by David Hockey
SAM'S DREAM
David Hockey
Copyright 2010 David Hockey
SAM'S DREAM
Sam had always known that he could fly. Fly in his dreams, that is; he was often flying in his dreams. This morning's dream was particularly vivid. It began with a feeling of great beauty, set in a perfect, early-spring day. The dandelions were bursting out in golden yellow and there was a warm and exciting ambience that foretold of pleasant things to come. Sam was in the country, taking long strides in green fields. Each stride carried him enormous distances, over hedges and rivers, even up over the tallest trees. All he had to do was to push with his feet to take wing. He loved travelling like that, so powerful yet so light and peaceful.
A noise caused Sam to stir then awaken. He lay still, retaining his dream and it's tranquillity. He had no need to hurry. Since his Mary had died six years ago he had lived alone, cooking and cleaning, caring for the crumbling old house and small, fenced-in garden that was nicely placed at the edge of town. He was proud of the fact that at eighty he could still look after himself, seldom needing any help.
Slowly the sounds of the day entered his mind. Birds were twittering in the apple tree outside and he could see the glow of sunshine edging over his windowsill. It had exactly the colour of the dandelions in his dream, he mused.
Sam eased out of bed and began his usual morning exercises, stretching and bending, forwards and backwards and from side to side. He then dressed in comfortable trousers, sweater and shoes. As he carefully made his way down the stairs he recalled again the day's early beauty and decided that he would take a quick turn around the garden before making breakfast. A day that began like the continuation of a dream shouldn't have to wait for him to eat his breakfast!
The early morning light dazzled as he unbolted and opened the front door. He stepped outside and twenty years dropped from his shoulders. What a day, he thought, it deserved more recognition than a quick tour of the garden. With a sudden spurt of energy Sam threw back his shoulders, strode along his path and out into the road. Once there he turned to the left and followed the road to the park that lay, sparkling with early morning dew, just around the corner.
What was he doing, he wondered, striding in the park before breakfast, indeed before anyone else was up and about. He must be a little crazy to be doing this.
Crazy or not, he loved it. It was a morning when anything could happen, even flying. He remembered his dream and recalled the glory of it. Bit by bit the idea grew that he should try to relive the experience, to continue his dream even though now he was wide awake.
He would take a little run and attempt a few jumps; if he was careful that wouldn't cause any problems, he said to himself. He hurried further into the park: if he was going to make a fool of himself he wasn't about to let anyone see him doing so.
He found a gently sloping, freshly cut meadow, walked to the top and looked carefully all about him. No one was in sight. He took several deep breaths, then, throwing his head back as he had seen sprinters do, he ran down the incline. Half way down he gave a little leap, repeating what he had done in his dreams just half an hour before. Was it his imagination or was he staying up in the air longer than he had any right to expect? He did feel lighter than normal. He reached the bottom of the slope and stopped, panting only a little. I'll do that again, he thought, pleased with his agility, and moved quickly back up the rise. Once at the top he stood for a while, catching his breath and almost wanting to be seen this time. There was no one about. Well, never mind, he said. He gulped a last lungfull of air, then, with a little whoop of joy, ran, leaping and shouting, stomping his feet, down the slope. And across the stream. And over the bushes. And almost into the trees that stood all the way over on the other side of the clearing.
He had flown! How else could one account for it? The stream was at least ten feet wide and the bushes must be six or seven feet high. And he had arrived here, perhaps a quarter of a mile distant, in almost no time at all.
Sam sat down with a bump and thought about what had happened. How was it possible? What had actually happened? Did he really get here by flying? He must be imagining things; may be he had had a memory lapse and had simply walked to this spot with his dreams getting mixed up with his thoughts.
He decided to experiment, to try jumping without running, to test himself and his sanity. He stood up and tried a small jump, feeling a bit shaky and more than a bit silly this time. Was something happening? It felt a little like floating; he seemed to lose weight, to be lighter, immediately after jumping. He tried a harder jump. Yes! There was no doubt about it. He was moving up in the air, quite fast at first, then slower as he came almost level with the top of some small trees that were edging the clearing. He drifted back to earth and tried once more, this time stamping down hard with both feet. He rose, up and up, as high as a fully-grown tree. Birds, startled, flew shrieking away from him. He hung at the top for a moment then descended, slowly and lightly, as though he were in a balloon. He repeated his actions, leaping up and down, laughing and shouting as he did so, taking little flights at first, then long flights, sometimes straight up and sometimes along the ground crisscrossing the stream.
Sam's shouts were heard by two early-morning runners. They left their daily route to investigate. Once in the clearing they stared, incredulous, at the sight of an old man leaping about, shouting and crying, behaving like a clown.
Sam saw the runners. He called out as he flew, eager to show off, certain that they would want to join in. They moved timidly closer, looking for the equipment that should be powering the remarkable flights. They saw nothing. Sam, guessing what puzzled them, demonstrated excitedly, turning around as he sailed backwards and forwards, showing them that he had no mechanical help at all. He gestured wildly with his arms and called out that they should do what he was doing. He was much too excited to stop and tell them how! The runners hesitated for a moment, then made a few self-conscious attempts to copy Sam's antics, giggling as they did so. Sam encouraged them. Try harder, he shouted, you can do it; try closing your eyes and make believe you are flying. Almost immediately they succeeded and were in the air. Within a minute they were able to clear the stream and bushes that were Sam's first hurdle. Bounding and leaping, they were soon ricocheting about the meadow, each jump taking them further or higher than before. Full of boisterous laughter they joined hands with Sam, playing Ring-a-Rosy over the bushes and trees. Forty, fifty, sixty yards and more were possible. It was exhilarating.
Time passed unnoticed. Four more people hurried over, attracted by the cries and extraordinary sights. They too looked for rockets or motors but saw nothing. They chased and caught the trio, demanding to know what was happening and how such flights were possible. With much laughter, a few examples and some practice they soon were able to fly. More and more people arrived and were rapidly taught what to do. Very soon the clearing was filled with a throng so large that collisions occurred and people began to move out, away from the clearing, looking for fresh spaces to conquer.
A photographer and reporter panted up with equipment trailing. They stood open-mouthed as people all around flew and skimmed like giant pterodactyls. Shooting rapidly, the photographer was soon out of film: clutching his cameras tightly he joined in. The reporter chased some of the fliers, shouting questions and taping answers.
A television crew arrived. Taking pictures then flying themselves, recording their own antics as well as those of the many other people. They did not stay long but rushed off to break the story.
News flashes were cut into the local broadcasts. Within thirty minutes they had been picked up and were being shown across the continent then around the world. Within an hour narrators were giving detailed instructions, explaining how to leap-fly, demonstrating how to jump,
soar and land.
Normal activities slowed and came to a halt. Everyone who heard about leap-flying tried it. Soon every able-bodied person was making kangaroo leaps and taking balloon jumps, laughing and playing with friends and strangers alike.
By noon Sam was worn out and could manage only short trips. He sat down and watched, giving small cheers of encouragement when someone did something particularly well.
The sun shone brighter and brighter. It was two o'clock before Sam was sought by reporters wanting to learn how the flying skill was found. He explained that, until this very morning, flying had only been a dream for him. He described how the day had begun with a flying dream and how it seemed to have continued as a dream right up until the