thought. She reaches to my dresser for my brush and begins to pull it gently through my hair.
I look around my room to avoid thinking about dreams and eagles and visions. It’s the same room, in the same farmhouse, in basically the same Lignum, Virginia that I’ve been living in for thirty years, minus the four years I spent at Virginia Tech. For fourteen of those years I shared this room with Kate. We fought and cried and dreamed, mostly fought, in this room. Some of the dreams were happier than others. Of course it’s different now; I made it my own long ago. It’s no longer pink, thank God. I painted it a soothing gray-green and there are photos of family and friends all around. It’s cozy and comforting, my safe haven. There are lots of plants, books from school about agricultural science, farmer’s almanacs, all my books for my research on meteorology and a comfy chair to sit and read them in. There’s a computer desk now, where I handle much of the daily business of running a farm.
Kate stays in the guest room when she comes to visit. Actually it’s not so much a guest room as a multipurpose room; Dad’s office, Mom’s sewing room, guest room. We could never convince Mom and Dad to let us use it for a bedroom when we were kids because Dad needed the office for the business end of farming, but since I took that over he doesn’t need it as much now. So it’s finally Kate’s room when she’s here.
There’s not much of Kate left in this house. Sometimes I wonder if there is too much of me here. I’m always second guessing my decision to live here after graduation. Though sometimes I’m not sure it was really a conscious decision as much as a sense of obligation warped over twenty-two years of guilt.
My own thoughts and Mom’s question bring me back to the subject I was trying to avoid, my dreams. “What happened, Dawn? What did you see?” she asks as she brushes.
I’m astounded. Over the past couple months I’ve been having dreams, the kind of dreams I’ve been having and ignoring for years, only now they’re occurring with an alarmingly increased frequency, but I haven’t told a soul. “How did you know?”
“I live in the same house with you. Do you think I can’t hear you calling out in your sleep or see how distracted you are? It’s time we talked about it. I shouldn’t have waited this long.” She stops for just a moment, steadies herself and plunges on. “So what have you seen, Dawn? What are the visions telling you?”
Her matter of fact attitude calms me a little. I ask her the question that’s been burning in my brain since the latest episode started, “How do you know they are visions? How do you know they are anything more than just dreams?”
“I know the same way I knew when you were eight. I can feel it. I can feel it somewhere inside of me.”
“I’m not as sure as you are.”
She ignores my resistance. “What did you see? What was it about?” There is a hint of fear in her eyes when she looks at me, a look I’ve spent most of my life trying to avoid ever seeing again.
I’m still not exactly sure what I’ve been seeing or what any of it means but I try to put the one freshest in my mind into words. “I was a bird, soaring over a desert and then I flew to a forest at the edge of the desert and there was an old woman there in a cave. She looked like a very old version of me. I landed in front of her and she spoke to me.”
“What did she say?”
I try to laugh it off, “I guess she was some sort of metaphysical alarm clock for me, she told me it was time to awaken and that I needed to remember something.” The echo of her voice is in my head and I realize that my description may be more right than I know.
Mom absently puts the brush back down on the dresser, lost in her thoughts. “Do you know what kind of bird you were?”
The question seems irrelevant. “An eagle.”
“An eagle?” There is something in her eyes that I can’t identify, though I’m afraid it is skepticism.
“Yes. And then I heard one call outside and thought I was still dreaming. That’s when I saw you.”
She crosses to the window and looks out searching the sky. “He’s been here for weeks now.”
“Who?” Goose bumps spring up on my arms.
“The eagle. Haven’t you seen him?”
“No. I hadn’t noticed.”
She looks back at me surprised. “But he’s been sitting outside your window for weeks.” I feel stupid and I’m not sure why. “Well you’ve seen him now. That’s good.”
“Good? Why?”
She seems far away again and turns and talks more to the sky than to me. “The eagle soars closest to Grandfather Sky. He is said to be a link between the Great Spirit and the two-leggeds. There are many old stories of eagles that my Mother told me as a child. They represent courage, wisdom, and great insight. She said they help us rise up to better see the spiritual connections and truths.” Finally she remembers that I’m here. “It’s a sign, Dawn. You must be alert. You must remember whatever it is that you have forgotten. You must heed the eagle’s call.”
I’m dumbfounded. “Heed the eagle’s call? Wisdom? Courage? I don’t feel wise or brave. I feel confused. What does it all mean?”
“I don’t know exactly, Dawn. Only you can answer that.”
“How? How do I answer it?”
“I don’t know. I do know that you have to learn to trust yourself and your sight.” Then almost absently she says, “Maybe you just aren’t ready yet.”
“When? When will I be ready?” I rise abruptly from the chair. “Ready for what? And if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be prepared for then how do I know when I’m ready?”
Mom looks at her hands and says quietly, “I can’t answer that either honey.” I try to protest but she cuts me off. “I know that is not what you want to hear. But please don’t give up. The one thing I know for sure is that it is a gift you have been given and it would be an insult to Great Spirit for you to throw it away. I don’t know how you are meant to use it or when, but the eagle is calling to you, Dawn. It is your gift and you will finally have to decide what to do with it.”
I can’t help but be skeptical. “I think I proved long ago that I’m not very good at using it. I didn’t know what my dreams about Dad meant either and they weren’t cryptic at all.” I turn away from her.
“You were just a child, Dawn. You didn’t want to talk about it and so you had no one to guide you or explain what you were seeing or how to use your sight. Maybe I should have pushed you, but I could see how scared you were so I didn’t.” She puts her hands on my shoulders, all her seriousness gone with the grin on her lips. “Besides, your Father was fine.” She hesitates only for a moment. “And I never told you but I swear it made him a better lover!”
“Mom!” I spin around laughing and hug her. “I never read about that being a side effect!”
She walks to the door of the bedroom and pauses grinning, “Me neither, but I think it’s finally starting to wear off so let me know when the next storm is coming.”
“Ok, now that’s just more than I needed to know.”
She laughs and turns to leave. “Mom.” She stops in the door, concern and love in her eyes. “I love you Mom. Thanks for trying to understand me even when I don’t.”
“You will understand one day, Dawn. I can feel it. But I’m afraid it will take you away from me.”
“You having visions now?”
“No, I was not blessed in that way. My maternal instincts have been telling me that for a while and now I’m afraid the eagle confirms it.” There is sadness and pride in her voice. “Are you coming down to breakfast?”
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a little while.”
I turn back toward the window. It’s lighter now and the colors are the pastel pinks and oranges of sunrise in the summer. I search the sky but find no signs, no visions.
-------------------------
Mom stands at the sink. Washing the dishes like always. I see her there every morning after breakfast. I never questioned it, never wondered why.
“Mom? Are you happy?”
“Sure honey”
She just keeps washing. There is something stuck to the frying pan and she is scouring it with vigor. I need to know. I want her to stop. I put my hand on her arm and she looks up.
“No, Mom. Are you really happy? Happy with what you’ve done with your life? With how it turned out? Do you have regrets?”
“My goodness, Dawn.” She opens her mouth to utter some platitude but sees in my eyes the urgency of my questions. Her mouth closes in a smile and she dries her hands and motions to the table. I can’t sit down but I walk towards it. She sits and I lean.
“What’s this about, Dawn?"
“It’s about you. Are you happy with your life?”
Her gaze doesn’t falter. “Yes, I am happy. There are things I haven’t done that I would still like to do, but I’m not quite dead yet. Your father and I have built a good life, a good family. That was important to me. That’s what I wanted. It’s not a life filled with fame and fortune but that’s never what I wanted.”
“What did you want? When you were a kid, what did you dream of becoming?”
“I,” the words stick in her throat.
“What?”
“Before she died I dreamed of being a seer like my mother. I assumed I would live on the reservation and be immersed in our culture, becoming one the elders of the tribe, participating in the rituals of my people. But then Mom died and it just broke Dad’s spirit. He was lost without her.” She is sitting before me but I can tell that she is somewhere else in her thoughts. “But life is different on the reservation now. There are so few left and there is so much poverty. Our people have been ignored and cast aside.” There is a hint of bitterness in her words. “But luckily I met your father and fell in love with him”
“Was that lucky?”
“Dawn! How could you ask that?"
“But by marrying Dad you would never live on the reservation.”
“I knew that. But I met him for a reason. This is where I was meant to be.” There is certainty in her voice but hesitation too. “I do sometimes regret not going back to the home of my people though.”
My sense of urgency increases and I kneel at her feet. “You should go then. Go soon. Bring Dad. Has he ever been?”
“Once, a long time ago.”
I look deeply into her eyes and am lost in them. For a moment I can see something reflected there, my parents in front of a fire. It is some sort of ceremony. There are tears in Mom’s eyes. She stands next to Dad and is holding his hand. There are people, Hopi people all around. Dancing. The atmosphere is somber.
The door slams. Dad’s gruff voice breaks the silence. The connection is broken. “It’s quiet in here.”
“Not anymore, Hal.”
I take Mom’s hands, ignoring my Dad for a moment so as not to lose the thread. “You have to go Mom. Go soon.”
I kiss her lightly on the cheek.
“Go where?”
“It’s a surprise.” I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. I feel lighter now. I feel like I’m floating as I bound up the stairs.
I pause in the hallway before the line of grade school pictures of me and Kate. Velour shirts. Groovy. I look closely at my face and stop. It seems strange the longer I look at it. Just an image on paper. In all the pictures, though the hair and clothes change, though different teeth are missing, there is one thing that’s the same, something in my eyes. A light? I don’t know if that’s the right word. I never noticed it before. I study each picture in quick succession. It’s there in every one. How could I never have noticed it before? I touch it as if to get closer to her, to understand her and that light. I touch my own face and try to see my reflection in the glass over the picture. Is it still there?
