Dream Jumper Ch 1

When I was a little girl I started to wonder if my dreams were “coming true” while I slumbered quietly through the night. The first dream memory I have was from when I was just 6 years old.

After lunch one spring day, I was sitting at the dining table in our brightly lit and sunny yellow homey kitchen coloring in my favorite book. Vivid colored pencils sat lined up in a neat row just above my princess picture and a small, purple, hand-held sharpener sat on the table next to my pencils. Mama had just finished the dishes and left the room for a moment all the while softly humming a tune. After a moment, I heard her call my name from the living room, so I left my perch at the table and headed toward her voice.

As I approached her, she held out her hand toward me and told me she was planning a family vacation to sunny California, then she beckoned for me to come closer.

She sat cross-legged, and squarely in the middle of an old, ragged brown couch that sat neatly in front of the living room window. Her laptop rested on top of a small stack of magazines fanned out across a worn-out, oak coffee table in front of her. A matching end table stood next to the right arm of the couch with a lamp and several family photos sitting atop. Even though mama was sitting, she still managed to scoop me up onto her lap and grab her laptop. With quick, nimble fingers she logged on to the world wide web and merrily showed me the Santa Monica Pier.

She was so animated as she began to tell me about the amusement park there. I swear my mama gushed on and on about roller coasters and other rides like a Ferris Wheel, fun games to play and prizes to win, food like cotton candy and ice cream. She was thrilled about the prospect of being able to walk together hand in hand on the sandy, coastal beach and play in the salty ocean. She was effectively enamored with the idea of fun and excitement half a country away from our home and she wanted to share it with me while she could. I remember looking into her big, sky blue eyes and thinking how happy she was as she held me, her long blonde hair gently stroking my face as she leaned in closer. And then she told me more about our upcoming trip.



Later that night, after I fell asleep in my big, twin sized bed, holding my favorite pink bear (fondly named Madeline), I dreamt of that pier. I heard the roar of metal as a heavy cart full of people rolled along a track, rushing toward the bottom of a long pike, and clamoring loudly up to the top of a new one. I heard that same cart full of people screaming as their adrenaline pumped and they propelled further. I felt the gritty sand beneath my bare feet change to rough wood as I walked onto the pier. And then I heard high pitched laughter, a loud ding, and raucous cheers as someone nearby won a game they were playing.

I stopped for a moment, looking around at all the flashing lights and colors that lit up the night sky, listening to the sounds of music, more laughter, and the whooping crowd of people. It was then that I noticed a small boy, about my size, standing in front of a large food truck.

The boy held a big yellow balloon in his right hand. He looked like he was close to my own age and he had strawberry blonde, tousled bed head, a light dusting of freckles across a small, pert nose, and he was biting on the left corner of his bottom lip. He was dressed in red and blue superhero pajamas.

I found myself curious about him, so I stood watching him for a moment. He seemed to be watching and waiting for something, or someone else, but no one approached him. It was as if he were not even there and I was the only one who could see him. I decided I wanted to meet this boy, so I walked toward him, Madeline tucked neatly in the crook of my boney little arm.

“Hi,” he said, quite simply as I approached. His green eyes looking intently into mine, after all, I was the only one who even looked at him.

“Hi,” I returned.

“My name’s Chris, what’s yours?”

“Jayme Jordan. Mama calls me JJ.” I grabbed a strand of my long brown hair and began to twirl it around my finger then asked, “is this the Santa Monica Pier?” We both looked around us again as we stood alone in a multitude of people moving and flowing in all different directions toward fun and entertainment, none of whom seemed to pay attention to two small children, alone in the crowd.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve never been here before. Why do you think it’s called the Sandy Monick Appear?”

“No. San-ta. Mon-i-ca. Pier. My mama told me about this place today, and I think that’s the Ferris Wheel she showed me on the inter-net.” I pointed to an enormous, brightly lit wheel in the distance.

“Oh! Well, I don’t really know, ‘xactly.” He paused for a moment, looking around, then back at me. “Hey, what’s a pier, anyway?”

