Joyride III

The spring is the season when I feature the best student work from my essay class at Atlantic Cape Community College as we try to develop the next generation of “Joyriders.” This week’s column is by Bobby Speirs of Brigantine.
“Blue” was a stuffed puppy my father won in a ball-toss game at a traveling carnival in the summer of ’91.
At first, Blue was a novelty that silently surveyed my room from the toy chest. But she became a friend who helped me conquer my waking nightmares. That first nightmare remains as vivid today as it was two decades ago.
I was climbing a dream-sized version of my backyard holly tree. The leaves pricked and scratched at my skin. When I reached the top, I raised my fists and proclaimed victory.
But then the tree vanished from underfoot and took the ground with it. Suddenly, I was miles above the Earth without footing.
Panic coursed through my body as the dizziness set in. I felt a falling sensation. The Earth spiraled beneath me.
I jolted back to reality and felt a burning sensation where my left cheek scraped the carpet. I climbed back into bed, but couldn’t fall back to sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes the darkness beneath my eyelids spun. I could see only blackness, but still felt like I was at the peak of a mile-high roller-coaster.
When I stood on my bed, I watched my “Ghostbusters” blanket recede from view as the holly tree had in my dream. My real world stretched in all directions and the vertigo made walking nearly impossible.
I stumbled into my parents’ bedroom to find help. But they couldn’t understand my choking explanations and their comforting words were muffled by my sobs. They desperately snatched Blue from my toy chest and offered her to me.
I reluctantly crawled under my sheets as my parents turned out the light. The room spun faster. The pain of my clenched jaw barely distracted me from my fear.
I held Blue’s face tightly against my own. Safety returned with the quiet caress of Blue’s canvas skin. The room gradually stopped spinning.
Blue understood my pain. I projected my fears onto her and her eyes reflected my feelings. She shared my nightmares and we silently comforted each other.
I gave an inanimate object meaning and character. Humans are good at that. Our material possessions become an extension of ourselves as we infuse them with our feelings.
We feel compassion for the decades-old hunk of metal rotting in our driveway. But life is a series of replacing worn-out junk.
I do not remember when Blue left my life. My need for her slipped away with my nightmares.
I hope to never rediscover Blue. I fear the sight of her would be disappointing.
Like revisiting preserved places of my childhood, the majesty of my memories would certainly cower to an adult assessment of reality.
In my memory, Blue represents a piece of that sobbing child whose fears were finally conquered. And that’s where I want to keep her.
Keith Forrest an assistant professor of communication at Atlantic Cape Community College. His late mother Libby Demp Forrest Moore wrote the Joyride column for this newspaper for 20 years.