I run to my room and stand in front of my closet door, staring at myself, evaluating the differences and similarities between then and now. Ever since I was ten I’ve worn my hair long. It hasn’t been cut in a while so even in a ponytail it hangs half way down my back. My skin is still smooth and brown and will only grow darker over the summer. I have the same thin, red lips that I’ve always had. They reach into the wide smile that Mom gave me. I still sometimes wish I had gotten my father’s blue eyes rather than my wide set, deep brown ones. Sometimes they are so dark I can’t see the pupils. The longer I stare at myself the more my features blend together becoming strange just like the photo had. I step closer to look myself in the eye. Startled, I touch the mirror where my eyes are reflected. It’s there. It’s still there. How could I have not seen it before?
“Dawn?”
I twirl around disoriented.
“What were you doing? Are you ok?”
I flop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. “Just going crazy that’s all.”
“It’s a family trait, but it’s usually not too serious so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
She sits next to me. Knowing, in her Mom way, there is more than I’m saying. She just runs her fingers through my hair and waits. Waits for what I’m not sure, because even I don’t know what I was doing.
“What did you see in the mirror?”
“I saw someone I didn’t know. I know that sounds stupid, like some psychiatric mumbo jumbo but I saw something in my eyes I had never seen before. Do you think you know yourself pretty well?”
“Do I know myself pretty well? That’s an unusual question, but yes I think I do.”
“You’ve never felt like there is another part of you that you knew nothing about? Like there could be another person living inside of you that you don’t know.” I have to pace again. “Not like another personality or something. But, but.” I’m in front of the mirror again. “A big part of who you really are that you didn’t see before. Like another part of you just suddenly showed up. But then you see a picture and realize it was there all along. How could I not know myself? How could I not know about this big part of myself? Who does that make me now?”
Through all of this, Mom’s look has been one of concern. Loving concern. I can tell she doesn’t really think I’m going crazy but she has her Mom’s instinct to help. I can see her physically restraining herself from coming to the rescue somehow. She folds her hands in her lap.
“I think you do know yourself, Dawn. You’re the same person you always were.”
“Am I?”
She finally stands, her mind made up. She takes me and turns me toward the mirror, standing behind me. “You have always known who you are. Even as a little girl you knew. Just because you weren’t communicating with that part of yourself for a while doesn’t mean you didn’t know it was there. It’s always been there. Waiting for when you were ready. I think you are ready now.”
I reach up to her hands and lean back against her. “Am I?”
“Only you can know for sure, but I think so.”
She stares at me in the mirror, intently. Her face lights up in that smile we share. “I like her. She is smart and strong. She knows her way. She can see it with those beautiful eyes.”
I can’t see now for the tears. Everything becomes a watery gray and I turn and hug her like my life depends on it. “I just wish someone would say Dawn, this is what you are supposed to do with your life. That would be so much easier.”
Mom just smoothes my hair and holds me, not saying a word.
I pull away grinning through my tears. “I take it from your silence that you want me to figure it out myself? Because in case you missed it, that was your cue to tell me what I should do with my life.”
She smiles back, hands on hips. A little light shines out of her eyes. “Maybe we will call Aunt Meredith tonight. It might be time you two had a long talk. Maybe you should go for a visit. You could go while Dad and I are out West.”
“Out West?”
“Home.”
“What?! Really?”
Her whole face beams. She is practically giggling as she turns and walks out of the room.
I flop back down on the bed staring back up at the unchanging ceiling.
---------------------
I must have fallen asleep because when I open my eyes I am no longer looking at the ceiling but at the old Aztec woman again. Only now she stands next to a leaping fire, her eyes closed. I’m not an eagle but am myself. I walk out of the shadows created by the firelight, dressed in the garb of the ancient Aztecs. I stop and face her across the fire. Slowly her eyes open and they penetrate mine making me flinch, but I hold her gaze. After a pause that holds within it an eternity, she reaches above the summit of the flames and takes my hand. She places it over her heart. On my arm I feel the heat of the fire and on my palm the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart. She smiles at me and still holding my hand steps forward into the fire. She is immediately engulfed in flame. I jerk my hand back from the flames as they leap up around her. I watch in horror and awe as she smiles, looks to the sky and disappears in a heap of ashes into the fire.
Instinctively I kneel down close to the fire and look into it. Among the flames I see myself rise from the ashes and walk toward a small adobe house in the midst of a great desert. There is a man standing in the doorway. He knows my name. “Dawn, seer of the Universal Tribe, you have passed through the heat and flame, what have you seen?” I hesitate and the image in the flames begins to disappear. Without thinking I reach into the fire to try to capture the image. The flames sear my skin and I draw back quickly, wincing in pain.
When next I open my eyes I see only the ceiling above my bed, though I’m disoriented and not really sure where I am. I sit up hugging my knees to my chest and rubbing my hand. I search it for burns; there are none but it hurts just the same.
I have not come completely back to my room yet when the phone rings. I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound. Trying to reorient myself, I look to the clock for guidance. It’s only a half hour later than I remember it being. The phone just keeps ringing and I just keep looking at it wondering why it won’t stop making that terrible noise. Finally I force myself back into the present and pick up the receiver. “Hello,” my sleepy, confused voice says.
“Dawn? Is that you sweetie? You sound tired. It’s Aunt Meredith.”
“What?” I rub my face trying to make sense of what she said. “Aunt Meredith? But Mom wasn’t going to call you until tonight.”
“Your Mom didn’t call me, I called you. That’s why your phone rang and not mine.”
I laugh with her and rest my forehead on my free hand. “I’m sorry Aunt Meredith. I was lying down and must have dropped off. I’m just waking up.”
“No problem. I’m sorry to be such a rude awakening for you.”
There is an awkward pause because I feel strange about her calling when we were going to call her that night. Her silence indicates that she is hesitant too.
“You want me to get Mom for you?”
“No. No, Dawn it’s you I wanted to talk to.”
“Me? Talk to me about what?”
“Well, I’m not sure how to say this without you thinking I’m crazy Aunt Meredith,” she laughs unconvincingly.
“I’m feeling a little crazy right now anyway so go for it.”
“I had a dream last night. You were in my dream, Dawn. And it wasn’t the first time I’ve dreamt about you recently.”
“What was it about?”
More silence. Then her words come in a torrent. “I think it’s something we should talk about in person. I think it’s time you came up here for a visit. You haven’t seen Kate in awhile anyway, have you? So you can see her too. But you could stay here with me and we could have long, all night talks.” Her words end as abruptly as they started, as though she wasn’t sure she should say them and now that she had she knew she couldn’t take them back.
“Long talks about what Aunt Meredith? What is this all about? What was the dream about?”
“I told you I’d rather talk to you about it in person. It’s nothing bad though. In fact I think it’s very good.”
“You’re having dreams. I’m having dreams. Mom and Dad are going to the reservation. You want me to come to New York. What’s going on around here?”
I can hear her draw her breath in surprise. “Your Mom is going home? And she is taking Hal? Oh, I didn’t see that coming. That’s good though. I think that could be good.” Her voice trails off, she is no longer talking as much to me as to herself.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Dawn I’m sorry. I was just surprised to hear about your parents’ trip. I wish I could go with her.” There is sadness in her voice now.
“Why don’t you go? I bet she would love that.”
“Yes, it would be good for us to go together but I can’t right now. Though I think I’ll get to go home sometime soon.”
“Why can’t you go now?”
“It’s just not a good time right now.” She pauses, thinking. “So you have been having dreams? That’s a good sign too. We will have to talk about them when you come up.”
Now it’s my turn for the words to flood out of me. “Maybe we can talk about them now. I don’t really understand them but I feel like they are telling me something I should know, or reminding me of something I already know. I don’t know. It’s all very confusing. And then Mom said we should call you to talk about it and then you call totally out of the blue. What does all this mean? And why does this woman keep haunting my dreams?”
She remained silent during my rant but perks up at the end. “A woman? What kind of woman, Dawn?”
“An old Indian woman, Aztec I think, and there’s an eagle too. One time I was the eagle. She could speak to me and I could understand her. She said I needed to remember and that they would look to me.”
“To you?”
“Yes, then when I woke up there was a real eagle outside my window. Mom said it’s been there for weeks. And just before you called I saw her again. Only this time…” I can’t go on as the image of her engulfed in the flames overwhelms me.
“What happened this time, Dawn?”
“It was horrible. She was standing in front of a fire and she took my hand across the fire and put it on her heart and then stepped into the flames and turned into a pile of ashes.” I can hear her draw a sudden breath on her end of the line. I’m immediately afraid that I shouldn’t have told her so much and so decide not to tell her the rest.
“Dawn, I think you need to come to New York as soon as you can. Sooner if possible.”
I have that prickly feeling at the back of my neck. “What’s the hurry? What aren’t you telling me?”
She gives a short laugh, “You’re the seer, you tell me what I’m hiding.”
“You should know better than anyone that it’s nothing to joke about. You have the sight; Mom’s told me about it.”
“I know, she told me you both had a chat about it. But from what I can tell yours is stronger than mine ever was.”
“Mine? If that’s really what it is, can you teach me about it? About how to use it? How to understand it?”
“I can give you some guidance that was given to me but I don’t know what I can do beyond that.”
I feel angry suddenly and my voice rises with my emotions. “I thought I was supposed to have a guide or something. To teach me how to use this supposed gift. What the hell is it for if I don’t know how to interpret it? What’s the point?”
“The point is Dawn, that you can be a light for people to show them the way.”
“What?” I can think of nothing more intelligent to say than that. I’m so surprised by what she has said that I’m speechless.
Her voice is very even now, almost monotone. “A light, Dawn. If your vision is clear you will be able to see things and guide many people.” Then silence.
“Aunt Meredith? Are you ok? You sounded funny. What people are you talking about? Show them the way where? How can I guide anyone else when I can’t figure out my own life? Where is my guide?”
