Quiet Voice

A Creativity Book of Days

It was a major interstate highway somewhere in Florida. For some inexplicable reason, Buck and I were driving separate cars. I think our destination was the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville. Not surprising, since we’ve been there many times and will be going again in early July. This time, though, we were approaching from a different direction, one completely unfamiliar to me, maybe from somewhere in South Florida rather than our normal route from Pensacola.

Even stranger, several days earlier, we had come the same way in one car, with Buck driving. The  exit toward Jacksonville was tricky. I remember that.

This day, Buck was in front of me. Suddenly a car ahead of him spun out and left the roadway into the median. His car spun around, too, and as a result he was facing oncoming traffic, but I could see he was safely pulling off the road.

I was swept along in the fast-moving traffic trying to think fast about what I should do when I suddenly realized our exit was just ahead of me. I dove into it, drove a little ways and realized this was the wrong exit and I had no idea where I was. It was more like a theme park, similar to Disney, but I actually entered a kind of fairy tale kingdom right off the interstate with no opportunity for a U-turn.

Next thing I remember was Buck and I being together again in a dark parking lot, in only one car, and entering a back door to the hospital at Mayo via electronic sliding doors. We found ourselves in a medium-sized meeting room filled with old-fashioned metal folding chairs. The room was very dimly lit. I stood folding the armload of pale blue cotton sheets and pillow cases that I had walked in with, while Buck stood off to the side talking with a security guard. The elderly guard told Buck the President had been admitted to the hospital in grave condition.

I can’t recall any other details of this unusual dream.

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