Living Between Two Worlds

1
New Year’s Day 2020
          A car driven deep
          into the water’s abyss—
          Happy New Year!
We went on a long road trip, the immediate family, in my sister’s car. Myra drove. My dad and I sat up front on the bench seat. I was holding Bambina, my puppy and constant companion of fourteen years, in my arms. My mom, my grandma, and Joseph—the love of my life—were seated in the back. I wondered where Myra’s husband, Neil, was.
Each morning, we got in the car and drove to destinations unknown to us. We explored new sights, had new experiences, took photos, bought souvenirs, and had great fun. The vacation seemed never-ending. We ate at fast-food dives for lunch and fine eateries and restaurants for dinner. Each night we stayed at a different hotel.
Driving on a desolate road, we were drawn to the setting sun just ahead with its brilliant hues of majestic purples and pinks. To our left, the serenity of a clear blue lake; to our right, a stately old hotel. Although it was still a bit early, we decided it might be a good idea to stop for the night. The crisp, fresh air and the beautiful scenery filled us with delight. And it certainly seemed convenient. There were no cars parked out front. The parking lot was well paved and shiny. The hotel lights were on.
Perhaps the guests are still out sightseeing and enjoying themselves, I thought.
Myra fixated on a corner spot adjacent to a wooded area, far from the hotel’s entrance. A perfect spot to park the car. She was a good driver, but for some strange reason, she was having difficulty maneuvering the car into the space. I handed Bambina over to my dad and got out of the car to help direct her. Satisfied that she had parked well, I turned to take a closer look at the hotel. It was eerily empty. I heard the locks of the car doors clicking behind me—open, close; open, close; open, close. Assuming that everyone was getting out of the car, I turned back to see what the ruckus was about.
What on earth!
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The part of the parking lot where Myra just parked had become part of a water mass. The car, with everyone in it, was whisked into the water’s abyss. I stood there, my feet riveted to the ground, my mouth agape. I had just witnessed the choppy waters swallow my family.
Suddenly, I awoke.
What a horrible dream!
I was so shocked by its disturbing nature that I couldn’t rise. Then it occurred to me that this wasn’t a dream in the conventional sense; it wasn’t something I’d wished for or something I’d feared might happen. It was my reality, presented to me in the form of a dream. My family and I had vacationed together. We’d enjoyed ourselves, shared happy times. But everyone in the dream, aside from me—each and every family member in the dream, including my puppy—was no longer living, and had passed to the Other Side. They hadn’t drowned or even died together; it took more than fifty years. But they were all gone. And Neil wasn’t in the car because he was still alive.
The dream, a macabre presentation of my life, sent shivers down my spine. I hadn’t seen most of my family members for many years. I missed them terribly. Although I was compelled to face my tragic reality, I felt forlorn and very alone.
I dragged myself out of bed. It was January 1, 2020—a new day, a new year, a new decade. Although a day usually filled with hope and promise had begun with terror and despair, surely new beginnings and better days were on the horizon. Still, I felt the need to record this nightmare down to its smallest detail. I wanted to get it right.
I must get it right, for I alone live to tell the tale.