I’m driving. A red corvette through a sandy dessert expanse that I’ve never visited before. On my left are jagged copper cliffs. I miss the sharp turn and suddenly my car has flown through the guardrail. For a second, I’m suspended in midair, looking down at the dunes below me. Then I realize that I’m going to crash. I open my eyes, and I’m safe beneath my covers.
I’m speeding recklessly through city streets. I tear through a yellow light without thinking. I can’t seem to slow down my car. I slam on the brakes when I see stopped traffic up ahead, but the car pulls forward even faster. I smash into the back of an old taxicab. I jolt up in my bed.
I’m on a highway surrounded by greenery. Trees and shrubs and open air. All four windows are down. Everything is beautiful. Except for that flat grey wall at the end of the road. I swerve around it onto some tracks, just in time to see a train hurtling toward me. I awake with a scream.
For weeks, I had these recurring car accident dreams. They kept happening. My morning and evening commutes never seemed to be enough, my subconscious wanted in on my driving time too.
Then one fateful morning, toward the end of December, it really happened. I decided to turn around on my commute and head back home because the snow was coming down too hard, the roads were sleek white obstacle courses. It wasn’t worth it to drive into the city. It was too dangerous. I was inching up a hill when a vehicle pulled into my lane on the other side to avoid a stalled car. We didn’t see the other was coming until we nearly collided head on. I veered right to avoid him, and ended up barrelling down a rocky hill covered in snow. My car was totalled. My dreams came true.
My life has changed significantly since that day. And the dreams have stopped.