Peter Pan, and Ambien.

I  sat at my usual spot on the couch – all the way to the left, right on the edge, hugging the suede arm as my fingers curled up the orange velvet tongue of the duck on my yellow blanket. I was watching Peter Pan, not for the first time, or second time; this had become a repetitive activity. I had this fascination for Tinker Bell, probably, truly at present, because she hated Wendy Darling and would stop at nothing to keep her and Peter apart, and I love when those mermaids get in Wendy’s face. Peter was really a ladies’ man. But back then, at my ripe age of six, it’s because Tink had something I wanted, the power to fly.

After a few minutes of loading visions of clouds, the feeling of no gravity, and the dull hum of the movie’s score playing on the TV set, I set off on my journey, a journey that would take me high above the fish tank, the remote controls, the blanket with the duck, and I’d fly around the living room like I was a mermaid in a lagoon, a young child cast under Peter Pan’s spell. I lifted my arms into the air as I climbed up the arm of the plush couch, as if it were the highest, most magical pinnacle in all the land, and jumped.

For the next decade, I sporadically had these dreams at night that allowed me to fly anywhere I wanted to go. The top of skyscrapers, my friend’s house, over oceans, and through foreign towns I had never even seen before. I could float through a snowstorm, emerging into the pillowed clouds as if I were riding on Falcor’s furry spine. I’d wake up feeling like I had just watched a movie.

One night I had one dream in particular that woke me in the morning feeling inspired, shaken and inventive.

“Mom, I just had a dream that I think could be the next great Steven Spielberg film.”

My mom was sitting at the kitchen table focusing on the newspaper, her eyes occasionally peeking over her reading glasses.

“Uh huh.”

She turned the page.

I was literally leaping through the air, my hands overwhelming the space around me.

“It was like a cross between Back To The Future and E.T., or The Goonies and Weird Science. Kids all of a sudden realized they could fly. I just saw images of these kids, groggily floating up into the air from their bedroom windows; they were wearing high top sneakers, like, old-school Reeboks and ankle-cut stone washed jeans.And there were all of these tall trees…”

“Well, write this all down. Maybe you’ve got something. It’s good to remember dreams.”

She went off on her usual tangents about spirituality. But all I could think about was that music – the music from the dream, it was like the dream world version of John Williams’ greatest score.

After that morning, and in the following weeks, I kept thinking about that dream, and started having other dreams about outer space and lost underworld cities. What was going on here? I felt overpowered by this sudden wave of motion picture masterpieces taking over my sleep time. I was so tired during the day that I just had to do something about this. That night, the night it all came to a screeching halt, Peter Pan was on TV. There was a knock at my bedroom door and my mom peeked in, shaking a small paper cup in her hand.

“I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping, so I brought you some Ambien. Take one – no, just take half. That’s what I always do.”

My mom is a “take half” kind of lady. But an hour later, as I lay on my bed and the joyous sounds from Never Never Land serenaded me to sleep, I popped the pill into my mouth and when I woke up, I couldn’t remember my dream.

When I relayed this at my creative writing workshop (back in college), everyone sighed and moaned.

“Awww…but! That’s so sad,” the professor wailed.

“No, it was pure bliss,” I defended.

“And have you ever stayed up on Ambien?”

“No, what happens?” A student smiled.

“I was doodling, and I drew a Jetson. Judy Jetson. Not sure how it happened, but she appeared on paper. Then I got up to get a glass of water and felt like I was walking on air, in the Jetson orbit.”

“Sounds dangerous,” the professor said sarcastically.

My thoughts exactly.

“Have you ever jumped off your couch when you were six years old, thinking you could fly? That’s dangerous.”