When I was about 5 I had a recurring nightmare.

We were living in Glen Cove, New York at the time, number 24 on a dead end street called Leuce Place. When we moved in you could still see the farm behind the back fence – I’ll never forget the time a horse broke through and terrified my city cousin Selene. Within a few years after we arrived that land was transformed into new (split level!) homes, except for the old farmhouse, which was acquired by the family of my first twin acquaintances, Stephen and Shelly.

But there was still a farm when I dreamed my dream. My father and I were in our actual house, on our real street and with the undeveloped land behind the fence. He was building something or fixing something – he couldn’t interrupt whatever his hands were then doing – and he needed a gadget or tool from the basement. He asked me to fetch it for him. I resisted because I was scared of the basement. His request became urgent, a soft irresistible demand.

I went to the basement door and hesitated at the top of the wooden steps. I flipped the light switch and nothing happened; the cavernous room downstairs stayed dark. The bulb must be out. I can’t ask Dad for help; I must proceed. I step out into the blackness and … there are no stairs! I’m falling in the dark and there is no longer any basement floor. I’m plummeting blind forever.

No fun. Really. And it happened more than once.

But after I had my experience with dream candy, I wised up. I knew not only that dreams aren’t real, but that I was capable of becoming a bit aware of when I was dreaming.

I bore those in mind the next time the basement dream started. As usual, it began with me and Dad, alone in the house, him busy with something and me there to help. He sends me to the basement and I go, but reluctantly. The light doesn’t work. When I step off there are no stairs and I start to fall. I say to myself “But I know I’m in a dream” and as I conclude that thought, I swear it’s true: the lights come on and my fall changes to a swoop of flight in limitless space. The feeling is centrifugally sweet and the view, infinite and interesting and in shades of aqua, is awesome.

I haven’t had the falling dream since.