Beach

The bright sun sparkles on a beach straight out of a Hawaiian travel brochure. The sun is so bright it makes the colors more intense. White, white sand and brilliantly blue waters. It is warm, and heavenly.

I am a girl, about 14 or 15, on a Hawaiian vacation. My parents have left me in charge of my little brother and little sister, who are around 6 and 8 years old. They are happily building a sand castle. I am bored. I wish I could go hang out with other kids my age. Behind me is a small cliff that rings around the beach. It is not very high, perhaps around 60 feet or so. Above it are some palm trees and what looks like a picnic table. I think it might be fun to try to climb up there.

"Hey," I say to the kids, "I'm just going to go up there, OK?" I point to the picnic table. "I'll be able to see you the whole time, so no fooling around! I'll be right back." They barely pay attention to me. They are too absorbed in what they're doing. I know they'll be fine.

I walk to the cliff and begin to climb. It is pretty easy - there are plenty of footholds, and the face is not sheer at all, but it takes a little longer than I expected. Finally I am at the top - indeed it was a picnic table I saw. There are a few people up here, enjoying the view of the beach and taking photos of eachother. I look back down at the beach and see my brother and sister, who are still in the same place. I can feel a warm breeze and I am very happy. I realize that I probbaly won't be able to get down this way but I know that there is a path to the beach if I skirt around the cliff for a few hundred feet.

My little brother runs toward the water to refill his pail. I want to shout at him to be careful, but I know he won't hear me. Then a strange thing happens. The water recedes dramatically, as if it is suddenly low tide. My brother stops, confused. I can imagine his facial expression: "where did all the ocean go?"

Behind me, the one of the other tourists gasps. "Oh my God!" she says, pointing.

There is a wall of water gathering in the ocean. A giant tidal wave.

I'm stricken with fear and panic. I want to run down and drag my siblings away but I can't move. I scream at them, but my voice is caught in the wind. Everyone on the beach stands frozen.

One of the tourists grabs my arm. A young man. "Come on!" he says. The others are running away, back towards the montains. I shake off his hand because I have to get down to the beach. He grabs me again and hauls me toward a palm tree. "There's no time!" he says. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and the tree and says, "Just try to hold on" right before the water hits.

It's a tremendous blow. I am crushed against the rough bark of the palm tree. The water tries to pull me loose and toss me in its waves, but the man's arms hold us there.

When the water is finally drained away I realize how narrowly I've escaped. The man's shirt and shorts are in tatters. The necklace he was wearing is gone, claimed by the wave. My arms are sore. The tree has been pulled half off its roots, and all its leaves are stripped away.

"Where are your parents?" my rescuer asks me.

But I can't answer him. I'm looking down at the beach. It is clean, white and sparkling. No footprints or sand castles remain.

I'm not sure, but I think I wake up crying.

Tsunami

(I had many different versions of this dream as a child. I don't know if it's based on a story my mother told me, or if it's some sort of deeply-held cultural memory.)

I am ten, eleven. A boy. I live in a tiny Japanese fishing village in some century before the present one. I live alone. No, with my grandfather. We live in a tiny one-room hut with a hard-packed earth floor and a thatch roof that leaks. We are outcasts, my grandfather and I. People in the village do not trust us. I don't know why. But we live on the very outskirts of the small community, half-way up a rocky hillside.

In my dream it is night and raining torrentially. I tend to the fire while my grandfather mends nets, holding each knot a hand's breadth from his eyes. The firelight flickers, and I am scared. Outside the trees shudder against the thin walls and the great monster of the storm moans. It is hungry. Suddenly my grandfather stands up and cocks his head, as if listening for something under the noises of water and wind. He hobbles to the door and slides it open. I am aghast but do nothing to stop him. Instead of going out, he stands staring for a long time. Then he turns to me. "Kenchan, listen carefully," he barks roughly. "You must go to the villagers, tell them all to climb the mountain behind the village, the one where the Storm God's shrine stands."

I nod. It does not occur to me to disobey, however crazy his order sounds.

"Make sure you wear your wool kimono," he says. "Go quickly. Be careful."

I slip into my rope sandals and run into the storm. The closest house belongs to a man who is not a very successful fisherman. My father used to be his friend. Now my father is dead. I knock on the door.

"Who's there?!" he shouts angrily.

"Please, it's Kenji. My grandfather says we must go to Susano's shrine on top of the mountain."

"What? That crazy old man. You should know better than to bother people this late at night. Get lost!"

At the next house a more sympathetic woman answers. "You'll catch your death of cold running around like this, Kenchan! Go home, go to bed."
"Please, grandfather says-"

"Good night!"

I run on and on, with mounting terror. No one listens. I slip and fall, muddying myself. I've lost a sandal and my feet hurt. I run back, exhausted, to grandfather, who is still watching the night.

He greets my news with businesslike calm. "Then you must go yourself. Hurry. There's no time."

"But-"

"Go! I am coming right behind you, but you must not wait for me. I will meet you up there. Go now!" He gives me a light slap on the back. I think I can't run up the hill but I do. Something is terribly wrong, I know, but I don't know what. I run up the slippery path, breathing as if my lungs would split open. I run and run until I reach the top of the mountain and the shrine to Susano, the Storm God. There is a large and old willow tree there and I huddle in the roots, waiting for my grandfather. But there is a roar from the sea, and I run to where I can look down at the village. A huge wall of water looms over it. I can't see my grandfather. "Ojiichan!" I scream, but the water crashing into the village obliterates my voice. It is as if I am screaming silently.

"Ojiichan!"

And then the water recedes, a dark oily tide, and I see that the beach has been swept clean. There is nothing to suggest that people had ever lived, worked, loved, died there. "Ojiichan!" Cold rain washes away my hot tears so that I don't even know anymore if I grieve.

Vampire

(This dream begins with a prologue of memory: when I was a kid, I was terrified of vampires. It was so bad I couldn't sleep on my back because I would keep imagining a dark form looming over me. To this day I sleep with my neck tightly covered. But I've always felt an odd sort of sympathy for them, too...)

In my high school gym, I am practicing with the epée. My teacher comes in. His name is Leon, and he is a Russian fencing master who used to teach the Royal Family. I idolize and adore him - to me, he seems the finest, most virtuous man, after my father, of course. He corrects my stance and we spar together.

Time passes - a day or a week, I'm not sure. I see through someone else's eyes. My father is standing in a field, alone. He stands very still, and I notice that he has an epée in his hand. I see a dark form, far away at the other end of the field, which slowly approaches. It is Leon. I want to cry out, because I know something terrible is about to happen, but I can't make a sound; I'm not really there, just seeing the scene.

Leon is close now, and he smiles. My father raises his weapon. Leon disposes of it easily. I don't see the killing blow. I've closed my eyes.

Back in the high school gym, I confront Leon with tears in my eyes. "How could you?" I ask him. He smiles. Then I see that his teeth are too white, and too sharp. "You are a vampire," I say with recognition. He nods, still smiling. Stiffly, and with severe formality, I challenge him to a duel.

Later, my family is gathered in the gym. My mother is kneeling beside me, buckling on my light armor - which will be useless, as I intend to fight to the death. Across the room, Leon waits, smiling. I feel incredibly sad, not angry. My family is weeping softly. They know as well as I that I will probably die today. But as the oldest child, it is my place to seek retribution for my father's murder. And I don't care if I die.