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Finally, I said, “Because I read up on ‘how to cure nightmares.’”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I read up on a lot of things.”
“Were you going to tell me about it?”
“I’m telling you right now.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“There are lots of methods, but one big one is to talk about the dream.”
“I don’t want to talk about the dream.”
“I get it. But apparently it helps. You tell the story of the dream—while you’re awake… but then you rewrite the ending.”
“How can you rewrite the ending if it’s already ended?”
“You rewrite it for next time.”
“I always hope there won’t be a next time.”
“But there always is.”
Jack nodded.
“So let’s try it, then.”
Jack smiled then and let his eyes roam around my face. “I can see why my mom likes you.”
I didn’t want to enjoy that too much.
“Rewriting the ending,” I said, “is like offering your brain a different script. So when it goes to tell that story again, it has a choice to tell it a different way.”
“There is no different way.”
“Not yet. Because you haven’t written one.”
Jack sighed like we were talking in circles.
“Like one example,” I went on, “is a guy who had a recurrent nightmare about a monster chasing him. For years and years. And then one day, he turned and asked the monster why it was chasing him—and then he never had that dream again.”
“Nice solution,” Jack said. “One problem for me, though.”
“What?”
“In my nightmare, I’m the monster.”
“Oh.”
A minute went by. Then Jack said, “It’s the same every time.”
I waited while he took a breath.
Then he went on, “I’m in a sports car with my little brother Drew. It’s a Ferrari. I bought it to show off. It’s so new, it still has paper tags. Drew thinks it’s awesome. And we’re going so fast, it’s like we’re flying. The faster we go, the faster we go—until a bridge appears up ahead. It’s late afternoon in winter—and even though it’s not that cold out, there’s black ice on the bridge—the kind that’s the color of pavement, the kind you never see until it’s too late. As soon as we hit it, we just go sliding. We’re spinning and everything’s a blur and then we crash through the railing. I can’t believe it’s happening, even as it’s happening. Everything’s in slow motion and at hyper speed exactly at the same time. We go over the edge and then we’re in this free fall where gravity is turned inside out. It all happens in seconds—and hours—and years… and then we hit the water’s surface—the chassis flat, like a belly flop. This is good, I think. This gives us time. The car bobs at the surface—and time goes sideways. I roll down my window and shout at Drew to do the same. I hold the button with one hand, and I fumble with my seatbelt with the other—and then I look over at Drew, and he hasn’t done anything. His window’s up. He’s buckled. He’s staring at me in shock. Put your window down! I lean over and pop his seatbelt. I press against his chest to hold his window button—and it’s halfway down when the car fills up a rush of water and it’s so cold and so angry. Swim up! I shout before the water overtakes us, and as I push him out his window and follow him. The water’s so gray, it’s black, but I pump my arms and legs with everything I’ve got—but I can’t find the surface. I’ve lost the surface, and there’s no time to find it. The water tangles around me, pulling me deeper, and when I wake up, I’m drowning.”
Wow. Okay.
