The Unauthorized Biography of Rosco P. Coltrane

When it's my moment in the sun, I won't forget that I am blessed, but every hero walks alone, thinking of more things to confess

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Location: Owensboro, Kentucky, United States


Tuesday, July 11, 2006

My Terrors

(What you are about to read could be called a blog exclusive. I have never told another soul about these nightmare and feelings. It shakes me up pretty bad now just thinking about it)

Last night it happened. It doesn’t happen very often. Once, maybe twice, a month. I wake up from a dream shaking and sopping with sweat. My eyes try to adjust to the darkness from the light of terrors that I just witnessed in my mind, but it takes a few moments and more than a few blinks for the darkness of night to finally calm my eyes.

It usually takes me thirty minutes or so to get back to sleep. Sometimes it takes longer. Last night, it only took fifteen minutes for me to slow my heart beat down to where I could finally close my eyes again and not feel the terror.

Here is a bit of backstory to my dream. I was on a plane on 9-11-00, one year to the day before the attacks. I was flying from Logan Airport in Boston to Tampa. We were so late that they barely let us on the flight. We had to sit in the seats that face the back of the plane. We saw everyone that went to the bathroom, everyone that got a drink. We saw everything.

My nightmare always begins with us rushing through Logan Airport that day. We are battling traffic going through the Ted Williams tunnel that is supposed to make things so much fast and so much easier to get to the airport, but it only seems to make it more difficult. We grab our bags and sprint through the airport. We finally make it to the gate, just in time. They are calling our names and about to give up our seats when we shout at them.

When we get on the plane, we find that the only seats left are the seats that face the back of the plane. Everyone on the plane is looking at us. Just staring. We sit down and buckle our seatbelts. The plane takes off and I am grasping the armrest during the takeoff. Almost immediately, there some men get up and start to shout at everyone on the plane. I see the terror in 200 sets of eyes. I hear the screams. When one of the men gets almost to my row, I take my seatbelt off and stand up. I block the aisle and ask him a question.

"Don’t you know, this is a year early. This is a year early. It is September 11th 2000! Not 2001!" We struggle and struggle. He throws me down on the ground and begins to kick me. He pulls a boxcutter and tells me to be quiet or he will cut my tongue out. A few of the other passengers begin to murmur in the back of the cabin. I hear them talking about taking over the hijackers. I stand up and tell them not to worry.

"It is the wrong year!" I tell them, "the wrong year!"

The plane suddenly jerks to the right and begins to pick up speed. Once again I yell to everyone that everything will be all right. But I can see all their faces, their faces tell me that everything will not be all right.

I always wake up before any impact.

It scares me pretty bad. I wonder if I scream during the dream. I wonder if I cry. I wonder if I try to take the boxcutter away from my pillow. I wonder a lot of things. I wonder where the guilt comes from. I wonder what I could have done. Most of all, I wonder if I will have to dream for the rest of my life.


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