Memories of My Nightmare

In this nightmare, I was my then-current age - not even 10.  I remember we somehow as a family all fit into my Great Aunt's Honey Bee Datsun, and I remember us standing in a parking lot that my dream-self seemed to be able to locate but my real self was unable to pinpoint.

I was dressed up a bit (in a dressy pair of pants and a nice top), as were most of the rest of us.  My Great Aunt and my Grandmother were both very dressed up - hair done, nice shoes, etc.  My Grandmother even had a small blue hat on - something I'd never actually seen her wear but I had seen photos of her wearing such a hat.  I must have really liked the look to have dressed her this way in my sleep.  We all walked into this building, which seemed to be a cross between something medical and something that I'd now define as spa-like.

There was a front desk and a nice lady sitting behind the desk who seemed to know who we were and why we were there.  The space was large, with a metal open stairwell swirling around the room, however there didn't appear to be a second-floor, really.  There was a landing area that I could see from where we were standing but there was nothing beyond it.

Without really knowing why we were there, I was told that my help was required.  I was given a task - a simple one but one which I was being told was ultra-important.  It was then that I noticed a box in the center of the space (and the front desk was somehow now gone).  As a grown-up today, I can describe it as a single person steam box, with openings for ones head to be out at the top and hand holes on either side.  It opened by lifting the side with the head opening up and then swinging open the front doors.  This, however, is how I'd describe it today ... it's apparently NOT how I described it at the time of the nightmare.

Anyway by this time, my Great Aunt was in this box and her hands and head were outside as one would expect.  My task, it seemed, was to hold her hand.  My child self liked this task.  There were, as I've shared, NUMEROUS times when she had comforted me and held my hand ... so paying the favor back was alright by me.

The rest of my family was milling about and were quietly discussing something or another - I was just beyond hearing range and they were speaking in hushed tones.  My child mind imagined that they likely were impressed at the terrific job I was doing and how I was being a great help.  Beaming with pride, I straightened myself up just a bit, brushed my pants down and noticed the floor I was standing on was a patch of carpet.  Leaning down to look at it more carefully, I saw it was slightly padded and had specks of lots of colors in it.  After I was done inspecting the floor, I stood back up and reached to hold my Great Aunt's hand ... but it didn't seem to be there.

Uh oh.

I glanced nervously at my family gathered in the room and none of them appeared to have noticed the lapse in my assignment so I turned my attention back to the box.  I jammed my skinny arms into the box in an effort to find my Great Aunt's hand but nothing seemed to be there.  I jumped up where I stood to see if I could ask her to put her hand back out for me to hold but couldn't see her face.  But I caught a glimpse of a small blue hat.

Panic set in.

Somehow in my mistake, my Grandmother was now in this box and only I seemed to notice.  I called out for help but it seemed like there was a glass wall between me and my family.  They couldn't hear me and weren't noticing my movements.  I tugged with all my might at the doors and latches on the box but nothing budged.  The small blue hat sunk lower below the top edge of the box opening.

My Great Aunt walked around the glass wall and said, calmly and without concern, that I'd done the best I could and that she was alright.  The family gathered around and blocked my view of the box, which was being wheeled away by some unseen method.  We all walked outside, even though I was still loudly protesting and apologizing, and instead of the familiar yellow car my Great Aunt drove us in waiting for us in the parking lot, we all got into my Grandmother's blue Chevelle.  My Great Aunt was now the one missing and my Grandmother was sitting next to me.

I was screaming at this point in the nightmare.  Screaming that we couldn't just leave my Great Aunt there and that it was just a stupid mistake on my part and how I could do better if just given a chance.  How she had talked to me and said she was ok and that we couldn't just drive away without her.

I woke up.

I'd been screaming pretty loudly, apparently, as I'd interrupted the sleep of not just my sister but my mother as well.  And I tried, through the gasping tears that were now falling down my face, to explain what had happened but I wasn't explaining it right - even to me.  It was a box with hinges but we could see her and she wasn't in pain and it was my Great Aunt and then it wasn't but it turned out to be her and and and.  My childhood brain was scrambled and I was too upset to make sense of what my subconscience had laid out before me.

To me, the nightmare was scary because, in my panic, it felt like *I* was the one trapped in the box.  Like I was depending on someone to not let me slip away.  It was too scary to talk about ... ever ... and so I never did.

To my mom, the image was scary because I'd described, in the vaguest of terms, the Electric Shock Treatments my Grandmother was receiving.  My parents did all they could to never let their children know what was involved during those appointments and - well - I STILL don't know.  I remember only that my mom admitted she was nervous after hearing my nightmare that I had overheard too much at some point.

To my whole family, the nightmare became downright creepy when - less than a week later - my Great Aunt passed away and they attended her funeral.  I was too young to be there but years later my sister would STILL describe my nightmare as a vision of my Great Aunt's services.  Everyone was dressed up and spoke in hushed tones.  It was quiet and she'd noticed a large padded carpet with lots of specks of colors in it.  There was a box with hinges on it, but they could see her and she wasn't in pain.  Today my sister still tells me I saw that funeral before it had even happened.

And all these images came rushing back to me during an MRI, and I relived the nightmare.