Running through nightmares

Last night, perhaps affected by the Tamil protests on Toronto's Gardiner expressway, I had a horrific dream that's still lingering as the sun rides high in the sky.

In my dream, I had to abandon a car along 401 eastbound and get out and run, due to a traffic blockage. Apparently I was desperate to get somewhere, although I never learned where or why.

I began running through what I thought was the scene of a small accident, albeit with fatalities lying under sheets. (I've seen two such scenes in my life, both about 25/30 years ago.)

As I continued running it became clear that the corpses stretched for a long, long way, and that traffic had completely stopped in both directions. I kept on running, dodging as I went. I was aware that the scene ought to have been affecting me more than it was, but I kept on running. I had to make my way to inside shoulder to keep putting one foot in front of the other. At one point I was literally leaping over the heads of corpses to continue on my way. Two I recall clearly: a south Asian woman and an African woman. The symbolism was not lost on me even in that fleeting moment.

Eventually I caught up to a bus.I jumped up through the back door and ran along the aisle and out. There were about a dozen middle class-looking North American folks on board. They were sitting peacefully, waiting for the traffic to clear. A blonde woman in a blue blouse looked at me with a compassionate but not overwrought expression. I remember thinking there wasn't really time to talk about the horrors behind us.

Ahead of the bus, the highway was completely clear, and beckoning. I hit the gravel shoulder in a t-shirt and shorts, thinking "I feel like Terry Fox."

However, my car keys and wallet were chafing me as I ran. I deked off to the right side of the highway to do some adjustments and found myself in an old fashioned, garage behind a small home in a small town neighbourhood. It was full of the usual treasures and junk.

I'd somehow kicked a colourful kid's soccer ball in there ahead of me. I was reaching into my pocket to pull my wallet out when I heard the voice of the owner from outside. I think I was on the verge of telling him I'd just picked the ball up along the road when I woke up.

The corpses along the highway haunt me still. Years ago, I wrote a song called Inhuman Race, about trying to outrun death.

It's a sign of my arrogance and ignorance that I thought the only victim of that fool's marathon was me.