Dream Jumper Ch 3

Over the next several weeks and months, I would randomly lay my head down to sleep only to find myself waking up in various, unknown places eager for whatever adventure was waiting for me on the receiving end. I never knew when it was coming or how it would happen, but I was thrilled when it did.

I had a very adult understanding of life that most children could not begin to comprehend. Mama often called me an old soul and commented that I was wise beyond my years. I was certainly much more well-spoken than the other kids in my class at school, and I had a way of understanding things that I shouldn’t have at my age. I recognized that going to undetermined and far-away venues while I slept was not the norm and it was something most people would not understand. Perhaps my knowledge came with my gift like a symptom or a consequence. It was so much a part of me that I just knew I had to keep my abilities and visits to myself. That very notion caused me to revere my ability and the many sites I visited. I treasured every jump, every person I met and every place I was able to visit.

I read a book by Dr. Seuss once. He sure knew the many places people could go from one day or moment to the next, but I don’t think he had any real idea, not like this, anyway! The places I went were far and wide and defied all realms of possibility!

Madeline and I strolled down an old world, cobble stone street on what seemed to be a beautiful summer morning in a small, quaint village. We watched and listened as market vendors called out their wares. The clickety clack of wooden carts being pulled along the rocky road echoed between the brick buildings that lined the uneven cobble street. I saw men selling meat pies and crusted, iced pastries. Other carts were loaded with strings of jewels, watches, and rings. I passed tables and racks loaded with purses and bags of all kinds as well as scarves made of silks and satin. Mouth-watering scents filled my nose with the sweetest aromas and my tummy growled because of it. You name it and you could probably have found it in that picturesque little street market that could be anywhere in the world.

I camped with two friendly explorers after I found myself wandering the streets in a dusty rumble and ruins of an ancient city. When I met the man and woman, they were digging inside a cavern in the center of a crumbling stone temple. I helped them with their task by handing them rolled up packs of tiny hand pickaxes and brushes as they sat on their knees bent over the earth floor in the middle of a staked off area of the room. I wasn’t sure what they were looking for, but they were exuberant to find some pieces of clay pottery and tiny rock sculptures made of granite and quartz.

I hiked mountains and climbed small hills. I walked through forests filled with dense trees that stood taller than mountains and wider than roads. I found myself in rolling hills of green pastures, blowing dunes of wavy desert sand, and valleys and fields of wildflowers. I saw homes built of straw and clay, huts that were built into the side of a hill, castles from long ago and palaces that were much newer than old.

I boated down a dark and murky river that weaved through a city of beautiful, handcrafted buildings and artfully painted cathedrals while a man standing at the stern sang and commandeered the craft.

I rode a bus through a busy city lit with lights, lined with tall buildings and skyscrapers, and packed with people bustling around in a hurry to get nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. Car horns beeping and blaring all the way down the road.

I realized how lucky I was to literally travel the world when my eyes closed. I did not need a passport or any special mode of transportation other than my own two feet to get me where I was going – unless I chose to. Once I awoke in my very own dream world, that world became my oyster and I loved every minute of it. Now that I’m older I recognize the fact that I, very likely, managed to visit far off countries and places like Greece, Rome, England, and even parts of the very country I lived in, like New York City and the sand dunes in Oklahoma or Nevada. I was a real life globe trotter who didn’t need the likes of a plane, train or automobile.

From every place I visited, a token or piece of memorabilia came back home with me upon my waking. I brought a worn and weary book back from the cobble-stone street market and a tiny piece of a quartz rock sculpted into the shape of a man that I helped dig up from the ancient ruins.

I collected other rocks and seashells along my journey, and flowers were almost always available to grab hold of and bring home with me as proof that my dreams were not just a subconscious stroll through memories or desires. Thank you very much, Dr. Freud.

