About Me — Adrienne Daniels
How I Became an Avid Spiritual Tourist With No Return Ticket Ch 4
Read Ch 3 here.
A Bad Dream in NY
“Adrienne, Adrienne,” my mom said, gently shaking me awake. Groggy and disoriented, I strained against the harsh bedroom light as I lay in Shelley’s bed. The image before me was unsettling. Practically everyone in the house, including Shelley, was gathered around me, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern. I stared back at them, realizing with a jolt that my cheeks were wet. I had been crying, apparently very loud, in my sleep.
Then it hit me. Like a big wave of emotion, the nightmare came rushing back. I lunged forward, throwing my arms around my mom, and burying my face in her chest. “We fell!” I cried, my voice trembling.
“We what?” Mom asked, leaning back just enough to look at me, her tone dangling somewhere between worry and bewilderment.
“We fell from the rollercoaster!” I repeated, this time in a more emphatic tone, wanting her to understand the sheer terror of it.
And then, as if on cue, the entire room let out a collective sigh of relief. A few gasps and clicks of the tongue escaped, too, probably from the boys who’d been banking on some real drama. Without a word, everyone began shuffling back to their rooms, some shaking their heads, others muttering under their breath about the chaos finally being over.
To let Shelley go back to sleep, my mom scooped me up and ushered me downstairs to the quieter, dimly lit lower level of the house. She sat with me on the sofa, listening intently as I spilled every detail of my vivid nightmare — the heart-pounding climb, the horrifying drop, the helplessness of plummeting.
Dad popped his head in a few times, each time looking more sleep-deprived than the last. Eventually, he just threw in the towel and lumbered off to bed, muttering something about “rollercoaster nonsense.” But not Mom, she stayed. She held me close, rubbing my back, whispering reassurances, that it was all just a bad dream.
Her voice was a soothing lullaby and bit by bit, my panic began to fade. By the time my eyelids grew heavy, I wasn’t thinking about falling anymore. I was thinking how lucky I was to have a mom, who would sit with me in the dead of night, just to make sure I felt safe.
“You and your stupid dreams!” Keith hollered as he stomped past Shelley’s bedroom door, shaking the floorboards for dramatic effect. His voice yanked me out of my late-morning haze like an unwelcome fire alarm in the middle of the night. I groaned, rolling over and squinting at the light streaming through the window. Wait….what time is it?
It was Coney Island day, and I had big plans — plans that included waking up early to stuff my face with Aunt Rose’s legendary flapjacks. Shelly and Troy had talked them up so much the night before I was practically dreaming about them. Light, fluffy, buttery perfection drowning in syrup. My taste buds had been hyped. But now? I’d slept right through breakfast.
I bolted out of bed, mad at myself for oversleeping, and as I stumbled into the kitchen, the scene before me confirmed my worst fears. Plates were stacked neatly in the sink. The coffee cups were empty, and the only remnants of breakfast were a few crumbs and a faint, buttery smell lingering in the air. Everyone had eaten and vanished, off doing their own thing, leaving me alone with my hunger and my dashed pancake dreams.
The goal was to devour as many pancakes as I could and leave plenty of time for digestion before hitting Coney Island, where I intended to eat my way through a personal checklist of funnel cakes, cotton candy, hotdogs, and whatever else I could manage to stuff into my small frame.
I let out a dramatic sigh as I slumped down into a chair at the kitchen table. I plopped my chin into my hands, staring at the empty table as if sheer willpower could summon breakfast back into existence again. But just as I began to sink into the depths of self-pity, my mom strolled into the kitchen.
“Oh, so you’ve finally decided to join us?” she teased, her voice brimming with that special kind of sarcasm reserved only for those known for sleeping in late. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I whined, throwing in a good pout. “I wanted to eat some of Aunt Rose’s pancakes!”
My mom tilted her head, clearly unimpressed by my theatrics. Without saying a word, she sauntered over to the oven, opened it, and pulled out a plate of golden, fluffy pancakes that glistened in the morning light like edible sunshine.
“You mean these?” she said, flashing a grin that instantly made me forgive her for letting me sleep through breakfast.
