Dream of: 22 August 2001 "The Clutching Hand"

I was on the Gallia County Farm, standing on the gravel road in front of the Farmhouse, looking toward muddy Symmes Creek flowing along in front of the road. I was looking at the area east of the bridge. Although I was aware that my father was standing nearby, all my attention was focused on a long orange school bus, filled with children, just about a meter from me. My brother Chris was on the bus (I could see him in one window) and my mother was driving the bus. She was trying to turn the bus around, and in the process, she had backed the bus close to a high rock ledge above the creek. She was on the verge of backing right over the edge. I hollered out at her to stop, and I added, "You stupid bitch!"

I knew my father had heard what I had said, and I thought I shouldn't have said such a thing to my mother, but she was simply being too stupid. I had gone through this same situation many times. Over and over my mother had backed a bus to the edge of the cliff like this. She always ended up going over the cliff, and I always ended up having to save the children on the bus.

As I watched, just as I had anticipated, the back wheels of the bus slipped over the edge of the ledge. I hollered again, "You stupid bitch!"

The bus crashed down the side of the cliff and into the creek. I ran toward the creek, ready to jump in. I thought I would first try to save Chris. As I prepared to jump into the brown water, I reflected that I was wearing tennis shoes and I wished I had time to take them off, but I didn't. Just as I reached the edge of the cliff, my limbs began to feel extremely heavy. I slowed down, barely able to move, but I had to go on. I began to visualize what I would encounter under the water. What if someone inside the bus reached though a window and grabbed me in a death grasp? Would I be able to break the hold? I knew I could try pressing between the knuckles of the person's hand. If I had a knife, maybe I could chop off the clutching hand. But I didn't have a knife.

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