Mama frequently remarked that I always seemed to find and bring home items she had no idea when or where I got them from. She must have thought I stored away rocks and shells in my pockets whenever we left the house, because I never told her where I went at night. Yet, she never accused me of stealing or taking things that did not belong to me – and I never stole anything, not even when I jumped. I only brought home things I paid for, that was given to me, or that I found on my jumps.

When I was 7, mama gave me an old trunk that was my fathers.

“JJ,” she said after calling me to the kitchen, “I know this doesn’t look like much of a present now, but I have a feeling you will treasure everything in this dirty old trunk.” She lifted a brass latch and opened the lid as I sat on my knees in front of the chest. I’m sure she never knew just how much her words rang true.

“I noticed that you like to collect things like your father did, and I’ve kept this dusty, old thing, even after he died, because I thought you might like to have his things someday. I guess I was right. I see the shells and rocks you keep on your shelf, books I have no idea where they’ve come from, and lots of dried flowers and other trinkets...” She trailed off quietly and her head bowed down, looking into the contents of the trunk that lay open in front of her as if staring into a mighty chasm of misty memories and long, lost thoughts.

I looked up at my mama, crystal clear tears building at the corner of her azure blue eyes. I hated to see mama cry. I saw that she was saddened by something, even as she was so happy to be giving me such a gift and one of which she thought I might treasure forever.

Mama sat down on the floor next to me as I looked back down into the open, dingy brown box and found that I was very much like my father. He had ink pens, button pins, an old baseball with an almost un-readable name scrawled across it, cards, books, flowers, a very old pocket watch that no longer told time, and so much more.

“This was all daddy’s stuff?” I asked quietly.

She put her hand on my cheek and answered, “every bit of what you see in this trunk belonged to your father. He once told me that the things in this trunk represented his worldly travels and held so many reminders of the things he had done in his short life.

“I hardly knew exactly what he meant because he was born and raised here in Missouri and he came from a poor family that was never able to travel very far from home. But he sure treasured this trunk and everything he kept in it, just as if it were loaded full of gold and jewels, and that made it important to me, too. I would often find him in the basement, looking at the different things in this trunk with a far-off look in his eyes.

“Since this trunk represented all the memories he had during his lifetime, it has remained precious to me. The problem is, I don’t know what each souvenir represents because he never shared their stories. It was a secret he kept by locking these items away in a trunk and only opening them to remember on rare occasions.

“I can tell ya, though, sweetie, he sure loved everything in there as if it were the finest treasure on Earth, aside from you. I decided that I would one day pass along his secret memories and this trunk to you when the time was right. Now that I see you collecting things of your own, I felt it was time and this would give you a place to store your own secrets and memories, too. What better place than with your fathers?”

She had no way of knowing the astonishing gift she had just given me, and it was far more than an old trunkful of my father’s secrets. Unknowingly, she told me more than I could have ever dreamed of, my father was just like me. Daddy had been able to travel the world despite his lack of fortune. That must’ve meant that he was a Dream Jumper, too; and that I wasn’t the only one in the world with this special ability. If my father was a Dream Jumper, then maybe there were others just like us!

Not only that, but he had also accumulated many items from his jumps throughout his lifetime. He brought home memories, like mama said, in the form of the many things gathered and placed in this trunk so he could recall those moments from the numerous places around the world that he visited. He was exactly like me; or rather, I was just like him since I was his daughter and I was a collector of secret memories, as well.

“Mama,” I exclaimed happily, “thank you for this gift! I will treasure it so much, I promise! I feel like it will bring me closer to knowing my father!” I lunged into her arms and she scooped me up, hugging me tight. I pulled away from her just a bit, so I could see her eyes. “Mama, can you help me put my things in the trunk with daddy’s?” I asked, gratefully.

“Of course, sweetheart. Let me move this into your room first.” She stood up, shut and latched the lid, took hold of the leather handles on each end and picked it up. After she carried it to my room and set it under my window, she unlatched the brass closing and opened the lid again.