My stomach began to flip and perform happy somersaults. My nose caught a whiff of the buttery, syrupy perfection that sat on my plate, and my sulk instantly began evaporating faster than cotton candy in the rain. I grabbed my fork faster than I could say, “Butter,” and within seconds, I was diving into the stack like it was my last meal on Earth. Sure, I was running behind my well-planned food schedule, but who cared?
As soon as the last syrup-soaked forkful of pancake had disappeared from my plate, the kitchen door swung open, and in walked Keith, Junior, Troy, and Shelley. At first, I was thrilled to see them, assuming they were here to brainstorm which Coney Island rides to conquer first. But then I noticed their expressions. They weren’t excited. They looked….sad. Like, funeral-home-sad, with a little hint of rage. My stomach, previously doing cartwheels of joy, immediately felt like a swarm of butterflies had begun invading it.
Keith wasted no time dropping the bomb. “You and your stupid dream about us falling from a rollercoaster made Mama and Daddy change their minds about going to Coney Island!” he spat, his words landing on me like a bucket of ice water.
“Wait, what?” I said, blinking like he’d just told me the sun had decided to stop shining.
Keith rolled his eyes so hard I was sure they’d pop out of his head. “You heard me. Because of your dream, we’re not going anymore.”
I turned to Junior, hoping he’d swoop in with some kind of clarification. Maybe Keith was just being, well, Keith — dramatic and unnecessarily annoying. But Junior nodded solemnly, his face wearing the same “doom and gloom” expression. “Yeah,” he said. “Mama said she doesn’t feel right going after hearing about your dream. She said she’d rather stay safe than risk it.”
Risk it? What? I glanced over at Troy and Shelley. They both looked like they’d been given their last rites. Troy was staring blankly at the table like it had personally betrayed him, while Shelley looked just plain confused. Her face clearly said, What kind of family cancels amusement park plans because of a dream?
And honestly? I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t have the words to explain my mom’s decision because, deep down, I got it. I really did. That dream had scared me to my core, and I still felt the terror of our falling whenever I thought about it. But I couldn’t understand why Mom would cancel the whole trip. That seemed a bit much.
The gang all got up from the table and shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts — and a heaping pile of guilt. Keith’s words hung in the air like a storm cloud, and I lowered my head, wishing I could disappear. This was my fault. I’d ruined everything.
Maybe it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t argue with it. I didn’t know how to undo this, how to convince everyone that we’d be fine if we went. Because deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. So, I kept my mouth shut, swallowed my pride, and accepted my new fate: the fun fatale.
A Change of Plans
Apparently, Dad was feeling adventurous, or maybe he was just trying to distract everyone from the Coney Island fiasco. Either way, once the decision was made to leave earlier than we’d previously planned, we packed up our things, said our solemn goodbyes, and before I knew it, we were crammed into the trusty Ford LTD, hitting the road like a family of nomads.
As we settled into the drive, Dad, ever the King of spontaneity, perked up with a suggestion. “Hey, why don’t we visit Niagara Falls since we’re up here?”
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The car erupted in unanimous approval. Who could say no to one of the most majestic wonders in the world? Certainly, not us! With renewed energy, we headed to Interstate 190, and in no time, we were standing in awe on the American side of the falls. The sound of the water crashing down was deafening, and the mist was refreshing, even if it made my hair frizz up like a baby lamb in a rainstorm.
We spent about an hour marveling at the falls, snapping Polaroid pictures, and making up ridiculous stories about what would happen if someone tried to go over in a barrel (Keith was convinced he’d survive since he’d seemed to miraculously survive all of the makeshift ramp jumps, tree jumps, and all the other crazy stunts he’d managed to pull off). To be honest, I was convinced he’d survive, too. Soon we all got a little hungry, and just as we were all thinking about grabbing a snack, Dad, in a true impulsive fashion, threw out another curveball.
“Let’s take a drive into Canada,” he said as if this was the kind of thing you just casually decided on a whim.
“Canada?” Mom said, raising an eyebrow.
“Why not? We’re right here!” Dad grinned like he’d just solved one of the world’s greatest mysteries.
Before anyone could voice a reasonable objection, we were crossing the border in Canada. Once in Toronto, we cruised through quaint little towns, taking the scenic routes.
