Shell Shocked: Nightmare alley
Whenever I’m not in Sanibel I dream about it. I wish my wife would also because she seems to be having recurring nightmares. She will toss and turn, occasionally sit up while still asleep, mumble things in Swedish, her native language, and scream softly.
When this happens I wake her up but she doesn’t wake up easily. She’s still clinging to her nightmare. I’m thinking that she’s about to be swallowed by a ferocious, fire-eating dragon and is clinging tenuously to a tree branch. Or she’s tied to railroad tracks and the Orient Express is racing down the tracks towards her as a malicious, salivating conductor is in full glee as the throttle is on full speed ahead.
Or that she’s ten miles above the ground being held by a giant buzzard which is about to drop her to the ground. All noteworthy nightmares.
When I finally wake her up she’s in a cold sweat. Did she dream any one of these horrifying typical nightmare scripts? No. She’s hyperventilating because the nightmare was so bad. She dreamt that a small kitten had fallen off her lap and went scrambling through the house and that she couldn’t find it. As she went into every room in the house without being able to find the kitten, she panicked more and more.
As her frustration mounted in not being able to find the kitten, her “nightmare” found her more anxious, fearful and helpless. As she described her nightmare to me my first reaction was total annoyance.
“That’s what woke me up?” I said. “A nightmare about your not being able to find a kitten?”
“Yes,” she said, as she wiped perspiration off her brow. “That poor kitten. Who knows what part of the house it’s in now? I’ve got to get back to sleep to make sure it’s safe. Otherwise, I could never forgive myself.”
I didn’t know what to say. But I said something anyway.
“You mean to tell me that you were flailing your arms and screaming because you couldn’t find a kitten? I thought you were facing a firing squad which was about to rip you to shreds. Now that would be worth screaming about.”
“Well,” she said, “my nightmares are different from yours. Everyone has different nightmares. Your nightmare is the Yankees losing game seven of a World Series when they were ten runs ahead.”
“That’s not a nightmare,” I said. “That’s reality. A nightmare is when you find yourself in a terrifying situation you can’t get out of. A nightmare is ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ when crazy Freddy is coming after you with knives coming out of his hands. A nightmare is being on the Titanic as it’s going down. Those are nightmares. Not a kitten getting lost.”
I guess she was expecting me to be more sympathetic.
“I don’t have those kinds of dreams. Last night I dreamt that I couldn’t balance my checkbook. I tried and tried but the numbers didn’t match. As you know, I woke up screaming and in near hysteria.”
“Honey,” I said trying to change my tone. “Every night you wake me up because you’re having a nightmare. And every night I try to calm you down and soothe you so that you can catch your breath and go back to sleep. You then go back to sleep and I lie awake for what seems like hours because your screams really startle me. You’re already back asleep and I’m trying to join you by counting sea shells on Sanibel beaches.
“I wouldn’t mind your waking me up if you had real nightmares. But a lost kitten? A checkbook that’s not balanced? These aren’t worthy of being called nightmares. How can you wake up screaming over such non-threatening dreams? It’s not fair. I need my sleep, too.”
My wife was indignant.
“Well, those are the kinds of nightmares I have. To me these situations are terrifying. I’d rather have a nightmare about being tied to railroad tracks than a small, innocent kitten getting lost. Now go back to sleep and let me have my nightmares.”
Again, I lay in bed for a long time as she quickly dozed off. This isn’t fair, I thought. Nightmares are supposed to be truly scary and threatening. That I could easily understand. I’ve really got to get back to sleep. I’ve got a big tennis game in the morning.
I finally did get back to sleep. But I woke up screaming not too long later. I dreamt that I was driving on Periwinkle and that traffic was slow. The more slowly my car went the more I panicked. As my screams receded and I got hold of myself, I began to really be annoyed with my wife. Is this contagious, I thought? Is my wife forcing me to have inconsequential, non-eventful nightmares?
Again I tried getting back to sleep hoping and praying that if I were to have a nightmare it would be one I could boast to the guys about.
Art Stevens is a long-time columnist for The Islander. His tongue-in-cheek humor is always offered with a smile.