It felt like some sort of collision of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and H.G. Welles’ War Of The Worlds. I was definitely in a small, four-person fun house car that sped up, slowed down and spun on a dime. I was thrush forward at a scene, and stopped just as suddenly. In front of me a man ran out of a tumbling building, the city behind him ablaze. He looked at us (because there were more people than me in our vehicle, I now notice) with a dazed, almost empty look, and he took off running across the burning landscape.
Our cart sped backwards at breakneck speed, paused as it seemed to look for a new vignette to show us, and then shot off to the right. Again, the stop was abrupt; again, before us was a man tormented as he watched his city destroyed. He turned to us, the fear burning deep behind his eyes. He pulled his hands up to his temples, and screamed a soundless scream.
Now all I see is a wasteland of metal objects. Movie props for science fiction films piled high on disused railroad tracks. The camera trucks left to right across this junkyard of film memorabilia. Some I recognize, some I am suppose to recognize I feel sure. Here are full-sized UFO mock ups, ray guns, miniatures and other objects, all with an other-worldly feel. At this point, I notice the dream has gone into a black and white mode… but with a blue sepia tint. It all begins to make sense to me as Rod Serling’s voice begins a voice-over:
Movie props litter the landscape– props made for one reason and one reason only. To fool people into thinking UFO’s exist. Serving their purpose, they are left forgotten here to rot. It may be said with a degree of assurance that not everything that meets the eye is as it appears. They all seem to be movie props, and they all are, except perhaps for one.
The little twirl of theme music plays, and I know I am watching an episode of “The Twilight Zone.” As the show begins in earnest, I have a certain sense of déjà vu. The show is a shot-by-shot replay of the very beginnings of this same dream, this time played back in black and white. But now, instead of the immense sense of foreboding, the scenes are a little lighter in nature, almost comic. The sound track is different, and now has a laugh track. The men now smile and smirk at the end of their little scenes. Somewhere in the file of rubble, I know, I sense, there is a real UFO.
I get a large check for something unspecified, and I leave it in my car. I go into my bank, a large branch office. I meet with the manager, a man I have known a while. I ask him a favor. He is happy to comply; he just needs the check in my car. So I tell him I will go get it.
On my way out to the door, I see an office to my left with IT workers. I decide to look in, as I know a few people who work in IT at Zions Bank. No one I know is working in there, but I do recognize a child in the room. And sure enough, as I look over the door, Shelley is working in the crawl space, pulling cables.
I overhear Shelley mention to the man she is working with that she is going to Istanbul next year. I call up to her, “I went last year, and it was wonderful. Would you like to hear more?”
She climbs down, and I tell her about my trip. I tell her the best part was in Greece, especially the islands. I list them off; Milos, Mykonos, and most especially Santorini. We look down at the desk, and there are pictures, one of which is of the Lisa and I stayed at in Santorini. I pull the picture and show Shelley.
We look at some other pictures, all of places I have been. Then I go home. I am staying in my Grandmother’s trailer in Pismo Beach. My Dad is there, as is my brother and sister. My dad is staying in the room my brother and I usually stay in.
He calls us out, and says we need to go out and pick something up. So we pile in the car, and I get shotgun. I notice my father has a new car– a Datsun B-210. Despite the cars age, it is in surprisingly good shape.
We head down the road, but have to stop at some road construction. There is a long trench across the road. Two men are there, only one working. He is stuffing straw down into the trench to fill it up. The right side is filled, and the other worker switches the road to open so we can pass through on the right.
We head toward a freeway on ramp that heads into a spaghetti bowl of intersecting roads and ramps. To our left, beneath a ramp much higher than we are, hang bits of road the DOT has decided to save for some future renovations… things like pylons that have been damaged in accidents, short stretches of road, and light poles.
As we head up the on ramp, my dad pulls to the right to another ramp that has bee closed. This ramp has been turned into an outdoor store of sorts. My dad goes up to the counter and tells the woman what he needs– a handle for a door. She goes to get it. My bother starts messing around, and breaks some items on the sales table. The woman tells him that his behavior is not appreciated. I bite Dan’s finger, deep and repeatedly. I tell the woman I have taken care of him for her, and show her is gnawed finger.
The handle is found, and we return to the car.
I wake up.