I dreamt that I lived with my family on a lot that had two houses, joined at the front door by a carpeted tunnel. I had two sisters and a brother, all ginger-haired like my geologist father. I was the oldest, blonde like my mom.
Two days before, my father had picked me up for spring break from my New Hampshire dorm so we could road trip together back to California, in a van. This is the only thing in my dream that has a parallel in the real world. For most of my childhood, my family owned a blue Dodge van. We drove it for twenty years, until it literally disintegrated; at the end, you could see the road through the floorboards and the only gear that worked was "reverse". The dream van was still in good shape, comfortable for driving thousands of miles across the country.
As we pulled into the driveway at home, my siblings ran out to greet us. Mom was still at work. My younger sister complained that south wing was too hot. My father and I touched the wall of the south house next to the front door and compared it to the temperature in the north. South house was definitely hotter to the touch. In south kitchen, we discovered some old electrical wiring sparking near the stove. There was a very small fire, some flames but mostly smoke, spreading very slowly. We ran through the house and found a small blue whale outside my bedroom door. Together we lugged it into the upstairs bathtub to keep it hydrated.
My father decided that the house was worth more to us in insurance money so he drove off with my two sisters, leaving me and my brother on the front lawn to watch the house burn down.
As he drove away we became younger and younger until I was 9, my brother Sean 8. We circled the house. In the backyard I found our cage full of gerbils and pulled them further back from the house that was now putting out an oven temperature heat even though no flames were yet visible from the outside. Over and over again, Sean asked me what we were doing. Waiting for daddy I said, and with each iteration it seemed less true.
A cop car pulled up to the curb. "What are you two doing out here?" the officer asked.
"Our house is on fire," I blurted out, immediately regretting it. I was pretty sure I wasn't supposed to say anything. I began blathering, making excuses for why we hadn't called the authorities yet.
The officer called the fire department. Instantly, with no waiting or fire trucks, the fire subsided. "Next time," the officer scolded me, "you just have to dial 9-1-1."
My father got home. All of us went inside. I was 19 again. At dinner in the north wing, my father was quiet as I related what had happened when the police officer showed up. "You should have kept your mouth shut," he said, finally. "We were almost free."
"Well NEXT time the house is on fire, and you decide to go for a drive, you should leave me with specific instructions for exactly how to lie to the authorities." I stormed out of the room, angry tears leaking from my eyes.
I walked through south house, appreciating the neutral decor. Everything seemed so neat and cozy. I couldn't understand why my father had wanted it all to burn, or why he'd left the house without trying to save even one momento. I felt a growing sense of gratitude that not a single scorch mark was visible; there wasn't even the smell of smoke in the air.
I passed the bathroom door and heard a strange stretched-out moan. My stomach sank; how could I have forgotten? Opening the door, I saw the whale in the bathtub had dried out on one side and was heaving as if unable to get air. I ran water over it with the shower head and asked, in english, if it wanted something to eat. I was pretty sure I remembered seeing a can of crab meat in north fridge. The whale nodded, one sad eye pleading with me for help.
I ran down the stairs and through the tunnel to north wing, my mind racing. If I called a museum or aquarium we'd certainly get trouble from agencies that protect sea mammals. I didn't think anyone would buy that we'd just "found" a blue whale in our house, even though it was true.
I rifled frantically through the fridge, feeling despair when I came up empty-handed. I couldn't even feed this animal. What was I going to do do? I didn't think the whale would fit in my car. I'd need a truck. It would have to be the middle of the night to avoid attracting too much attention. And I'd need help; I couldn't lift the whale by myself. Did I even know anyone strong who would keep that kind of secret for me?
I woke up, heart pounding, still strategizing how to save the whale without going to jail.
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