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The Worst Takeoff Ever

Dream | November 26, 2009

This dream takes place on the night before we leave Sayulita, after my sister's wedding and Thanksgiving. We've got to drive all the way back up to the states and it will take us a couple of days. In this dream was alot of travelling but I won't bore you with the details.

It started at a train station. My dad and I. He gets into this cute red 1959 Mercedes 280SL (which he really has, but it's silver. This red one resembled the Porsche he drove during the wedding.) and I get into my van. We drive to the airport and wait in a long line of cars in some parking garage. At some point we abandoned our vehicles and jumped aboard the plane.

A steward asks me how was the Caesar salad? I say I haven't had one yet. A glance around and everyone in the plane is sitting on folding chairs and eating salads. The steward says if I want one I have to go to the dining room at the rear of the plane and ask for one.

I saunter back and pass through a metal door into a barren cylindrical room. A steward is alone inside, doing something or other. Piled here and there along the sides of the room are miscellaneous tools, rusty equipment, etc.

Looking ahead through the room I can see we're taxiing down the runway at high speed. And the plane is dodging storage containers, tractor-trailers, earth-moving equipment and huge Terex trucks that were parked on the tarmac. At one point we ducked under a low overpass and the roar of the plane echoed dully off the reinforced concrete above.

The airplane was able to get some altitude after that, when suddenly a huge skeleton of a building loomed ahead. We banked straight up... Imagine a jumbo jet instantly conducting a perpendicular accent! We followed that skyscraper all the way up, then partly down the other side before leveling off onto a skewed path.

Throughout this takeoff I'm standing in the middle of this room with the steward, waiting for the plane to get off the ground. Then I say, "Hey man, can I get a Caesar salad?"

He says, "Sure, but I gotta take care of something first."

He pushes up on the ceiling and the roof of the plane opens up into long doors, much like the cargo bay doors of the space shuttle. The force of air escaping suddenly sucks me out into open sky and I cling to the edges of both doors as they separate from the plane and float adjacent to its path through the sky.

The steward is casually walking along the roof while I'm desperately clutching the two halves of the doors together and trying to keep them from hurtling off into space.

All around is this drab, sepia-toned landscape of a burned-out city speeding below us. Barren and dead, orange and red in the fiery sunset. Gutted industrial buildings, rusted machinery, sandy streets. It's sad and empty.

But I don't have any time to contemplate this scene. We're floating farther away from the main body of the plane like we're soaring out into orbit and it's falling to earth.

At some point I manage to climb up onto the doors and stand up, as if on a mountaintop with miles of earth and sky all around, the wind rushing through my hair and over my skin. A fantastic feeling, and the pinnacle of this dream.

The steward has also drifted out into space. Then he waves to me and we pull the floating halves of the doors down to the aircraft.

When the doors finally close I kinda woke up, but drifted into another dream about eating corn flakes for breakfast.

Tags   Flying   Travel

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