Chapter 1: Secret
It wasn't the fear of death or pain that haunted me about these recurring dreams, if that's what they really were. It was the unknown. Who were these ivory strangers that I was 'seeing' so frequently? They were beautiful and everything about them said, "welcome".
When I was very young my parents were worried that something was wrong with me; I was little, so much smaller than anyone else my age. They took me to our town physician, Dr. Weber. He said I was fine. I liked him, he was my best friend Angela's dad and he gave me an orange lollipop. Not satisfied, my parents took me to doctors in other cities, but they all said I was ok, I was just little. Even then I felt my parents never really believed any of them. They would fret and wring their hands when they didn't think I was looking. But I always noticed little things like that.
But my size suited me. I dreamed of being a dancer. I loved moving my body gracefully and I would pirouette around the furniture and pretend to waltz in the hall. I would fix my long shiny brown hair in buns as I saw dancers do in books. Others times I would leave it down around my shoulders. I liked the way it felt, softly grazing my neck as I turned in circles.
I begged my parents for lessons. My best friend Angela was taking them from a lady who lived in the house behind her. Sometimes Angela would show me some of the steps she had learned. But mother and father had to pay for Cynthia's piano lessons. Cynthia was gifted they told me; she needed to take lessons from a man who lived in Gulfport. He was a virtuoso having played for the New York Philharmonic. He was taking on only one new student and he wanted to work with Cynthia. She was so excited!
I loved listening to her play! Her fingers would dance across the keys while I danced around the piano. Those were happy carefree times. I thought that was how my life would always be.
The waking dreams started when I was nine. The first time it happened it scared me. In my mind I saw a big dog knock Cynthia down and attack her. I saw her trying to fight back as the dog took hold of her fingers, ripping skin and breaking bones. I saw that she'd never play the piano again. I screamed for my parents. They came running and scared off the dog. Nothing happened to Cynthia, she wasn't even afraid.
My parents assumed that I screamed when I saw or maybe heard the big dog. I didn't mention what I had seen; the vivid vision had me paralyzed and sick to my stomach. I stood in that spot, unable to move. When my parents were sure Cynthia wasn't hurt, my mother came to where I still stood frozen, and I nearly jumped out of my shoes.
The visions weren't always horrible. Sometimes they were small and insignificant, like knowing that mother was fixing liver and onions for dinner – giving me time to pretend I was sick so I could miss the meal. I would walk in the door from school holding my stomach and ask if I could lie down. It worked every time. But I knew it would, I could always 'see' that it would.
I never told anyone what I saw. I think I instinctively knew that it would either scare people or they would think I was crazy. I was especially prudent at home. I learned to just stare into space when a vision was coming. I found that if I concentrated, it was easier to see what was ahead. My carefully concealed secret was mine and mine alone. I didn't even tell Cynthia.