Strange dreams
Her mother used to tell her she had often dreamt of things that could tell her the future—but she wouldn’t know it was the future until it had already happened.
Sometimes the premonition came weeks in advance, other times years. Her mother never knew what stock to put in a dream or nightmare of any given night; it could mean everything and it could mean nothing. Knowing this, Edona would scoff anytime her mother would share her latest oneiric incident. Inevitably, in the aftermath of the latest family tragedy, her mother would swear she had seen this drawn out on the inside of her eyelids some time before. Growing up, Edona had found it trite, ridiculous even, to think her mother could might have some power. It could only be coincidence, and nothing else.
And yet, as her third decade began, Edona herself began to have dreams. Or maybe she simply began to notice her dreams, had stopped running away from their contents in fear, and just let them be. For so long she had held the unconscious conviction that the dreams afflicting her mother—and, begrudgingly, her—were an indication that something was wrong with her, that she must be deeply unwell.
Not until several years after she had come to terms with the fact that she was a person who just…had odd dreams…did she truly understand that these were more than dreams.
She is falling, wind rushing in her ears. The sky is a blur of green and blue, the horizon tilted at a 45 degree angle. She is flying; now she’s on a rollercoaster. The next moment, she lands—but the scene has abruptly shifted. If she should be confused or disoriented, she is not. The change barely registers. Her focus is on the scene quickly taking shape before her. Her sister on the operating table, her womb split open. Edona conscience faintly registers a thought: that wasn’t part of her sister’s birthing plan. Although it had always been a risk to begin with, betting on a natural birth—given her sister’s medical history.
The dream had been disturbing, to be sure. How many people would enjoy scenes of surgery during their nightly slumber? But she chocked it up to vicarious anxiety for her sister’s impending delivery; the baby was due in a month.
13 days before her sister’s due date, though, and Edona began to wonder if her mother had been right along. Her sister was rushed into the hospital for an emergency C-section after sharp pains and an exam revealed a breeched baby in no position for a natural birth. When Edona received the news, the feelings of concern and worry for her sister were overshadowed by her incredulity of having witnessed the scene in her mind’s eye only a few weeks prior. The feeling was indescribable, allowing her to finally understand why her mother’s accounts had always sounded so unbelievable
Now that she had experienced a ‘verified’ premonition, she realized they were much more mundane and straightforward than Edona had thought her mother was conveying. It was less mysterious and troubling than she had thought: really, a premonition was just piecing together simply existing facts, piecing together their potential meanings, and following the chain of logic to potential conclusions.
Later on, she tried to explain to her closest friend Fiona how practically she had come to view her premonitions. Fiona looked at her, eyebrows raised, a mix of muted incredulity and mild concern.
“That’s not simple,” she said, after a long pause. “How is your brain computing all of these scenarios all the time? How are you walking around doing that much work in your head all the time?”
Edona had already been carrying the weight of the premonitions well before she realized she was having them. The weight had made itself known through the wrinkles on her forehead, weathered beyond her years. Edona had noticed her mother and grandmother carried similar lines, deep valleys and peaks that ran the length of their rounded brows.
She had always assumed their foreheads were an unfortunate genetic trait, perhaps exaggerated by their collective proclivity for being in the sun—especially by a body of water. Edona thought perhaps that all of that time in the sun had sucked out their moisture, leaving them like shriveled raisins. Except the deep creases only appeared on their foreheads; even Edona’s grandmother’s face belied her age elsewhere, the apples of her cheek bouncing with a youthfulness beyond her years.
