Every moment I'm awake, the further I'm away

I woke up from the most horrible dream this morning.

It started as I walked by my aunt's apartment on 86th street. New York City was under attack. I watched as the first two planes circled each other like birds and eventually lined up, adjacent, nose to tail above Madison Avenue, their wing span inches from the nearest windows. When I looked up, I realized that the entire skyline was covered by planes of every size and purpose, in position like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together under the Manhattan sky, waiting for direction to strike. And, while I wanted to believe otherwise, I knew without a doubt what was about to happen.

Suddenly, the scene shifted to Queens, where I was staying in a hotel for business, and could see the entire skyline from my window. The planes having already demolished much of the city, we were held captive by an alien-type of robot, a hundred-story terrorist that would break down buildings at will, if only he could decide which building to strike next.

I called my mom, but she was drunk. "Are you watching the news?" I asked. "No," she said. "But you know that New York is under attack?" I questioned. "Yes," she answered. "But I can't deal with it now." And I heard her talking to a friend in the background, asking about the cookie recipe in front of them. "Well, I just wanted to call and say goodbye," I said, bitterly and confused about what to do. "Just in case I couldn't."

Then I found my friend Rebecca, who was getting dressed for a night out. She was quiet, then stubborn, then crying. "Are you okay?" I asked. "No," she said. "Because after this you get to go back and I have to stay here." And it was true, I thought. I don't live here anymore and I don't have to worry about buildings falling on my head in LA. And I had been so close to avoiding this attack, if only I had planned my trip for last week, or next week. And this was such a big part of the reason of why I left, so what a great freaking joke on me that it actually happened while I was back in town.

I left Rebecca and watched with old friends and former coworkers as the alien stood outside our building, swung his robot arms and took down the skyscraper next to us. Ducked as debris flew in the balcony window and glass shattered above my head. I woke up in a cold sweat and crying; at first, not knowing what was wrong. Why my pillow was soaked with tears. And it all came flooding back, in that first half second of opening my eyes, and I stayed in bed for a while wondering how, exactly, that got in there.

But then I caught the early morning light streaming throught my window, gradually caught my breathing - inhaling my freshly laundered sheets - and moved on. I'm not there anymore. It's time to move on.