i dreamt i survived a plane crash last night. it had been on a small jet that had made several aborted take-off attempts. as i sat in my seat, i had a premonition that things were not right. i knew that i was going to die.

. . . . . . .

let me go back to as far back as i can remember. in the dream.

a small airport in a northern city. looking out through its windows, i could see green mountains as well as pine trees.

there were only a few shops in the terminal. i remember browsing the newspaper stand, looking for spearmint chewing gum.

the queue at the gate was informal. an air of casualness that is typical of small-town airports.

airport employees had that provincial look about them. hairstyles out of date, they were a bit too tan for this time of year. i imagined that when the airport personnel are done boarding this flight, the place closes down for the day and they all drive into town to resume some second job that they might have. perhaps the ticket checker works at the convenience store or the local hotel. surely, i thought, this can’t be a full-time job.

after presenting one’s ticket, there was a brief descent down a flight of stairs before one walks directly out onto the tarmac.

it was springtime. i could smell the wet soil from a recent rain while steam rose up from the runway.

the sun sat low over the horizon.

at the end of the short runway, and there was only one runway, there was a chain-linked security fence located a few hundred yards before a tall stand of fir trees. beyond that, a development of grey, concrete high-rise buildings ensconced before a tree-covered mountain ridge.

there was a municipal park nearby, right next to the airport. i saw kids running around.

i stood in line to board with my work colleagues. i remember being one of the last passengers to step onto the rolling staircase that lead up to the plane’s entrance.

it was an older model, a three-engine plane (one on each wing, one on the tail).

. . . . . . .

i sat towards the rear of the cabin, on the right side of the plane. middle seat.

on the tiny television monitor found on the back of each passenger seat, i watched the pilot’s point of view, as the plane turned at the end of the runway and prepared for take-off.

the engines became loud. we moved forward.

with the plane’s acceleration, i made a simple wish, as i always do: i closed my eyes and asked to arrive safely.

i looked out through the oval-shaped window. we were not moving fast enough.

on the monitor, i saw the end of the runway approach and then felt the plane slow down, braking hard.

we came to a stop.

the captain’s voice could be heard on the p.a., apologizing for the aborted take-off.

passengers around me joked and there was nothing to suggest that anyone was unnerved.

the plane retraced its route on the tarmac, turned around, and prepared to take-off once more.

flight attendants took their seats.

within a few seconds of starting down the runway, i saw kids running out onto the tarmac.

the plane came to a sudden halt.

i watched as airport officials chased the children away. some of them were scooped up by a security guard and placed onto a yellow open-top airport utility vehicle. one boy managed to ride off on his bicycle. passengers laughed.

by this time, there was a bit of a circus atmosphere onboard. vociferous chatter. amusement. i realised that many of us had been drinking while in the terminal. it was oddly festive.

i felt nervous. i tried to remember the passenger bill of rights. am i entitled to insist on disembarking after two aborted take-off attempts? what are the rules?

a few friends from work sat in the row in front of me. one of them turned to me and pushed my shoulder. i smiled meekly. i was sweating.

the plane moved forward again, accelerating quickly. my eyes glued to the monitor.

a few passengers stood up, got out of their seats, and bum rushed the front of the plane. they were fooling around, like idiots who stand up on a moving roller coaster. two flight attendants intervened.

on the monitor, i could see the end of the runway. the pine trees. the high-rise buildings.

the plane lifted upwards. it seemed to climb so slowly.

wheels up; the sound of the landing gear folding back into the plane’s underbelly.

i stood up, jumping out of my seat, landing on the aisle.

we were not moving fast enough to clear the trees. i heard the piercing sound of metal being ripped, of passengers yelling. i was standing. everything shook. it was very very loud.

the plane rocked violently, as i tried to balance myself between the seats in the aisle.

suddenly there was a gaping hole in front of me. the plane swerved from side to side, and as the plane banked hard to its right, i fell out. other passengers fell too.

i saw handbags, a seat, a jacket, and shoulder bags empty out of the plane.

i was flying through the air. i don’t know how fast. i was moving forward and falling, towards the top of some of the pine trees.

i was thrown towards a hefty branch, i reached out to put my arms around it, bracing for impact and somehow held on as the tree bent forward towards the ground. i felt a dull thud on the left side of my face as i fell and landed on soft earth.

i looked skywards, finding the plane. it was still airborne, moving away from me, upside down, its red tail towards the ground. it cleared a low-lying mountain ridge, then disappeared from view.

i expected to hear a boom and then see an explosion. i saw no such thing.

there was no such sound.

i was in a field.

i saw someone lying on the ground, maybe one hundred feet away. listless.

i ran.

i scrambled up a hillside, hoping to reach the top of the ridge.

i ran through trees. cedar trees. spruce. uphill. pine needles on the forest floor.

i don’t know how long i had been running but i reached a mountain river.

to ford it, i could scramble over granite rocks. there was a chain link fence on the other side. further away, the ridge.

i realised that i must be in a secured public watershed. i reached the fence and tried to scale it. there was an electrical wire running along its top.

i gave up, and ran parallel to the fence instead, moving south on uneven terrain.

i ran for a while.

i found a service road.

there was a pick-up truck and a park employee working nearby.

i asked him to let me out.

he looked at me suspiciously.

he pointed out that i was bleeding.

there was blood on my chest, and blood on my forehead.

i tried to explain that i had just been in a plane crash, and that i was looking for the plane.

“it must be just over that ridge,” i offered, “in the valley next door.”

“there is no valley. there’s just another ridge, just more mountains.”

“i need to find that plane.”

i thought about my wife. i wondered if she knew. i wondered if she already thought that i was dead.

“i need to reach that plane.”

“get in the truck. i’ll give you a lift.”

. . . . . . .

as we drove downhill, i could not stop thinking about my wife. did she know? was she suffering?

the truck’s service radio was on. i could hear commotion. orders were being given, people were being directed to a crash site.

. . . . . . .

i never saw the plane. i never saw the crash.

the dream-state slackened, my body stirred.

i tried to stay within the dream.

i kept on thinking about the field.

where i landed.

the golden field. tall grasses. late sun.

the scent of jet fuel, the taste of blood in my mouth.

the tree.

it was damaged.

i saw myself in it.

suspended lifelessly over a limb.

was that me there?

had i not survived?

how would i tell adriana?

where was my phone?

as i began to wake, i could not determine if i was alive.

how had i made it to the top of the ridge?

i spoke to that man. he spoke back.

i had survived a plane crash. i had walked away. i lived!

but what if i died and was now walking amongst the living?

i was awake. staring at the ceiling, trying to open the door to return to the dream state.

i was awake. the sound of the city around me.

i could not return.