For What You Dream Of

Last week I dreamed I got pulled over by the police. I knew I would get pulled over. I performed an illegal U-turn. My assumption confirmed when I saw the red and blue lights flashing behind me.

As I pulled over to the side of the road, I mentally ran through what I needed to do. My father drilled it into me when I was a teenager. Put the car in park. Turn off the radio. Get my license and registration out and ready. Keep my hands on the wheel. Be deferential.

But fear made me clumsy and forgetful. My hands felt like they were several times their size. I fought with my wallet to give up my license and registration. I could not grasp. What I could grasp I repeatedly dropped. My gearshift and dashboard looked foreign. I had never seen them before. I had no idea how to operate them.

I did everything I was taught to do, but felt panicked when the officer arrived. The officer was a white woman, but this did not comfort me. I knew she would see our difference in race, not our sameness in gender. She aimed her flashlight in my face then swept it through the car where it landed on M. I fought a fresh wave of panic. Would the police officer shoot me in front of my child? Would she assume my darkness combined with my moment of careless driving makes me an unsuitable mother? What would I do if she took my child away from me?

My mind raced with nightmare what ifs. I prayed for the best expecting the worst all the while saying “Yes, ma’am,” “No, ma’am,” “I’m not a threat, ma’am, to you or my child”.

The dream did not finish when I awoke. It felt scarier not to have an ending. I felt no comfort that it was just a dream. That situation may not have happened, but it feels no less real. It happens daily in smaller ways.