I am driving in a car, sitting quietly beside the driver. I’ve never liked driving, always had a tightness at the back of my throat about it. It’s better now than it was, now I’m able to sit in a car without white knuckling it the entire way home or having a panic attack. But I still hate it.
In this dream I’m abnormally calm, until I look up to notice that the car is being driven on the edge of something, one set of wheels on pavement, the other floating almost in the air above water. The edge of the lot is corraled by a large bump, striped with multiple colors as a warning. The warning is not being heeded by this driver. We veer to the right, towards the water and I realize I need to get out. The water is dark and choppy, winter water, cold and dormant. I need to go, and now.
I open the door and step into the air as the car is falling, throw myself from the car as I urge the driver, comically slow and muddled, to do the same. I hit the water with a snap, and come up to see the car bobbing on the surface. I’m calm but paniced, unable or unwilling to go under to try and pry the door open. I know I can’t. I know it won’t help. I’m not strong enough.
Swimmers are gathered from a nearby beach, and one looks to me as I scream and dives down. There are terrible grey seconds and then finally, he rises with the driver and feel peace again. It is safe. He is safe.
We stagger to the beach together, and say nothing of it.
I wake and remember the cool surrender of falling, and the strange terror of calm.