Mama cleaned the outside of the box with a rag and bottle of polish. Then I gathered my own collection of items from bookshelves and under my bed, and mama helped me fill the dusty old trunk with those treasured relics of untold tours around the world. Daddy had a few small shoe boxes that weren’t quite full sitting inside the box, and mama found a couple more in the basement, giving me space to organize and store both daddy’s and my treasures.

She collected the dried flowers sitting atop my large wooden dresser and helped me gently press each one of them between the clear, plastic pages of unused picture albums she had also brought up from the basement. We talked about many things as we worked, but she never asked me about the items she touched, or the flowers we pressed. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that these were my secrets to hold, just like daddy’s; and those truths could not be shared between us.



A year later, I sat with mama in the hospital for the very last time. She was laying quietly in a mechanical bed with tubes and electrical type wiring stuck with tape to her flaccid skin. Monitors and gadgets surrounded her bed as bags of fluid dripped into a port just below her collar bone, providing her some relief from pain. The surrounding walls of her room were painted a pristine, institutional white and a tv hung above the bathroom door, but it was dark and vacant.

Her face was pale and gaunt, her eyes deep-set and bloodshot with splotches of black underneath. I found myself sitting in a fabric upholstered reclining chair, immediately next to her bed, facing her and holding her small, bony hand in mine. I wished she still had all of her, once beautiful, long blonde hair under the thin, silk wrap she had on her head. She had been sleeping and opened her eyes to look at me. She pulled an oxygen mask away from her mouth and a beautiful smile formed on her pale face, brightening it once again, if only for a moment.

“My beautiful baby girl,” she said, then coughed heavily. She leaned in closer to me and asked me to move closer to her.

“I want to tell you something, my love. Mi amore.” Her voice deepened just a little and she spoke even quieter than before. “Come here,” she beckoned me further, so I pulled the chair closer to her bed and leaned in so that I was face to face with her.

“I never told you this,” she whispered; “but I know a little bit about your special talent.” She smiled crookedly as I gasped, astonished that she had held such a secret from me. I couldn’t believe her revelation and was about to ask her about it when she motioned me to wait. She continued, almost rushing the next statement so I wouldn’t interrupt. “Daddy never told me much, but what he did tell me I need to share with you before I go.”

“Mama,” I cried, “mama, you can’t go! You can’t leave me! I need you to fight so that you can stay with me. Please, mama, please!” I sobbed harder, leaning face down onto the firm mattress, tears forming a small wet puddle on the white sheets.

She hushed me gently and pulled my face up to look intently into my eyes as she brushed my small, salty tears of fear and grief away.

“Mi amore. You have always been my sweet girl. I don’t think I have much of a choice and I think I don’t have much time, either. Once God has made the decision to bring me home with him, there is nothing I can do to change it. But I need to tell you something and you need to listen to me, honey. Please, before I’m gone and don’t have the chance any longer.”

I calmed myself for a moment, tears still streaming a hot trail down my sad little face. She coughed again and it took her a moment to collect herself. I hated seeing mama like this. She was struggling to breathe and coughing more and more as she spoke, so I needed to give her a chance to say what she needed to say.

“Daddy once told me that he could travel the world, any place he wanted to go, all while he slept. I don’t think I would have believed it if I hadn’t realized that he disappeared from our bed many nights while I slept. Honestly, I would’ve thought he was crazy as a loon if he had said anything before I was able to see it for myself!”

Mama chuckled and it turned into another heavy, deep cough. This one was so bad that the rattling in her chest shook her whole body, and the bed with it. I pulled a tissue from the box on a tray next to the bed and handed it to her. She silently wiped blood from her lips with the tissue while holding her hand up to keep me from saying anything.

After a moment, mama continued with her story, “one morning I woke early and saw that he was missing. I laid there wondering where he went at night only to watch, horrified, as his body reappeared in our bed. It was as if he had been there the whole time, sleeping peacefully next to me, and I had somehow missed it. Part of me thought I must be going crazy, but another part of me was scared and mystified all at the same time. If I had really just seen his body appear in our bed when it was empty just moments before, then I needed to know what was happening and why.