“I’m not really sure, but mama told me this was a place where you can ride roller coasters and eat cotton candy and ice cream. And those look like the games she was tellin’ me about, over there.”

“I’ve never seen a roller coaster, before. They look really big an’ scary. The people look like they’re screamin’ to get off! I don’t think I wanna ride one of those things at all,” Chris stated matter-of-factly, his head nodding in sincerity.

I glanced at the ride I had just passed as I walked onto the pier and back at Chris. “Mama said they just look big and scary, but they’re loads of fun! I’d prob’ly try it if she was here with me.”

Chris slid his pudgy, 7-year-old hand into the pocket of his pj pants and with a smile forming on his face he pulled out a folded bill. “My dad, he gave me this money just today. I helped him pick up some old, grimy tools out in the garage and he said I was such a good helper I deserved payment. Do you want a hot dog? I was gettin’ kinda hungry cuz everything smells so good here.”

“Sure! I like hot dogs! Thank you,” I answered brightly.

We turned to step closer to the food truck. A dancing hot dog and drink cups were brightly painted on the side of the truck and more bright colors spelled out their food menu. The truck was so big and tall that the teenage girl in the window had to lean out over the counter just to see us. Long strands of her hair practically covered her eyes, she shooed them away with a quick gust of breath.

“Can we have two hot dogs please, a Coke, and a cotton candy?” he asked her. He sounded so grown up to me as he ordered for us all on his own.

“Do you have money for all that, little man? Where are your parents, anyway?” she queried, peering out into the crowd through her parted bangs to see if we were accompanied by any adults.

“My dad’s just there,” he noted, pointing to a man about 10 feet away from us. “But he gave us some money,” he stated as he showed her the bill. It wasn’t really his dad, and I knew it. He was just a man standing nearby, but it curbed her curiosity enough that she glanced back at Christopher. He handed the money to the girl and she gave him change back, plus two hot dogs, a drink cup full of bubbly, brown liquid, and a plastic bag full of multi-colored cotton sugar on a paper stick.

“Do you have any mustard?” I asked the girl meekly, peering up at her from below. She grabbed a few packets from a container next to her and reached down, handing them to me.

“Have fun,” she said, then closed the window to the food counter with a loud snap.

Chris handed me the drink and a hot dog, then we headed off with our goodies toward a nearby park bench and sat down to eat. He tied the balloon to the wooden arm rest, then picked up his hot dog and added mustard just as I sat Madeline and the soda down and did the same. We talked while we ate.

“What’s your dad’s name?” I asked him, before taking a big bite of hot dog.

“Daddy’s name is George. What’s your daddy’s name?”

“His name was Jonathan. He died when I was three, in his sleep. I don’t remember him much, but mama tells me stories about him.” I looked down into my lap and back up at him. My blue eyes clouded with longing.

“Oh, I’m sorry about your daddy. You didn’t know him at all?”

“Mama kept some videos of him,” I told him quietly. “There’s one I’d watch a lot. We went camping in a tent and we were fishing on a river. I caught a real big fish. It was slimy so he took it off the hook for me. He threw that fish in a cooler so we’d have it for dinner, he picked me up and tossed me in the air and spun me around after he caught me. He told me we were gonna have a great dinner that night all because of me! Then he kissed me on the forehead. I kinda remember that day.

“I remember how hard it was for me to get that heavy fish up outta the water, and that he helped me bring it in cuz I couldn’t do it by myself. My hands hurt from holding so tight to the pole and trying to reel in the fish. I remember it was a really warm and sunny day. I also remember him hugging me and holding me as we sat by the campfire after dinner.”

“That sounds like you had a good fun day. My daddy has taken me fishing loads of times, but he’s the one who always catches the fish that’re big enough to eat, I can only catch the stupid babies!” he chuckled heartily.

“This hot dog was really good, thank you for sharing!” I changed the subject, my 6-year-old heart saddened that I wouldn’t be able to fish with my daddy again. Or see him ever again.

