This is a story I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone, at least not in its entirety. It’s a very personal story, but not really mine.
In 1988 I lived in an apartment in Central Phoenix. It was my first apartment ever. It was within walking distance of Park Central.
One Sunday afternoon I was home and had a sudden urge to lie down on my bed. The urge was so strong that I didn’t even have time to get under the covers. It was never my habit to sleep without the protection of at least a sheet. I’ve always needed protection when I sleep.
As my head hit the pillow I immediately went into a dream. I was in a single engine airplane flying low over a suburb. I could tell that I was a petite blonde in my late 20s. I couldn’t see myself; I just knew it to be true. My plane was in trouble and was in a nosedive. I was in a panic because I could see that I was going to crash into a house. I could see people in the backyard. I didn’t want to kill them. All I could think was, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”. I tried to aim my plane to avoid hitting the house. I was hoping to hit a spot of grass between the house and the pool. I knew I would die; I just didn’t want others to die with me.
I could see the ground getting closer and closer as my plane nosedived. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”. I awaited the pain of impact.
The next thing I knew, I was somewhere very far away. I was walking on a crowded street between two lines of people facing me. They were cheering and throwing flower petals into the air. Everyone was wearing a garland of flowers around their neck. They looked like Hawaiian leis. I assumed I was now in India. It soon became clear they were welcoming me. Flowers were placed around my neck and cheers filled the air. I was confused, thinking I had somehow survived.
A second later I was back in the nosedive. I was back in the panic of “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” I could see myself nearing the ground, nearing the house, nearing my death and I wondered why I was back in the plane again.
Back to the procession I went with flower petals floating and the crowd cheering. It hit me where I was; she had died in the crash and was being greeted on the other side. I also knew it wasn’t my death, it was hers. I was caught in her loop.
The nosedive again. Her panic now mixed with mine. I didn’t want to witness her death again. It’s hard enough to watch a death, let alone experience it first hand. At the time I had the thought that I could die, too, if I couldn’t separate her experience from mine. Her “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”, was now mixed with my own “No, no, no, no, no!”.
We were now back to the funeral procession. I was willing myself to wake up. I knew I was actually on my bed yet somehow caught in this back and forth between here and there.
I told her she was going to be okay. The people in the leis were there to help her. She was going to be all right. I finally woke up and was just me again.
Days later I saw her picture in the newspaper. The article said that on Sunday afternoon a single engine airplane had crashed into the backyard of a house a few miles from my apartment. The pilot was killed as well as someone on the ground hit by flying debris. The pilot was 25, blonde, and petite. She died upon impact.
*Essay title from “Thank U” by Alanis Morissette. Songwriters Alanis Morissette/Glen Ballard; Lyrics The Bicycle Music Company, Universal Music Publishing Group, 1998.