Her voice is distant like she is the one who just woke up this time. “There will be people and spirits to guide you, Dawn. I can help some. But much of it you will have to learn on your own. The world is not like it used to be I’m afraid. We do not live as one. There is not a seer who came before you who will teach you about the sight. There was one, but she is gone. I know you have good instincts though, and you will have to trust them. Trust yourself, Dawn. Often when you cannot see at all, that is the time when you can see most clearly.”
I let her words in sink in and can think of no response. So she continues, “You need to come for a visit. Come as soon as you can. Do you promise?”
“Ok. I promise.”
“Great.” Relief is in her voice, “call me when you’ve made your plans. I’ll talk to you soon. Goodbye, Dawn.”
“Wait, don’t you want to talk to Mom?” There is only a dial tone. She is gone. Just like that. I feel like I’ve just been spinning around in circles like a child to make myself dizzy. I’m left staring at the receiver in my hand, the dial tone ringing in my head.
I see her through a break in the trees. I land gracefully on the ground before her. She sits very still at the mouth of a cave. I’m not sure if she is even breathing. Her eyelids flutter momentarily and that is the only way that I know she is alive. She is small in stature, hunched over by time or toil, but powerful. I can feel the age old wisdom and the power that comes with it emanating from her. Her long wiry gray hair falls in braids over her shoulders. She sits serenely, undisturbed by my arrival.
I call to her in the voice of the eagle and she opens her eyes and whispers, “Quauhtli.” Her words are unclear and her language unfamiliar at first, but as she continues I find I can understand her. She speaks in her native tongue, the language of the ancient Aztecs. “Awaken. We have returned and you have just to remember. They will look to you. You must awaken.” She falls back into her trance as if I had never been there and she had never spoken.
I find her words unsettling and raising my wings lift off the ground, calling back to her in the harsh, clear voice of the eagle.
I sit bolt upright in bed, beads of sweat on my forehead. I look around my room confused, lost. I push my hair out of my eyes, drag myself out of bed, and go to the mirror on the closet door. I’m not sure why, but I gather all my hair into two sections and begin to braid it, staring at myself. I look just like the woman in the dream, the seer.
The silence is abruptly broken by the sound of a screech from outside. I rush to the window and pull back the long, wispy curtains. There in the gray light of dawn an eagle soars, circles, and lands in the old oak tree beside the house. My eyes take in the field that the tree stands at the edge of. It's the beginning of an extensive farm that Dad has spent a lifetime building and nurturing. The soft, green buds of the soy bean are pushing up through the earth as far as I can see. My eyes are drawn back to the eagle who sits contentedly in the tree. I watch him preen his feathers and then without warning he is in the air, soaring, searching. The cryptic message of his call lost on me.
“Dawn? Honey, are you ok?” I look blankly down at my mother who stands in the backyard looking up at me. “Dawn?”
-----------------------
Mom’s soft but weathered hand reaches out and strokes my hair as I sit at my desk lost in thought. She reaches to my dresser for my brush and begins to pull it gently through my hair.
I look around my room to avoid thinking about dreams and eagles and visions. It’s the same room, in the same farmhouse, in basically the same Lignum, Virginia that I’ve been living in for thirty years, minus the four years I spent at Virginia Tech. For fourteen of those years I shared this room with Kate. We fought and cried and dreamed, mostly fought, in this room. Some of the dreams were happier than others. Of course it’s different now; I made it my own long ago. It’s no longer pink, thank God. I painted it a soothing gray-green and there are photos of family and friends all around. It’s cozy and comforting, my safe haven. There are lots of plants, books from school about agricultural science, farmer’s almanacs, all my books for my research on meteorology and a comfy chair to sit and read them in. There’s a computer desk now, where I handle much of the daily business of running a farm.
Kate stays in the guest room when she comes to visit. Actually it’s not so much a guest room as a multipurpose room; Dad’s office, Mom’s sewing room, guest room. We could never convince Mom and Dad to let us use it for a bedroom when we were kids because Dad needed the office for the business end of farming, but since I took that over he doesn’t need it as much now. So it’s finally Kate’s room when she’s here.
There’s not much of Kate left in this house. Sometimes I wonder if there is too much of me here. I’m always second guessing my decision to live here after graduation. Though sometimes I’m not sure it was really a conscious decision as much as a sense of obligation warped over twenty-two years of guilt.
My own thoughts and Mom’s question bring me back to the subject I was trying to avoid, my dreams. “What happened, Dawn? What did you see?” she asks as she brushes.
I’m astounded. Over the past couple months I’ve been having dreams, the kind of dreams I’ve been having and ignoring for years, only now they’re occurring with an alarmingly increased frequency, but I haven’t told a soul. “How did you know?”
“I live in the same house with you. Do you think I can’t hear you calling out in your sleep or see how distracted you are? It’s time we talked about it. I shouldn’t have waited this long.” She stops for just a moment, steadies herself and plunges on. “So what have you seen, Dawn? What are the visions telling you?”
Her matter of fact attitude calms me a little. I ask her the question that’s been burning in my brain since the latest episode started, “How do you know they are visions? How do you know they are anything more than just dreams?”
“I know the same way I knew when you were eight. I can feel it. I can feel it somewhere inside of me.”
“I’m not as sure as you are.”
She ignores my resistance. “What did you see? What was it about?” There is a hint of fear in her eyes when she looks at me, a look I’ve spent most of my life trying to avoid ever seeing again.
I’m still not exactly sure what I’ve been seeing or what any of it means but I try to put the one freshest in my mind into words. “I was a bird, soaring over a desert and then I flew to a forest at the edge of the desert and there was an old woman there in a cave. She looked like a very old version of me. I landed in front of her and she spoke to me.”
“What did she say?”
I try to laugh it off, “I guess she was some sort of metaphysical alarm clock for me, she told me it was time to awaken and that I needed to remember something.” The echo of her voice is in my head and I realize that my description may be more right than I know.
Mom absently puts the brush back down on the dresser, lost in her thoughts. “Do you know what kind of bird you were?”
The question seems irrelevant. “An eagle.”
“An eagle?” There is something in her eyes that I can’t identify, though I’m afraid it is skepticism.
“Yes. And then I heard one call outside and thought I was still dreaming. That’s when I saw you.”
She crosses to the window and looks out searching the sky. “He’s been here for weeks now.”
“Who?” Goose bumps spring up on my arms.
“The eagle. Haven’t you seen him?”
“No. I hadn’t noticed.”
She looks back at me surprised. “But he’s been sitting outside your window for weeks.” I feel stupid and I’m not sure why. “Well you’ve seen him now. That’s good.”
“Good? Why?”
She seems far away again and turns and talks more to the sky than to me. “The eagle soars closest to Grandfather Sky. He is said to be a link between the Great Spirit and the two-leggeds. There are many old stories of eagles that my Mother told me as a child. They represent courage, wisdom, and great insight. She said they help us rise up to better see the spiritual connections and truths.” Finally she remembers that I’m here. “It’s a sign, Dawn. You must be alert. You must remember whatever it is that you have forgotten. You must heed the eagle’s call.”
I’m dumbfounded. “Heed the eagle’s call? Wisdom? Courage? I don’t feel wise or brave. I feel confused. What does it all mean?”
“I don’t know exactly, Dawn. Only you can answer that.”
“How? How do I answer it?”
“I don’t know. I do know that you have to learn to trust yourself and your sight.” Then almost absently she says, “Maybe you just aren’t ready yet.”
“When? When will I be ready?” I rise abruptly from the chair. “Ready for what? And if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be prepared for then how do I know when I’m ready?”
Mom looks at her hands and says quietly, “I can’t answer that either honey.” I try to protest but she cuts me off. “I know that is not what you want to hear. But please don’t give up. The one thing I know for sure is that it is a gift you have been given and it would be an insult to Great Spirit for you to throw it away. I don’t know how you are meant to use it or when, but the eagle is calling to you, Dawn. It is your gift and you will finally have to decide what to do with it.”
I can’t help but be skeptical. “I think I proved long ago that I’m not very good at using it. I didn’t know what my dreams about Dad meant either and they weren’t cryptic at all.” I turn away from her.
“You were just a child, Dawn. You didn’t want to talk about it and so you had no one to guide you or explain what you were seeing or how to use your sight. Maybe I should have pushed you, but I could see how scared you were so I didn’t.” She puts her hands on my shoulders, all her seriousness gone with the grin on her lips. “Besides, your Father was fine.” She hesitates only for a moment. “And I never told you but I swear it made him a better lover!”
“Mom!” I spin around laughing and hug her. “I never read about that being a side effect!”
She walks to the door of the bedroom and pauses grinning, “Me neither, but I think it’s finally starting to wear off so let me know when the next storm is coming.”
“Ok, now that’s just more than I needed to know.”
She laughs and turns to leave. “Mom.” She stops in the door, concern and love in her eyes. “I love you Mom. Thanks for trying to understand me even when I don’t.”
“You will understand one day, Dawn. I can feel it. But I’m afraid it will take you away from me.”
“You having visions now?”
“No, I was not blessed in that way. My maternal instincts have been telling me that for a while and now I’m afraid the eagle confirms it.” There is sadness and pride in her voice. “Are you coming down to breakfast?”
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a little while.”
I turn back toward the window. It’s lighter now and the colors are the pastel pinks and oranges of sunrise in the summer. I search the sky but find no signs, no visions.
-------------------------
Mom stands at the sink. Washing the dishes like always. I see her there every morning after breakfast. I never questioned it, never wondered why.
“Mom? Are you happy?”
“Sure honey”
She just keeps washing. There is something stuck to the frying pan and she is scouring it with vigor. I need to know. I want her to stop. I put my hand on her arm and she looks up.