There was a whirl of commotion as a large group of fun-seekers passed by our bench. But no one in the crowd bothered us or even stopped to ask us why we were sitting by ourselves without adult supervision. We were just two small children, barefoot and in our pj’s, sitting on a bench alone in the middle of an amusement park long after bedtime.

We saw the Ferris Wheel very easily from where we sat because it was so brightly light against the ebony sky. The nearby roller coaster loomed ominously over us like a mountain of scary, roaring metal. We talked about whether we were brave enough to try and get on one of them, but we decided we only had enough courage, and cash, to walk around and explore the park. So, we got up, threw our trash away in a nearby wire basket and walked hand in hand around the park – me holding Madeline, and him clutching the balloon.

There were so many different varieties of games and rides. Things with seats that swirled and went up and down. Some shaped like creatures and others that just looked like big moving hunks of iron. The park seemed so overwhelming to two small children, but I was little and easily overwhelmed without my mom with me.

We walked toward the end of the pier, sat down, and peered out at the vast, never-ending ocean that seemed to stretch out farther than the eye could see before us. Luminous fluorescent lights from the park glittered across the waters. Waves spattered against the beach and something splashed out of the water in front of us, but we were too little to know what it could be. Most of the fisherman had left for the evening, so the pier itself was pretty quiet.

“I wonder what’s out there,” he said, pensively.

“It looks awful big out there,” I answered quietly. Then we sat in silence for a bit, watching the moon drift lazily across the water as our feet dangled off the pier, and our arms dangled over the cross beams that were in place to keep us from accidentally falling into the ocean. Music and laughter still filled the air, but it was already starting to fade quietly as if I were riding off into the distance.

I cuddled Madeline close to my chest as Chris let go of his balloon and we watched it disappear quickly, and without fanfare, into the darkness overhead.

“I’m getting really sleepy,” he said with a big yawn and a stretch of his arms.

“Me, too,” I returned, leaning in closer to my new friend for warmth. I laid my head on his shoulder, he leaned his head on top of mine, and we both soundlessly drifted off to sleep watching the ocean ebb and flow before us.



I woke the next morning, alone in my somewhat over-sized bed (except for Madeline still and sleeping beside me), and was surprised to find that my hands were sweetly sticky. I looked around me at the pink and purple plaid blanket laying gently over my body, the sunlight streaming through violet curtains, and dust particles dancing across the soft rays of light. I racked my brain as my eyes wandered but didn’t remember having anything sticky before I went to bed.

I looked down at my night shirt and noticed it was stained with one small, golden-yellow drop of mustard. After stretching quietly and wiggling my wee toes, I realized I had grainy bits of sand clinging to my feet and in my bed. All I could think of was how mad mama would be that I was covered in a sticky, yellow, sandy mess. And then I realized something, that’s not how I went to bed.

The thing is mama never kept sweets in the house when I was little, and I hadn’t eaten anything sticky or sugary that evening before bed. Sweets and sticky, sugary things were only for special occasions. And not only that, but mama always put me in the tub before bed, so I know my hands weren’t sticky, or my feet sandy, when I fell asleep that night.

I had not eaten a meal with mustard that day, even if I had, I would’ve had to have gotten it in my hair in order to get it on my nightshirt before bed because I had day clothes on at dinner. But my hair was freshly washed and dried, and when I crawled into bed that night my night shirt was spotlessly clean – mama never let a stain go unpunished on my clothing. There is no possible way I could have gotten mustard on my pj’s.

Lastly, I live in Missouri. There was a lake and a small beach nearby, but at that time in my life I did not even know about that lake or beach because mama had never taken me there. I did not have a sandbox in the backyard, and I had my very own swing set so there was no reason to go to a playground to play.

But I had had pink and blue cotton candy and a plump, juicy hot dog with mustard – in my dream. And I had walked across the sandy beach before stepping onto that pier – in my dream. Yet, it was just a dream; right?

Even at 6, I knew I had really gone to that pier. I couldn’t explain how it happened or why, but I sure knew it was real.