by Laura Roman
I’ve had the dream again.
I am on the path of a roller coaster.
Just as the coaster hits, I jump out of its path.
The color of the coaster is red.
I first had this dream in kindergarten.
It has come and gone over the years.
Like a musical fugue, the theme remains, although the scenery surrounding the threat sometimes changes.
Once the coaster-car was a horse and carriage, and I was on its path in a rustic scene.
Another time it was a car, and I was crossing the road at an inopportune time.
The dream has come at strategic moments.
It has always served as some kind of warning.
In reality, I have managed to avert disaster by taking cue from the dream.
I wake from its Technicolor terror, and realize I am safe because it was only a dream.
In this Bunuelian blur the dream comes and goes, sometimes abruptly, sometimes subtly, it fades into thin air, into the ether of the night.
In this dream responsibility begins.