“No, Mom. Are you really happy? Happy with what you’ve done with your life? With how it turned out? Do you have regrets?”
“My goodness, Dawn.” She opens her mouth to utter some platitude but sees in my eyes the urgency of my questions. Her mouth closes in a smile and she dries her hands and motions to the table. I can’t sit down but I walk towards it. She sits and I lean.
“What’s this about, Dawn?"
“It’s about you. Are you happy with your life?”
Her gaze doesn’t falter. “Yes, I am happy. There are things I haven’t done that I would still like to do, but I’m not quite dead yet. Your father and I have built a good life, a good family. That was important to me. That’s what I wanted. It’s not a life filled with fame and fortune but that’s never what I wanted.”
“What did you want? When you were a kid, what did you dream of becoming?”
“I,” the words stick in her throat.
“What?”
“Before she died I dreamed of being a seer like my mother. I assumed I would live on the reservation and be immersed in our culture, becoming one the elders of the tribe, participating in the rituals of my people. But then Mom died and it just broke Dad’s spirit. He was lost without her.” She is sitting before me but I can tell that she is somewhere else in her thoughts. “But life is different on the reservation now. There are so few left and there is so much poverty. Our people have been ignored and cast aside.” There is a hint of bitterness in her words. “But luckily I met your father and fell in love with him”
“Was that lucky?”
“Dawn! How could you ask that?"
“But by marrying Dad you would never live on the reservation.”
“I knew that. But I met him for a reason. This is where I was meant to be.” There is certainty in her voice but hesitation too. “I do sometimes regret not going back to the home of my people though.”
My sense of urgency increases and I kneel at her feet. “You should go then. Go soon. Bring Dad. Has he ever been?”
“Once, a long time ago.”
I look deeply into her eyes and am lost in them. For a moment I can see something reflected there, my parents in front of a fire. It is some sort of ceremony. There are tears in Mom’s eyes. She stands next to Dad and is holding his hand. There are people, Hopi people all around. Dancing. The atmosphere is somber.
The door slams. Dad’s gruff voice breaks the silence. The connection is broken. “It’s quiet in here.”
“Not anymore, Hal.”
I take Mom’s hands, ignoring my Dad for a moment so as not to lose the thread. “You have to go Mom. Go soon.”
I kiss her lightly on the cheek.
“Go where?”
“It’s a surprise.” I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. I feel lighter now. I feel like I’m floating as I bound up the stairs.
I pause in the hallway before the line of grade school pictures of me and Kate. Velour shirts. Groovy. I look closely at my face and stop. It seems strange the longer I look at it. Just an image on paper. In all the pictures, though the hair and clothes change, though different teeth are missing, there is one thing that’s the same, something in my eyes. A light? I don’t know if that’s the right word. I never noticed it before. I study each picture in quick succession. It’s there in every one. How could I never have noticed it before? I touch it as if to get closer to her, to understand her and that light. I touch my own face and try to see my reflection in the glass over the picture. Is it still there?
I run to my room and stand in front of my closet door, staring at myself, evaluating the differences and similarities between then and now. Ever since I was ten I’ve worn my hair long. It hasn’t been cut in a while so even in a ponytail it hangs half way down my back. My skin is still smooth and brown and will only grow darker over the summer. I have the same thin, red lips that I’ve always had. They reach into the wide smile that Mom gave me. I still sometimes wish I had gotten my father’s blue eyes rather than my wide set, deep brown ones. Sometimes they are so dark I can’t see the pupils. The longer I stare at myself the more my features blend together becoming strange just like the photo had. I step closer to look myself in the eye. Startled, I touch the mirror where my eyes are reflected. It’s there. It’s still there. How could I have not seen it before?
“Dawn?”
I twirl around disoriented.
“What were you doing? Are you ok?”
I flop onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. “Just going crazy that’s all.”
“It’s a family trait, but it’s usually not too serious so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
She sits next to me. Knowing, in her Mom way, there is more than I’m saying. She just runs her fingers through my hair and waits. Waits for what I’m not sure, because even I don’t know what I was doing.
“What did you see in the mirror?”
“I saw someone I didn’t know. I know that sounds stupid, like some psychiatric mumbo jumbo but I saw something in my eyes I had never seen before. Do you think you know yourself pretty well?”
“Do I know myself pretty well? That’s an unusual question, but yes I think I do.”
“You’ve never felt like there is another part of you that you knew nothing about? Like there could be another person living inside of you that you don’t know.” I have to pace again. “Not like another personality or something. But, but.” I’m in front of the mirror again. “A big part of who you really are that you didn’t see before. Like another part of you just suddenly showed up. But then you see a picture and realize it was there all along. How could I not know myself? How could I not know about this big part of myself? Who does that make me now?”
Through all of this, Mom’s look has been one of concern. Loving concern. I can tell she doesn’t really think I’m going crazy but she has her Mom’s instinct to help. I can see her physically restraining herself from coming to the rescue somehow. She folds her hands in her lap.
“I think you do know yourself, Dawn. You’re the same person you always were.”
“Am I?”
She finally stands, her mind made up. She takes me and turns me toward the mirror, standing behind me. “You have always known who you are. Even as a little girl you knew. Just because you weren’t communicating with that part of yourself for a while doesn’t mean you didn’t know it was there. It’s always been there. Waiting for when you were ready. I think you are ready now.”
I reach up to her hands and lean back against her. “Am I?”
“Only you can know for sure, but I think so.”
She stares at me in the mirror, intently. Her face lights up in that smile we share. “I like her. She is smart and strong. She knows her way. She can see it with those beautiful eyes.”
I can’t see now for the tears. Everything becomes a watery gray and I turn and hug her like my life depends on it. “I just wish someone would say Dawn, this is what you are supposed to do with your life. That would be so much easier.”
Mom just smoothes my hair and holds me, not saying a word.
I pull away grinning through my tears. “I take it from your silence that you want me to figure it out myself? Because in case you missed it, that was your cue to tell me what I should do with my life.”
She smiles back, hands on hips. A little light shines out of her eyes. “Maybe we will call Aunt Meredith tonight. It might be time you two had a long talk. Maybe you should go for a visit. You could go while Dad and I are out West.”
“Out West?”
“Home.”
“What?! Really?”
Her whole face beams. She is practically giggling as she turns and walks out of the room.
I flop back down on the bed staring back up at the unchanging ceiling.
---------------------
I must have fallen asleep because when I open my eyes I am no longer looking at the ceiling but at the old Aztec woman again. Only now she stands next to a leaping fire, her eyes closed. I’m not an eagle but am myself. I walk out of the shadows created by the firelight, dressed in the garb of the ancient Aztecs. I stop and face her across the fire. Slowly her eyes open and they penetrate mine making me flinch, but I hold her gaze. After a pause that holds within it an eternity, she reaches above the summit of the flames and takes my hand. She places it over her heart. On my arm I feel the heat of the fire and on my palm the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart. She smiles at me and still holding my hand steps forward into the fire. She is immediately engulfed in flame. I jerk my hand back from the flames as they leap up around her. I watch in horror and awe as she smiles, looks to the sky and disappears in a heap of ashes into the fire.
Instinctively I kneel down close to the fire and look into it. Among the flames I see myself rise from the ashes and walk toward a small adobe house in the midst of a great desert. There is a man standing in the doorway. He knows my name. “Dawn, seer of the Universal Tribe, you have passed through the heat and flame, what have you seen?” I hesitate and the image in the flames begins to disappear. Without thinking I reach into the fire to try to capture the image. The flames sear my skin and I draw back quickly, wincing in pain.
When next I open my eyes I see only the ceiling above my bed, though I’m disoriented and not really sure where I am. I sit up hugging my knees to my chest and rubbing my hand. I search it for burns; there are none but it hurts just the same.
I have not come completely back to my room yet when the phone rings. I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound. Trying to reorient myself, I look to the clock for guidance. It’s only a half hour later than I remember it being. The phone just keeps ringing and I just keep looking at it wondering why it won’t stop making that terrible noise. Finally I force myself back into the present and pick up the receiver. “Hello,” my sleepy, confused voice says.
“Dawn? Is that you sweetie? You sound tired. It’s Aunt Meredith.”
“What?” I rub my face trying to make sense of what she said. “Aunt Meredith? But Mom wasn’t going to call you until tonight.”
“Your Mom didn’t call me, I called you. That’s why your phone rang and not mine.”
I laugh with her and rest my forehead on my free hand. “I’m sorry Aunt Meredith. I was lying down and must have dropped off. I’m just waking up.”
“No problem. I’m sorry to be such a rude awakening for you.”
There is an awkward pause because I feel strange about her calling when we were going to call her that night. Her silence indicates that she is hesitant too.
“You want me to get Mom for you?”
“No. No, Dawn it’s you I wanted to talk to.”
“Me? Talk to me about what?”
“Well, I’m not sure how to say this without you thinking I’m crazy Aunt Meredith,” she laughs unconvincingly.
“I’m feeling a little crazy right now anyway so go for it.”
“I had a dream last night. You were in my dream, Dawn. And it wasn’t the first time I’ve dreamt about you recently.”
“What was it about?”
More silence. Then her words come in a torrent. “I think it’s something we should talk about in person. I think it’s time you came up here for a visit. You haven’t seen Kate in awhile anyway, have you? So you can see her too. But you could stay here with me and we could have long, all night talks.” Her words end as abruptly as they started, as though she wasn’t sure she should say them and now that she had she knew she couldn’t take them back.
“Long talks about what Aunt Meredith? What is this all about? What was the dream about?”
“I told you I’d rather talk to you about it in person. It’s nothing bad though. In fact I think it’s very good.”
“You’re having dreams. I’m having dreams. Mom and Dad are going to the reservation. You want me to come to New York. What’s going on around here?”
