When I was a junior in highschool, our outdoors club took a rock-climbing trip to West Texas. The canyon we were going to explore was literally in the middle of nowhere - a three-hour drive from the nearest outpost of civilization. After some frolicking by the canyon edge, we pitched out tents and went to bed. The plan was to rise early, descend into the canyon and spend the day exploring, climbing and swimming.
That night I had a dream that one of the boys in our group was in trouble. It wasn't clear what happened - the dream was sort of vague on the details - but it was easy enough to recognize who it was. (The kid was very bright blond, practically albino.)
I was sharing a tent with a friend. When I woke up the next morning, I told her: "Dude, I just had a dream about R____!" "Ew," said the girl. (R___ was considered to be rather creepy.) "Not *that* kidn of a dream, you idiot," I said. "The kind where something bad happens to him!"
Rock-climbing is, as you might know, the kind of endevour where accidents, often serious and sometimes fatal ones, can and do happen despite all precautions. After some deliberation, we decided to tell R____ nothing: a warning was likely to make him nervous 'on the rock' and turn the dream into a self-fulfilling prophecy. So we said nothing.
We descended into the canyon without trouble. Several hours later, we'd already both forgotten about everything and were sunning ourselves on a rock when we heard a stifled scream. It was R_____; he was hanging off a rock, entirely supported by his belayer, and gripping his leg.
There was a lot of blood and a lot of barely suppressed panic on the part of the teachers: they now had to pull everyone out of the canyon and evacuate R____ to a hospital, which, as I mentioned earlier, was a three-hour drive away.
The story had a more or less happy ending. R_____ got a cool scar across his calf to impress chicks with; as for me, I spent so much time thinking about this that I eventually developed something like a crush on him. Also, people started looking at me funny. My tent-mate must have blabbed.
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That night I had a dream that one of the boys in our group was in trouble. It wasn't clear what happened - the dream was sort of vague on the details - but it was easy enough to recognize who it was. (The kid was very bright blond, practically albino.)
I was sharing a tent with a friend. When I woke up the next morning, I told her: "Dude, I just had a dream about R____!" "Ew," said the girl. (R___ was considered to be rather creepy.) "Not *that* kidn of a dream, you idiot," I said. "The kind where something bad happens to him!"
Rock-climbing is, as you might know, the kind of endevour where accidents, often serious and sometimes fatal ones, can and do happen despite all precautions. After some deliberation, we decided to tell R____ nothing: a warning was likely to make him nervous 'on the rock' and turn the dream into a self-fulfilling prophecy. So we said nothing.
We descended into the canyon without trouble. Several hours later, we'd already both forgotten about everything and were sunning ourselves on a rock when we heard a stifled scream. It was R_____; he was hanging off a rock, entirely supported by his belayer, and gripping his leg.
There was a lot of blood and a lot of barely suppressed panic on the part of the teachers: they now had to pull everyone out of the canyon and evacuate R____ to a hospital, which, as I mentioned earlier, was a three-hour drive away.
The story had a more or less happy ending. R_____ got a cool scar across his calf to impress chicks with; as for me, I spent so much time thinking about this that I eventually developed something like a crush on him. Also, people started looking at me funny. My tent-mate must have blabbed.