“He wouldn’t tell me much, though, because he said it was dangerous for me to know anything and that in order to keep me safe he needed to keep quiet. He even said he had stopped ‘night traveling’, as he called it, so that he would be safe, too; but if he took a sleeping pill, pain medicine or even cold medicine, he wasn’t always able to prevent himself from traveling. For that reason, I noticed that daddy rarely allowed himself to take any medication that would make him drowsy in the last few years before he died.

“Your daddy told me that it was dangerous because there were other people in this world who didn’t want him to live just because he could travel while he slept. He also said that ‘night traveling’ was hereditary and that our children would likely have the same ability.”

Mama coughed hard then pulled the oxygen mask up to her mouth and breathed in the O2 for a few moments before finishing. I sat motionless and waiting, intrigued to hear and know more, words and thoughts churning in my head like the gears of a clock clicking and whirring to count the seconds.

“I know you can do the same thing he could. I’ve been very scared for you but also in awe of this special ability that you share with him. But, I need you to hear this now, before I go. Your daddy said he had to be very careful who he talked to in his dreams. Both of his parents died in their sleep and so did your daddy. He believed that granny and pop-pop were murdered because of their ability. If that’s true, then I think those people must’ve found your daddy and killed him, too, because he also died in his sleep.” She held the mask up to her mouth, this time breathing in the air deeply and for much longer of a time. I could tell that she was tired from talking but she wasn’t done yet and was eager to finish.

“This must be a lot to process, especially since you’re only 8 years old. But you know I had to tell you, I had to say something. After I’m gone I need you to be very careful. I want you to live a long and happy life but I won’t be here to protect you anymore and, with your daddy gone, I have to put this burden on you. Aunt Maddy cannot know about this – she might not understand and when people don’t understand something, they often become afraid of it. Maybe someday she will find out on her own and maybe she will accept it because she loves you – like I did with your father. You’ll know what to say to her and when it needs to be shared, or if it can be shared at all. This is your gift and your story to share when and if the time is right.

“There’s something else I want to tell you. If nothing else, remember this,” her voice deepened even more than it had been, her eyes and facial expression intensified. “A couple of months ago I put a box in your trunk. You need to keep that box in a safe place where no one will find it easily. In that box is a notebook with instructions and a key, along with a few other things. This is your ‘getaway’ box. If you need to run away and hide, from Aunt Maddy or anyone else, your getaway box will help you. That is the one thing I will be able to do to help you after I’m gone, so keep it as safe as you can.”

Tears fell freely from my eyes again and gathered at my chin. Granny and pop-pop were gone. Daddy was gone. All three of them possibly murdered at the hands of some unknown group of people because they didn’t want us to jump in our dreams. Mama was dying in front of my eyes. And worst of all, my beloved Aunt Maddy wouldn’t be able to protect me or help me because she didn’t know and might not understand this special gift I was given. I was only 8 and it was going to have to be me against the world.

In that moment, all I could think to say was, “alright mama. I promise I won’t tell anyone and I will keep the box safe.” This was a lot to take in. I may have been wise beyond my years, as mama said, but this was almost too much for my young heart – it was already breaking from watching my mother weaken and wither away in front of my eyes. Yet, I had to think about what would happen if Aunt Maddy found out about me, and what if her knowledge of my ability scared her?

Mama leaned in and kissed my forehead with dry, cracked lips. “I love you. I want you to always remember how much I love you and how much daddy loved you. You have been our whole world, our whole heart and our life-song. Mi amore, you have given us so much joy!” She smiled again and helped pull me up onto the bed with her where I lay down next to her, pressing my cheek against her heart as I sobbed quietly. She pulled the mask back over her face and I quietly listened as her breathing slowed, then faltered and stopped, forever.