I can hear her draw her breath in surprise. “Your Mom is going home? And she is taking Hal? Oh, I didn’t see that coming. That’s good though. I think that could be good.” Her voice trails off, she is no longer talking as much to me as to herself.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Dawn I’m sorry. I was just surprised to hear about your parents’ trip. I wish I could go with her.” There is sadness in her voice now.
“Why don’t you go? I bet she would love that.”
“Yes, it would be good for us to go together but I can’t right now. Though I think I’ll get to go home sometime soon.”
“Why can’t you go now?”
“It’s just not a good time right now.” She pauses, thinking. “So you have been having dreams? That’s a good sign too. We will have to talk about them when you come up.”
Now it’s my turn for the words to flood out of me. “Maybe we can talk about them now. I don’t really understand them but I feel like they are telling me something I should know, or reminding me of something I already know. I don’t know. It’s all very confusing. And then Mom said we should call you to talk about it and then you call totally out of the blue. What does all this mean? And why does this woman keep haunting my dreams?”
She remained silent during my rant but perks up at the end. “A woman? What kind of woman, Dawn?”
“An old Indian woman, Aztec I think, and there’s an eagle too. One time I was the eagle. She could speak to me and I could understand her. She said I needed to remember and that they would look to me.”
“To you?”
“Yes, then when I woke up there was a real eagle outside my window. Mom said it’s been there for weeks. And just before you called I saw her again. Only this time…” I can’t go on as the image of her engulfed in the flames overwhelms me.
“What happened this time, Dawn?”
“It was horrible. She was standing in front of a fire and she took my hand across the fire and put it on her heart and then stepped into the flames and turned into a pile of ashes.” I can hear her draw a sudden breath on her end of the line. I’m immediately afraid that I shouldn’t have told her so much and so decide not to tell her the rest.
“Dawn, I think you need to come to New York as soon as you can. Sooner if possible.”
I have that prickly feeling at the back of my neck. “What’s the hurry? What aren’t you telling me?”
She gives a short laugh, “You’re the seer, you tell me what I’m hiding.”
“You should know better than anyone that it’s nothing to joke about. You have the sight; Mom’s told me about it.”
“I know, she told me you both had a chat about it. But from what I can tell yours is stronger than mine ever was.”
“Mine? If that’s really what it is, can you teach me about it? About how to use it? How to understand it?”
“I can give you some guidance that was given to me but I don’t know what I can do beyond that.”
I feel angry suddenly and my voice rises with my emotions. “I thought I was supposed to have a guide or something. To teach me how to use this supposed gift. What the hell is it for if I don’t know how to interpret it? What’s the point?”
“The point is Dawn, that you can be a light for people to show them the way.”
“What?” I can think of nothing more intelligent to say than that. I’m so surprised by what she has said that I’m speechless.
Her voice is very even now, almost monotone. “A light, Dawn. If your vision is clear you will be able to see things and guide many people.” Then silence.
“Aunt Meredith? Are you ok? You sounded funny. What people are you talking about? Show them the way where? How can I guide anyone else when I can’t figure out my own life? Where is my guide?”
Her voice is distant like she is the one who just woke up this time. “There will be people and spirits to guide you, Dawn. I can help some. But much of it you will have to learn on your own. The world is not like it used to be I’m afraid. We do not live as one. There is not a seer who came before you who will teach you about the sight. There was one, but she is gone. I know you have good instincts though, and you will have to trust them. Trust yourself, Dawn. Often when you cannot see at all, that is the time when you can see most clearly.”
I let her words in sink in and can think of no response. So she continues, “You need to come for a visit. Come as soon as you can. Do you promise?”
“Ok. I promise.”
“Great.” Relief is in her voice, “call me when you’ve made your plans. I’ll talk to you soon. Goodbye, Dawn.”
“Wait, don’t you want to talk to Mom?” There is only a dial tone. She is gone. Just like that. I feel like I’ve just been spinning around in circles like a child to make myself dizzy. I’m left staring at the receiver in my hand, the dial tone ringing in my head.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sight to See ~ Chapter 2 Dreams in the Night
To this day I remember that night in painfully, vivid detail.
It began and ended with electricity. There was electricity in the air. Something was just not right. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I was in the kitchen and everything seemed normal. It was the same old house I’d always lived in; always, all eight years of my life to that point. And yet it didn’t feel right. There was something foreign about the kitchen that day.
I crossed to the sink as if in slow motion and looked out the window. Even the sky looked strange. It was blue to my left but to the right I could see the boiling, charcoal colored clouds that tell of a coming storm. It was still early and everything was quiet.
I usually enjoyed a good thunder storm in the summertime. Sometimes Mom would let me sit out on the porch and watch it sweep across the fields, drenching the crops on its way. I loved to watch it roll through and think about how even though it was loud and a little scary it was part of the cycle that made the soy beans in our fields grow strong and green. The winds of the storm may have made the little heads of the plants bow and duck for cover, but when it passed they drank up the water and reached their heads back up to the sun stronger than they were before.
My Dad taught me how to read the sky. He’d learned to know when trouble was coming or when it was going to be a good harvest. He taught me to love the power of nature but to respect that power too. He loved that land. I couldn’t imagine him ever leaving it. At the time I couldn’t imagine ever leaving it either. And after that night it took a long time before I felt I could leave.
That day though, there was no sign of Dad or Mom, just this strange quiet that made me uneasy. I stepped out onto the creaky, tired boards of the porch and looked out across the fields to the clouds. It looked like they were getting ready to break open. I could see the lightning, and the thunder followed close on its heels. One fork of lightning streaked out across the sky towards me. It was closer than I thought. Suddenly the hair was up on the back of my neck again. I stood frozen to the floor of the porch.
Finally, I noticed Dad out in the middle of the western field on the tractor. He had his back to the storm. I tried to scream, to run, to signal him, to do something, anything to warn him, but I could do nothing. Nothing but watch. The thunder clouds seemed to grow taller and taller right above his head as if they were there for only one purpose. I stood helpless and watched with dread.
Something finally caught his attention and he looked up, but it was too late. A hand of fire reached down from the angry clouds and struck him down. His body was thrown to the ground behind the tractor so I could no longer see him, but I knew he was dead. Finally I found my voice and screamed with all my might. There was the sound of another scream, maybe just an echo, that rang out nearby but I couldn’t see its source. All I could see was the image in my mind of my father lying beside the tractor. All I could do was to stand there and scream, “Daddy. Daddy.” And that’s what I did over and over.
Even now it seems real and not a dream, but I woke to find myself still screaming, Daddy, as I sat up in bed. Sweat and tears mingled on my cheeks as I shrieked his name with every ounce of my scrawny body. My sister, Kate, looked at me bleary eyed and scared from her bed across the room. I couldn’t stop screaming. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I was terrified. I heard footsteps coming down the hall. My father burst into the room looking petrified.
“What? What is it Dawn? What happened?” He raced to my bedside and I could tell that the crazed look on my face did little to calm him down. He looked to my sister who was by then clinging tightly to her favorite teddy bear, Bucky. He put his hands on my shoulders trying to reach me. Over his shoulder I saw Mom come into the room too.
I just kept screaming, Daddy, which seemed to be unnerving for him. He put his hands on my face and held me still. I remember that his hands were rough and warm and real and I was confused by the pulse I felt flowing through them. He looked me right in the eye and said, “Dawn, I’m right here honey. Everything is ok. I’m right here.” Then he moved closer and scooped me up in his strong, Daddy can make everything ok, arms and held me close to him. In my confusion I resisted a little at first but he cradled me tightly to his chest.
Reassurance finally came in the sound of his heartbeat. I could hear it beating steadily through his t-shirt. It proved too much for me and I started to cry. Not crying so much as uncontrollably sobbing; like the time when my pedal broke off my bike and I dragged my knee on the ground for what seemed like blocks. Only this time they were not tears of pain.
I could hardly breathe. I knew they didn’t understand my crying by the looks on their faces, but I knew what it was. It was joy. I was crying for the sheer joy of hearing his heartbeat. He was not dead. I had been certain he was. It was so real. I was sure it wasn’t a dream, but it must have been because there he was. I could smell him and touch him. He was alive. I’d never been so happy in all my life, not Christmas, not the first day of summer, not my birthday, nothing could compare to how happy I felt at that moment.
He just held me and let me cry it out. He didn’t try to quiz me or fix what was wrong, he just made me feel safe and waited patiently for me to finish. I finally stopped crying enough to look up at his face. I noticed how different it was from mine. His skin was darkened from all the time in the sun, not like mine that was naturally dark because of the native blood in my veins. His hair was short and looked like the sun shone right out of it. Sometimes when we were outside I would squint up at him and imagine he was the sun, the center of the universe. I always wished I had gotten his blond hair, and his eyes. Not a boring brown like mine. His were sort of gray and sort of blue. They changed like the sky does. Then the memory of the stormy sky came flooding back and I gasped and spoke without thinking first, “But you, you’re dead!”
I could see he was shocked but he tried not to show it. “What are you talking about honey? I’m right here and very much alive. You just had a bad dream puddin’ that’s all.” My eyes filled up with tears at the sound of his old nickname for me; he hadn’t called me that since I was little.
“A dream? But it seemed so real. You were in the field and there was a storm…” I started to breath harder, again on the verge of sobs.
Mom, who had been standing quietly by the door came and stood beside us. She took my hand in hers and placed it over Dad’s heart. Again I could feel the rhythm of it beating. He looked up at her and their eyes met in warmth and love. That love reflected on me when she turned her gaze back towards me. “Do you feel that?” I nodded. “That’s Daddy’s heart. If you listen you can hear the song it’s playing. Can you hear it?” I sat very still and listened with all my might. For just a moment I thought I could hear a distant song. “Do you recognize the song?” I shook my head no, disappointed that I couldn’t make it out because I was always so good at Name That Tune. “It’s called Daddy’s Song and it has so many verses that it goes on and on and on. All the verses haven’t even been written yet. I don’t know if it will ever end.”
