I do.
Sometimes, when I'm lying in bed at night and can't sleep because of all of the thoughts running through my head about the day I just endured and the day I am anticipating, I imagine escape. I look at my tiny window, set in my white cinder block wall, with the light from the streetlamp glaring in mercilessly into my eyes, and I think...
And suddenly, I can fly. My body lifts off of my mattress and floats towards the white, textured ceiling as gravity releases its firm hold. I feel no fear or surprise, only a great joy. With a laugh, I rush towards the window - which has mysteriously opened - and into the fresh, crisp night air.
I barely look back at my prison of a dorm as I swoop higher and higher into the night sky. The wind is invigorating as it splashes in my face and through my hair. Up, up, up I fly, escaping the realm of humanity, with its sirens and crime and blinding light, and towards the moon and stars, which beckon me with the call of old friends. I feel as if I could reach out and touch them, as they sit in their inky black veil. The stars, merely children it seems, shout to me to come and play in their vast, open playground. And so I twirl, and dance, and flip, and my laughter rings out like bits of silver starlight. I barely notice the world below my feet, filled with rushing and worrying people who live in misery and die with reluctance.
Eventually I drift back towards the earth, but I find myself in the middle of nowhere. Open fields and trees, and the songs of crickets and owls, are my sole companions. And my heart is content. I drift lazily past the dark homes of sleeping strangers and towards the mountains, those majestic marvels of nature. As I draw closer they loom up before me, blocking out part of the night sky. With well-adjusted eyes I find a quiet place by a stream, and sit to watch the sunrise. The ball of life-giving fire splashes the sky with golden rays, which bounce delightfully off of the morning mist. The trees around me seem to come alive in the newborn light, stretching their limbs towards its warmth. I almost feel as if I went up and touched them they would begin talking with me. Songbirds begin their morning serenade, like an orchestra warming up before the opera begins. Life is bursting all around me, crisp and clear, fresh and new. There is beauty to be found in every crack and every crevice of the mountain forest at sunrise. I feel neither worried nor pressured, and life, to me, seems a noble and worthy thing.
But then I wake up to my blaring alarm, and find myself starting at my white, textured ceiling. My window is closed against the city outside. I drag myself out of bed and into a new day of noise and frustration, almost but never quite forgetting the fantasy of the night before.
*****
Unfortunately, that is one dream that will never come true. Fortunately, I will settle for an open road and a 1967 Chevy Impala! :)