But, did we stop there? Oh no. Not with Dad at the wheel. Somehow, “Let’s take a drive into Canada” turned into “Let’s explore Toronto.” And exploring Toronto turned into another mini-road trip, leading us back into the States, where we ended up in Pontiac, Michigan, in front of another one of our relative’s home.
The Power of the Spoken Word
The moment church service let out — our family, still dressed in our Sunday best, made our way back to my uncle‘s house for what was supposed to be a short respite before heading back to Ohio, but instead turned out to be an Olympic level session of talking, laughing, and retelling of the same stories we had all heard a million times before.
It was a gorgeous Michigan afternoon, the kind of day that begged for adventure, and there was no way we were going to sit around and listen to Uncle Gavin’s “back in the day” speech that someone in that room had probably heard for the hundredth time. We kids had one thing on our minds — escape. So, in a spark of ingenuity and a rare moment of teamwork, my cousins, brothers, and I put our best persuasive skills to work.
“Pleeeease can we go to the park?” we begged.
“Fine,” Mom finally relented. “But only on one condition — don’t you dare get your clothes dirty.”
We nodded solemnly, fully intending to follow the rule “to the nines”.
With our newfound freedom secured, we made our way to the neighborhood park, which was tucked away at the corner of a quiet but lively little street. It wasn’t anything fancy — just a handful of swings, a slide that looked like it had been baking in the sun for an eternity, and one of those old-school merry-go-rounds that, when observing it, definitely brought up some concerns about its safety.
The swings, to Michelle and I, seemed like the safest bet — gentle, relaxing, and most importantly, low-risk of getting dirty. Or so we thought.
Michelle and I settled into our seats, the warm breeze lifting our Sunday dresses just enough to make us feel elegant, like queens on thrones. We started off slow, swinging back and forth in perfect rhythm, the creaky chains groaning like the old men singing in the Sunday choir.
At first, everything was fine. We swung leisurely, tilting our heads back allowing our faces to bask in the sun’s warmth. But as always, simple enjoyment was never enough. I had to turn it into a competition.
“Bet I can swing higher than you,” I challenged with a grin.
Michelle smirked, “You’re on!”
We pumped our legs harder, soaring higher and higher. The wind rushed past us, our laughter echoed through the park, and for a moment, we felt unstoppable.
Then, out of nowhere, I suddenly had a thought. For no real reason at all I blurted out, “ What if this swing just broke?”
No sooner had the words left my mouth — SNAP!
Suddenly, the world tilted and I became airborne, legs kicking at nothing but air while my hands continued to clutch the two halves of the broken chains. My heart jumped into my throat. It was as if time had purposefully slowed down just enough for me to fully appreciate the sheer absurdity of my situation.
Surprisingly, I landed with a graceful thud, right on my bottom with the detached swing seat still firmly beneath me. The chains, now useless, dangled in my hands like two dead snakes.
For a moment, all was silent.
It wasn’t until I felt Junior quickly pulling me to my feet and Michelle brushing the dirt off of my dress that I was brought back to reality.
“What happened?” Junior asked.
Michelle pointed at me, eyes wide. “She just said — What if this swing breaks — and it broke! Just like that!”
Keith clicked his tongue with folded arms. The look he had was a look of sheer disgust — like I was some kind of freak.
And just like that, everyone bolted off toward home, wanting to be the first to deliver the news. As for me, I was left behind to walk alone to ponder over the madness.
As I reached the front steps of the house, Junior was there waiting for me. His arms were crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else — something that almost looked like concern. Without a word, he grabbed my arm and pulled me aside, away from the doorway, away from any curious ears.
“Look,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You have to stop doing stuff like this. It’s…it’s just weird.”
His eyes locked onto mine, searching, questioning — maybe even pleading. The weight of his gaze pressed down on me, heavier than any words he could have said. In that long stretch of silence, I understood. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was worried. Embarrassed. Maybe even a little afraid.
I swallowed hard and gave a small, quick nod. No words, just agreement. Surrender.
Junior let out a quiet sigh, then, as if the conversation had never happened, he gently grabbed my hand and we slowly walked inside the house together.
Again, thank you for reading. Be on the lookout for chapter 5.