He was in awe of her beautiful, calming words and they inspired him. “See, so you don’t have to worry puddin’. My heart is beating strong and you will always be able to hear the echo of it in here.” He placed his hand over my heart. For an instant I had the strange sensation of our hearts actually beating in time with each other, like we were the only two people in the world.
The touch of my mother’s hand as she caressed my cheek surprised me. I looked up at her and saw the tears glistening in her eyes in the moonlight. It was almost like looking in a mirror in that light, same dark eyes and hair and skin. Her hair was much longer than mine though, but she said I could let it grow out after I turned 10 and could take better care of it myself, which I did and I’ve kept it long ever since.
She turned her face to Dad and a look passed between them. I couldn’t identify it but I could feel that it was something good. She kissed me on the head and pressed her cheek to mine for a minute.
“I will sit with her for a couple minutes,” he said to her, “Until she gets back to sleep.”
She smiled affectionately at him and kissed him. Then she turned toward Kate and tucked her and Bucky back in. She paused at the door and looked back at me. I couldn’t make sense of the expression on her face. It seemed there was something dark there or worried. Maybe it was just the shadows of the night because she smiled and went back down the hallway.
I lay back on my soft pillow exhausted. The last thing I saw was the pale blue of my father’s eyes reflecting the moonlight. There was no storm in them.
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I lay awake sweating. It was the kind of night where if you moved even a little bit, tiny drops of water would form and roll slowly down your skin. I kind of liked laying there and feeling them tickle my skin. As another drop made its way from behind my ear to my pillow I tried to imagine what the third grade was going to be like. It seemed very important. I felt much more grown up than I did the year before. Mom still treated me like her little baby though. I hoped she wouldn’t get all sappy on the first day of school again. It was so embarrassing.
I wondered if Kate was awake. I could ask her what third grade would be like. I was going to have Mrs. Killen just like she did. I knew she’d be mad if I woke her up, but school was starting the next week, I needed to know. “Hey Kate. Hey are you awake.” I could hear her breathing and it didn’t sound like she was asleep. It sounded like she was trying to pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not sleeping. I want to ask you something.” An unknown stuffed animal came hurtling across the room in the dark and hit me right in the face. “Ow!”
I heard her laughing into her pillow. I threw the animal, which I could then identify as a cat, back in her direction. It smacked with a thud into the wall over her head and we both were immediately silent, listening to see if Mom and Dad had heard us. The night was quiet except for the unending chorus of the millions of crickets that lived on the farm with us.
“You’re gonna get us in trouble. Now leave me alone and go to sleep.”
“But I wanna know what Mrs. Killen is like. Is she nice?”
“No, she’s evil. If you are bad she makes you stand in the closet all day and you only get paste for lunch.”
“You’re not supposed to tell lies.” I had tried to sound certain but there was a part of me that imagined eating paste for lunch. “Come on Kate. If you tell me I’ll leave you alone.”
She moaned loudly, exasperated with me, but she knew I would just keep bugging her until she told me something. “She’s very nice. Now go to sleep.”
“Details. I need details!”
“You are such a pain!” She called me a pain all the time when we were little, but she still stuck up for me the year before when two girls from town called me a hick.
She paused and I could tell she was trying to decide whether to ignore me or tell me something just to shut me up. “Just a couple details and I’ll be quiet. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Ok, ok. She is tough with the rules. You don’t want to be interrupting her. She is quick to send people to see Mr. James if they are not respectful. But if you don’t cause a lot of trouble she is really nice. She has a treat box that you can win prizes from. And she’s really good at reading stories. I used to love it when she would read to us.” She stopped as if remembering something. “There is that enough? Now go to sleep.”
“Kate.”
“You promised!”
“I was just gonna say thank you but never mind.” I rolled over and curled up in a ball.
There was silence for a minute and then she said softly, “You’re welcome.”
The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was the image of Mrs. Killen sitting in front of us on the story time carpet and reading.
That was my last moment of peace that night, at least that I remember. A storm broke during the night that had been brewing all day. Finally the clouds reached a boiling point and spilled over, right into my mind.
I ran out of the house, across the porch and down the steps, practically flying. The rain hadn’t started yet but the black clouds were building over the fields and the lightning was forking across the sky. I knew where I was going this time without having to look around for him. He was in the western field. I knew he would be. Maybe I would get there in time this time, though in my heart I knew I wouldn’t. A lump grew in my throat and prevented me from screaming. I ran as fast as I could but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t reach him. I felt like I was treading water. I couldn’t move forward no matter how hard I tried.
I was thrashing around in my bed, trying to get to him, trying to call to him. Why couldn’t he hear me?
“Dawn. Dawn. Wake up, Dawn.”
Kate was gently pushing my shoulder, trying to wake me. Then came a wall shaking crack of thunder. Kate jumped onto the bed with me and I bolted upright. I heard the rain lashing against the window pane which disoriented me because I had thought I was outside.
“What’s going on?”
Kate was sitting beside me and put her arm around me in a protective gesture. “You were dreaming.”
“I was?”
“Yes, you were thrashing around and…” She stopped.
I stared off towards the window. I didn’t have to ask her what she wasn’t saying. I was calling for Dad. I had thought I was safe. I had thought he was safe. I hadn’t had the dream again all summer.
“Was it about him again?”
I couldn’t look at her, I was so scared. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad. Please.”
She wrapped her other arm around me and pulled me toward her. I started to cry. “Shhhh. It was just a dream. It’s ok. Shhhh.”
Through my sobs I asked her the question I dreaded. “What if it’s not just a dream?”
In her second of hesitation I knew she was as scared as I was. “Shhhh,” is all she said. I laid in her arms listening to her heart and the sound of the storm raging outside, and wondered if one of those streaks of lightning had my father’s name on it.
------------
I was at the kitchen sink washing out my cereal bowl. I hated having to do it every morning. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just have a dishwasher like everyone else. The only thing that made it ok was that I got to play with the bubbles the soap made. They flew up into my face every time I blew on them and tickled my nose.
“Dawn. You are supposed to be cleaning up not making a bigger mess. Now hurry up because you still have your chores to do.”
“Ok Mama.” I peeked over my shoulder and as soon as she walked out of the room I blew one last time on the bubbles in the worn, porcelain sink. A large bubble floated up out of the sink, caught the early morning sunlight and turned it into rainbows of color. I was mesmerized by the bubble’s flight. My vision became blurred staring at the dancing colors and I couldn’t take my eyes from the distorted blues and blacks of the sky seen through the bubble. That’s when I noticed the hairs on the back of my neck were standing at attention. The bubble burst, spraying soap in my eyes. I grabbed desperately for the dish towel to wipe my face and turned quickly to find Mom. “Mama. Mama!”
She reentered the room looking harassed. “What is it now, Dawn?”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s out in the fields of course. Where else would he be? He wanted to get an early start today in case we get storms later.”
I turned back to the window and stood on my tiptoes to try to look out. The sky was blue to my left and charcoal to my right. My eyes widened and I felt sick. I echoed Mom’s words. “Storms?” My voice had a trancelike quality. Overcome by a sense of urgency I ran out into the back yard yelling as I went, “No. Daddy, no.”
Mom, alarmed now, chased out the door after me. She caught up to me in the backyard. There was no sign of Dad in the fields behind the house. She grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. “What's going on Dawn?”
Thunder cracked in the distance from beyond the house. My eyes widened in horror. I wriggled from her grasp and ran around the side of the house screaming for Daddy with Mom chasing me.
I leaped up onto the front porch to get a better view of the fields and was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. Only this was no dream. It was a nightmare. I scanned the distance for him, but I knew where I would find him. Mom stood beside me catching her breath but looking too. She spotted him off to the left, in the western field, about a quarter of a mile away. She looked to the darkening clouds in the distance then down at me. Our eyes met. “Run!” She pushed me toward the steps and turned and ran into the house.
I flew down the steps of the porch two at a time and took off across the field through the bean plants growing there. I screamed to him but he didn’t hear me over the sound of the tractor. Behind me, Mom had reemerged from the house and was running after me.
I was only about fifty feet from him when he finally saw me. I was completely out of breath from running and screaming and flailing my arms. He stopped the tractor and stood up to wave. Panting, I pointed up at the sky but I was seconds too late. I watched in slow motion, all sound distorted, as he turned in the direction of the storm and his expression changed instantly to fear. He looked back at me with a look that haunts me to this day and at that same moment the air was filled with electricity and a bolt of light shot from the sky directly at him. It looked just like a hand of fire.
The force of the direct hit of the lightning threw him backward off the tractor. The impact of the lightning strike so nearby knocked me off my feet too. On my hands and knees I spit dirt from my mouth and looked up to the tractor. There was smoke rising from it, but Daddy was nowhere to be seen. The world around me seemed to suddenly return to normal speed and I could hear Mom’s screams close behind me. I pulled myself off the ground and ran around the tractor. I came to a complete standstill, frozen, looking down at my father. Mom nearly knocked me down as she appeared around the side of the tractor.
She was amazingly calm as she dropped down beside her husband. She listened for his breath and felt for a pulse. Her motions seemed blurred and all the color was gone from the fields. Her words came to me as if from underwater, “He’s alive. Dawn, its ok, he’s alive.”
There was a siren in the distance whose call sounded garbled too. Mom was still talking to me, “Dawn? Are you ok Dawn?” She got quickly to her feet and took my face in her hands. Her voice was tight with fear. “Dawn, answer me. Are you ok?”
“I, I’m fine I think,” the words came out garbled and thick but she seemed to understand.
“Good. Now I need you to run to the house and show the rescue squad where we are. Now! Run quickly.”
