by Abelardo Morell
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Sixteen Places I Have Hidden, excerpt
16
The only recurring dream I have takes place in the park and the neighborhood I grew up in. Sometimes the scope of the dream changes after awhile but the feeling of being in that original space is the same every time. I am either flying or running. Flying feels like swimming if I was actually good at it, except faster and through the air. Running feels wonderful and effortless (I was never athletic, the only time I can run well is literally in my dreams). I am always just a step ahead of whoever is chasing me. Sometimes it is a playful chase like hide and seek, and sometimes things feel more dire. I know I am faster, but only just a bit—I enjoy the sensation of outrunning something though my mood shifts from adrenaline to fear and back. I run into the park and down to the creek to hide. Sometimes it looks exactly like it does in real life, but more often as I move through the space it twists and turns and goes deeper—-there are other pathways, tunnels descending through bushes and brambles, maybe a wider creek or a new river, and sometimes in the flying dreams I will see a giant forest from above and drop down into the space. There have rarely been other people there (but sometimes animals), and I never see my pursuer or am caught by them; there is only a sense of their presence and closeness.
I find a hiding spot and wait.
