The dream was always the same. I’d find myself lying in the middle of the street in front of our house on Hawthorne Avenue in Pocatello, Idaho. It’s as vivid in my mind today as it was a half century ago when the dream repeated itself on multiple occasions. I was lying facedown, looking up the street (we lived on a hill), while feeling the pavement pressing against my body and hands. At first it was not unpleasant; in fact, the pavement was warm and supportive. But then something alerted me, and I looked to see a car coming down the street directly toward me. I pressed down with my hands so I could get up and run, but my arms were not strong enough to make me move. Frantic, since the car wasn’t slowing, I struggled to crawl out of its way, straining with all the strength in my legs, but they wouldn’t move either. It was as if I was glued to the pavement! The car was getting closer and closer, and I tried to scream, but all that came out was a gurgling sort of strangled sound, certainly not enough to alert the driver. As the car was almost upon me, my heart pounded and the terror was so intense that the panic woke me!
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