I turned to leave finally comprehending what was going on but turned back to her just as she sank back down beside Dad. “Mom, how come the rescue squad is here already? When did you call them? How did you know?”
Our eyes met again and she smiled weakly but reassuringly. “I called while you were running out here. I did it because there was just something in your eyes that told me I should. You knew it. You saw it. I think it may save your father’s life too. Now go get them quickly.”
I knew it? I saw it? I didn’t understand what she meant but it was not the time for discussion. I sprinted around the tractor screaming as I went, carrying with me the memory of my Dad being thrown to the ground by the might of the storm. I carry that memory with me still.
It began and ended with electricity. There was electricity in the air. Something was just not right. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I was in the kitchen and everything seemed normal. It was the same old house I’d always lived in; always, all eight years of my life to that point. And yet it didn’t feel right. There was something foreign about the kitchen that day.
I crossed to the sink as if in slow motion and looked out the window. Even the sky looked strange. It was blue to my left but to the right I could see the boiling, charcoal colored clouds that tell of a coming storm. It was still early and everything was quiet.
I usually enjoyed a good thunder storm in the summertime. Sometimes Mom would let me sit out on the porch and watch it sweep across the fields, drenching the crops on its way. I loved to watch it roll through and think about how even though it was loud and a little scary it was part of the cycle that made the soy beans in our fields grow strong and green. The winds of the storm may have made the little heads of the plants bow and duck for cover, but when it passed they drank up the water and reached their heads back up to the sun stronger than they were before.
My Dad taught me how to read the sky. He’d learned to know when trouble was coming or when it was going to be a good harvest. He taught me to love the power of nature but to respect that power too. He loved that land. I couldn’t imagine him ever leaving it. At the time I couldn’t imagine ever leaving it either. And after that night it took a long time before I felt I could leave.
That day though, there was no sign of Dad or Mom, just this strange quiet that made me uneasy. I stepped out onto the creaky, tired boards of the porch and looked out across the fields to the clouds. It looked like they were getting ready to break open. I could see the lightning, and the thunder followed close on its heels. One fork of lightning streaked out across the sky towards me. It was closer than I thought. Suddenly the hair was up on the back of my neck again. I stood frozen to the floor of the porch.
Finally, I noticed Dad out in the middle of the western field on the tractor. He had his back to the storm. I tried to scream, to run, to signal him, to do something, anything to warn him, but I could do nothing. Nothing but watch. The thunder clouds seemed to grow taller and taller right above his head as if they were there for only one purpose. I stood helpless and watched with dread.
Something finally caught his attention and he looked up, but it was too late. A hand of fire reached down from the angry clouds and struck him down. His body was thrown to the ground behind the tractor so I could no longer see him, but I knew he was dead. Finally I found my voice and screamed with all my might. There was the sound of another scream, maybe just an echo, that rang out nearby but I couldn’t see its source. All I could see was the image in my mind of my father lying beside the tractor. All I could do was to stand there and scream, “Daddy. Daddy.” And that’s what I did over and over.
Even now it seems real and not a dream, but I woke to find myself still screaming, Daddy, as I sat up in bed. Sweat and tears mingled on my cheeks as I shrieked his name with every ounce of my scrawny body. My sister, Kate, looked at me bleary eyed and scared from her bed across the room. I couldn’t stop screaming. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I was terrified. I heard footsteps coming down the hall. My father burst into the room looking petrified.
“What? What is it Dawn? What happened?” He raced to my bedside and I could tell that the crazed look on my face did little to calm him down. He looked to my sister who was by then clinging tightly to her favorite teddy bear, Bucky. He put his hands on my shoulders trying to reach me. Over his shoulder I saw Mom come into the room too.
I just kept screaming, Daddy, which seemed to be unnerving for him. He put his hands on my face and held me still. I remember that his hands were rough and warm and real and I was confused by the pulse I felt flowing through them. He looked me right in the eye and said, “Dawn, I’m right here honey. Everything is ok. I’m right here.” Then he moved closer and scooped me up in his strong, Daddy can make everything ok, arms and held me close to him. In my confusion I resisted a little at first but he cradled me tightly to his chest.
Reassurance finally came in the sound of his heartbeat. I could hear it beating steadily through his t-shirt. It proved too much for me and I started to cry. Not crying so much as uncontrollably sobbing; like the time when my pedal broke off my bike and I dragged my knee on the ground for what seemed like blocks. Only this time they were not tears of pain.
I could hardly breathe. I knew they didn’t understand my crying by the looks on their faces, but I knew what it was. It was joy. I was crying for the sheer joy of hearing his heartbeat. He was not dead. I had been certain he was. It was so real. I was sure it wasn’t a dream, but it must have been because there he was. I could smell him and touch him. He was alive. I’d never been so happy in all my life, not Christmas, not the first day of summer, not my birthday, nothing could compare to how happy I felt at that moment.
He just held me and let me cry it out. He didn’t try to quiz me or fix what was wrong, he just made me feel safe and waited patiently for me to finish. I finally stopped crying enough to look up at his face. I noticed how different it was from mine. His skin was darkened from all the time in the sun, not like mine that was naturally dark because of the native blood in my veins. His hair was short and looked like the sun shone right out of it. Sometimes when we were outside I would squint up at him and imagine he was the sun, the center of the universe. I always wished I had gotten his blond hair, and his eyes. Not a boring brown like mine. His were sort of gray and sort of blue. They changed like the sky does. Then the memory of the stormy sky came flooding back and I gasped and spoke without thinking first, “But you, you’re dead!”
I could see he was shocked but he tried not to show it. “What are you talking about honey? I’m right here and very much alive. You just had a bad dream puddin’ that’s all.” My eyes filled up with tears at the sound of his old nickname for me; he hadn’t called me that since I was little.
“A dream? But it seemed so real. You were in the field and there was a storm…” I started to breath harder, again on the verge of sobs.
Mom, who had been standing quietly by the door came and stood beside us. She took my hand in hers and placed it over Dad’s heart. Again I could feel the rhythm of it beating. He looked up at her and their eyes met in warmth and love. That love reflected on me when she turned her gaze back towards me. “Do you feel that?” I nodded. “That’s Daddy’s heart. If you listen you can hear the song it’s playing. Can you hear it?” I sat very still and listened with all my might. For just a moment I thought I could hear a distant song. “Do you recognize the song?” I shook my head no, disappointed that I couldn’t make it out because I was always so good at Name That Tune. “It’s called Daddy’s Song and it has so many verses that it goes on and on and on. All the verses haven’t even been written yet. I don’t know if it will ever end.”
He was in awe of her beautiful, calming words and they inspired him. “See, so you don’t have to worry puddin’. My heart is beating strong and you will always be able to hear the echo of it in here.” He placed his hand over my heart. For an instant I had the strange sensation of our hearts actually beating in time with each other, like we were the only two people in the world.
The touch of my mother’s hand as she caressed my cheek surprised me. I looked up at her and saw the tears glistening in her eyes in the moonlight. It was almost like looking in a mirror in that light, same dark eyes and hair and skin. Her hair was much longer than mine though, but she said I could let it grow out after I turned 10 and could take better care of it myself, which I did and I’ve kept it long ever since.
She turned her face to Dad and a look passed between them. I couldn’t identify it but I could feel that it was something good. She kissed me on the head and pressed her cheek to mine for a minute.
“I will sit with her for a couple minutes,” he said to her, “Until she gets back to sleep.”
She smiled affectionately at him and kissed him. Then she turned toward Kate and tucked her and Bucky back in. She paused at the door and looked back at me. I couldn’t make sense of the expression on her face. It seemed there was something dark there or worried. Maybe it was just the shadows of the night because she smiled and went back down the hallway.
I lay back on my soft pillow exhausted. The last thing I saw was the pale blue of my father’s eyes reflecting the moonlight. There was no storm in them.
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I lay awake sweating. It was the kind of night where if you moved even a little bit, tiny drops of water would form and roll slowly down your skin. I kind of liked laying there and feeling them tickle my skin. As another drop made its way from behind my ear to my pillow I tried to imagine what the third grade was going to be like. It seemed very important. I felt much more grown up than I did the year before. Mom still treated me like her little baby though. I hoped she wouldn’t get all sappy on the first day of school again. It was so embarrassing.
I wondered if Kate was awake. I could ask her what third grade would be like. I was going to have Mrs. Killen just like she did. I knew she’d be mad if I woke her up, but school was starting the next week, I needed to know. “Hey Kate. Hey are you awake.” I could hear her breathing and it didn’t sound like she was asleep. It sounded like she was trying to pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not sleeping. I want to ask you something.” An unknown stuffed animal came hurtling across the room in the dark and hit me right in the face. “Ow!”
I heard her laughing into her pillow. I threw the animal, which I could then identify as a cat, back in her direction. It smacked with a thud into the wall over her head and we both were immediately silent, listening to see if Mom and Dad had heard us. The night was quiet except for the unending chorus of the millions of crickets that lived on the farm with us.
“You’re gonna get us in trouble. Now leave me alone and go to sleep.”
“But I wanna know what Mrs. Killen is like. Is she nice?”
“No, she’s evil. If you are bad she makes you stand in the closet all day and you only get paste for lunch.”
“You’re not supposed to tell lies.” I had tried to sound certain but there was a part of me that imagined eating paste for lunch. “Come on Kate. If you tell me I’ll leave you alone.”
She moaned loudly, exasperated with me, but she knew I would just keep bugging her until she told me something. “She’s very nice. Now go to sleep.”
“Details. I need details!”
“You are such a pain!” She called me a pain all the time when we were little, but she still stuck up for me the year before when two girls from town called me a hick.
