Unless you’re one of the fewer than 100 people in the world with hyperthymesia, you probably don’t recall every minute of your existence. Hyperthymesiacs are gifted (?) with such enhanced autobiographical & episodic memory that they have the ability to recall in [excruciating] detail all their life experiences. I’d say this is some curse, especially if it also includes what they dream. & if they’re talky & wish to share. I believe there are fewer than 100 people in the world who want to hear about other people’s dreams. This intro is in lieu of begging forgiveness for the following.

Waking dreams, the technical term hypnogogic hallucinations, are vivid experiences that happen as a person is falling asleep. Most of us easily remember wild dreams of flying or truly bizarre events occurring. What we don’t recall are the ordinary, uneventful dreams of normal life stuff. Waking dreams are often made of the ordinary, which makes them more believable. They can leave you with the conviction that they actually happened, at least until you realize otherwise. They’re also very common. Up to 70 percent of people have had one. I’ve had a few myself.

One was so boneheaded I marveled that I fell for it. I was lying in bed smoking a cigarette before turning out the light to sleep. I kept thinking I should ashtray the butt before I got too comfortable. The covers were warming to the perfect temperature, my limbs feeling heavier as they relaxed. I smelled the smoke, felt the cigarette between my fingers, but I waited just a little too long. Suddenly I launched myself out of bed because my fingers were burning. I searched for the smoldering butt. Nowhere. I looked at my fingers. Unharmed. I hadn’t smoked in bed ever since I’d ruined a perfectly good comforter, so what made me stoop to stupid? Only then did I remember I’d quit smoking years ago.

The first of these waking dreams stood out to me because I didn’t yet know they were a thing. I was 7 yrs old, my bedroom was across the hall from my parents’ room, & next to the bathroom. It was common knowledge in the fam that our dad slept in the buff. I don’t think he even owned pajamas. If we passed each other in the hall while making bathroom visits he’d be holding his bunched up boxers as a fig leaf. This was his nod to modesty in a house of daughters.

That night I’d gone to the facilities, closed the door to my room & got back in bed, tossing around til I was comfy. I still didn’t feel sleepy. I was singing a song in my head when I heard the front door to our house groan open. I thought my dad must be letting our dog Minx in. She often liked to stay out in the yard for awhile at night. Minx was a sheltie, a small herding breed no more than 35 lbs. She wasn’t much of a guard dog, but when I was littler she’d herd me to stay in the yard. I was her lone sheep & she was diligent at thwarting my escapes.

I didn’t hear Minx’s toenails come ticking up the stairs, but I did hear someone. We had hardwood floors that creaked in places, & I knew all those places intimately. I liked to play at being a spy. Furtive steps went into the living room, then came partway down the hall & stopped outside the bedrooms. While readying to scream out if one of the bedroom door knobs turned, I heard the hall coat closet door open & some bare hangers clink. Quick steps squeaked down the stairs & the front door clicked shut.

I exhaled as if I’d been holding my breath for years, & tried to get up the nerve to go lock the front door & put on the chain. I kept telling myself I’d do just that, but with every passing minute my bed felt more warm & soft. My last thought being the intruder was now long gone & none of the coats in that closet were worth saving.

The next morning, emboldened by daylight & my family being awake, I threw open the closet door & examined the coats. Guess I was looking for some to be missing, as ridiculous as even I knew that was. I asked my mother if anything of value was kept in that closet. She looked at me askance. “What? Why?” she said. “Do we have a safe or strongbox we keep in there?” I asked. She squinted at me until she had to flip the eggs in the skillet. I was left to assume I’d lost my mind, in which case I’d rather keep that to myself.

Some days later, while I was sound asleep in my room, an incident transpired that would sear that waking dream into my memory. I heard about it all the next day from my mother, & was disappointed I missed the action. Apparently Minx was incessantly barking right off the porch in the front yard. She woke up my mom, who woke up my dad (who slept like every insomniac’s envy) to get out of bed & let our dog in before the neighbors would complain. In my dad’s haste he forgot something.

As he hurried down the stairs he wondered if Minx had cornered a raccoon on the porch or something, she was barking so loud & vehemently. He yanked the door open leaning out & was confronted with a man crouched down, lockpick in hand. He realized at the same time as the burglar tumbled backwards that the guy had gotten an eyeful… literally. The thief jumped up & ran, Minx chasing him out of our yard snarling.

As my mother got to the end of the tale we both giggled. I wonder to this day what startled the burglar more: being caught breaking in, or having my dad’s tackle thrust in his face.