She paused and I could tell she was trying to decide whether to ignore me or tell me something just to shut me up. “Just a couple details and I’ll be quiet. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Ok, ok. She is tough with the rules. You don’t want to be interrupting her. She is quick to send people to see Mr. James if they are not respectful. But if you don’t cause a lot of trouble she is really nice. She has a treat box that you can win prizes from. And she’s really good at reading stories. I used to love it when she would read to us.” She stopped as if remembering something. “There is that enough? Now go to sleep.”
“Kate.”
“You promised!”
“I was just gonna say thank you but never mind.” I rolled over and curled up in a ball.
There was silence for a minute and then she said softly, “You’re welcome.”
The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was the image of Mrs. Killen sitting in front of us on the story time carpet and reading.
That was my last moment of peace that night, at least that I remember. A storm broke during the night that had been brewing all day. Finally the clouds reached a boiling point and spilled over, right into my mind.
I ran out of the house, across the porch and down the steps, practically flying. The rain hadn’t started yet but the black clouds were building over the fields and the lightning was forking across the sky. I knew where I was going this time without having to look around for him. He was in the western field. I knew he would be. Maybe I would get there in time this time, though in my heart I knew I wouldn’t. A lump grew in my throat and prevented me from screaming. I ran as fast as I could but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t reach him. I felt like I was treading water. I couldn’t move forward no matter how hard I tried.
I was thrashing around in my bed, trying to get to him, trying to call to him. Why couldn’t he hear me?
“Dawn. Dawn. Wake up, Dawn.”
Kate was gently pushing my shoulder, trying to wake me. Then came a wall shaking crack of thunder. Kate jumped onto the bed with me and I bolted upright. I heard the rain lashing against the window pane which disoriented me because I had thought I was outside.
“What’s going on?”
Kate was sitting beside me and put her arm around me in a protective gesture. “You were dreaming.”
“I was?”
“Yes, you were thrashing around and…” She stopped.
I stared off towards the window. I didn’t have to ask her what she wasn’t saying. I was calling for Dad. I had thought I was safe. I had thought he was safe. I hadn’t had the dream again all summer.
“Was it about him again?”
I couldn’t look at her, I was so scared. “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad. Please.”
She wrapped her other arm around me and pulled me toward her. I started to cry. “Shhhh. It was just a dream. It’s ok. Shhhh.”
Through my sobs I asked her the question I dreaded. “What if it’s not just a dream?”
In her second of hesitation I knew she was as scared as I was. “Shhhh,” is all she said. I laid in her arms listening to her heart and the sound of the storm raging outside, and wondered if one of those streaks of lightning had my father’s name on it.
------------
I was at the kitchen sink washing out my cereal bowl. I hated having to do it every morning. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just have a dishwasher like everyone else. The only thing that made it ok was that I got to play with the bubbles the soap made. They flew up into my face every time I blew on them and tickled my nose.
“Dawn. You are supposed to be cleaning up not making a bigger mess. Now hurry up because you still have your chores to do.”
“Ok Mama.” I peeked over my shoulder and as soon as she walked out of the room I blew one last time on the bubbles in the worn, porcelain sink. A large bubble floated up out of the sink, caught the early morning sunlight and turned it into rainbows of color. I was mesmerized by the bubble’s flight. My vision became blurred staring at the dancing colors and I couldn’t take my eyes from the distorted blues and blacks of the sky seen through the bubble. That’s when I noticed the hairs on the back of my neck were standing at attention. The bubble burst, spraying soap in my eyes. I grabbed desperately for the dish towel to wipe my face and turned quickly to find Mom. “Mama. Mama!”
She reentered the room looking harassed. “What is it now, Dawn?”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s out in the fields of course. Where else would he be? He wanted to get an early start today in case we get storms later.”
I turned back to the window and stood on my tiptoes to try to look out. The sky was blue to my left and charcoal to my right. My eyes widened and I felt sick. I echoed Mom’s words. “Storms?” My voice had a trancelike quality. Overcome by a sense of urgency I ran out into the back yard yelling as I went, “No. Daddy, no.”
Mom, alarmed now, chased out the door after me. She caught up to me in the backyard. There was no sign of Dad in the fields behind the house. She grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. “What's going on Dawn?”
Thunder cracked in the distance from beyond the house. My eyes widened in horror. I wriggled from her grasp and ran around the side of the house screaming for Daddy with Mom chasing me.
I leaped up onto the front porch to get a better view of the fields and was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. Only this was no dream. It was a nightmare. I scanned the distance for him, but I knew where I would find him. Mom stood beside me catching her breath but looking too. She spotted him off to the left, in the western field, about a quarter of a mile away. She looked to the darkening clouds in the distance then down at me. Our eyes met. “Run!” She pushed me toward the steps and turned and ran into the house.
I flew down the steps of the porch two at a time and took off across the field through the bean plants growing there. I screamed to him but he didn’t hear me over the sound of the tractor. Behind me, Mom had reemerged from the house and was running after me.
I was only about fifty feet from him when he finally saw me. I was completely out of breath from running and screaming and flailing my arms. He stopped the tractor and stood up to wave. Panting, I pointed up at the sky but I was seconds too late. I watched in slow motion, all sound distorted, as he turned in the direction of the storm and his expression changed instantly to fear. He looked back at me with a look that haunts me to this day and at that same moment the air was filled with electricity and a bolt of light shot from the sky directly at him. It looked just like a hand of fire.
The force of the direct hit of the lightning threw him backward off the tractor. The impact of the lightning strike so nearby knocked me off my feet too. On my hands and knees I spit dirt from my mouth and looked up to the tractor. There was smoke rising from it, but Daddy was nowhere to be seen. The world around me seemed to suddenly return to normal speed and I could hear Mom’s screams close behind me. I pulled myself off the ground and ran around the tractor. I came to a complete standstill, frozen, looking down at my father. Mom nearly knocked me down as she appeared around the side of the tractor.
She was amazingly calm as she dropped down beside her husband. She listened for his breath and felt for a pulse. Her motions seemed blurred and all the color was gone from the fields. Her words came to me as if from underwater, “He’s alive. Dawn, its ok, he’s alive.”
There was a siren in the distance whose call sounded garbled too. Mom was still talking to me, “Dawn? Are you ok Dawn?” She got quickly to her feet and took my face in her hands. Her voice was tight with fear. “Dawn, answer me. Are you ok?”
“I, I’m fine I think,” the words came out garbled and thick but she seemed to understand.
“Good. Now I need you to run to the house and show the rescue squad where we are. Now! Run quickly.”
I turned to leave finally comprehending what was going on but turned back to her just as she sank back down beside Dad. “Mom, how come the rescue squad is here already? When did you call them? How did you know?”
Our eyes met again and she smiled weakly but reassuringly. “I called while you were running out here. I did it because there was just something in your eyes that told me I should. You knew it. You saw it. I think it may save your father’s life too. Now go get them quickly.”
I knew it? I saw it? I didn’t understand what she meant but it was not the time for discussion. I sprinted around the tractor screaming as I went, carrying with me the memory of my Dad being thrown to the ground by the might of the storm. I carry that memory with me still.
Sight to See ~ Chapter 1 Choices
It’s unsettling to feel that you haven’t made choices in your life, as much as events and people choosing you. It began 450 years ago really and yet only thirty years ago on the day I was born. It began with my name; Dawn. I came into this world with the first light of dawn, amidst my mother’s screams and pain. My head emerged and the sun rose. That’s just how it happened. I didn’t choose it.
So now I am searching, or more accurately, stumbling blindly. My sight is hindered by the muted, gray light of the dawn that I was born into. I’m unable to focus. The objects in my path have no distinct edges or shapes. I’m just waiting for the light to rise so that I may see more clearly what lies ahead. Whether or not my vision clears I feel compelled to continue searching for something to fill up the empty space I’ve created within myself. And yet I’m afraid of finding it. Afraid of the force with which the vacuum will be filled.
As soon as she saw me and then the sun she said she knew my name was Dawn. She said there wasn’t a choice; it was just my name. She said my name chose me.
I’ve gotten more used to the feeling that I’m not making the choices in my own life but it is still unsettling. When something chooses you, people often call it a “gift”. Many of my gifts I’m not sure I wanted; my name not the least of them.
Most gifts that you don’t want you can return and while you might feel a twinge of guilt, still you are able to return them. My gifts are unreturnable, final sale items. I’ve tried to put them in a drawer and ignore them. One in particular I’ve tried to ignore since my childhood. Only much too late did I realize that it leaves me feeling incomplete. So since I was eight I’ve lived with the feeling that there is a part of me that’s missing, something essential. In truth, part of me knows that it’s not missing I have simply chosen not to remember it. See what happens when I make the choices?
So now I am searching, or more accurately, stumbling blindly. My sight is hindered by the muted, gray light of the dawn that I was born into. I’m unable to focus. The objects in my path have no distinct edges or shapes. I’m just waiting for the light to rise so that I may see more clearly what lies ahead. Whether or not my vision clears I feel compelled to continue searching for something to fill up the empty space I’ve created within myself. And yet I’m afraid of finding it. Afraid of the force with which the vacuum will be filled.
Despite my fears something calls to me from my dreams. It wanders through them like a phantom, calling first from far and then from near; shapeless, hovering at the fringes of my memory. It beckons to me to follow down a path I’m not certain I want to tread.
I know I’m nearing the truth though, because the voice is becoming more insistent, coming more often from nearby than far away, coming from within my own head, my own heart. Its shape is becoming more solid, more substantial.
Really it’s she, not it. I can’t yet see her clearly in this light, but I can feel her hanging just beyond my sight; also waiting for the full light of dawn. I can feel her presence in the stifling air. She is a storm on the horizon of my life. I can feel her power building as I approach and I am drawn to it like the moth to the flame; possibly with the same consequences.
She points to the power within me. She calls me to choose finally for myself, to make the choices that lay before me. To gratefully accept or return the gifts that are mine.
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