Banana Land

I believe that there is an explanation for everything, so, yes, I believe in miracles.

~Robert Brault

I don’t recall every detail of the dream I had forty-five years ago. But I do recall the intense uneasiness that engulfed me when I woke up the next morning.

In my dream, my then-husband Ron and I were driving home from a three-day holiday weekend. We both needed to be at work the next morning. Ron was a graduate student/teacher, and I was a grad student/dormitory director at the same college. But, tragically, we didn’t make it home safely. We had an automobile accident instead.

Although the dream was deeply disturbing, my demons were quickly forgotten as I went about my morning routine. Since I was a new dorm director — and Ron and I were, in fact, leaving the next day for a long weekend five hours south of campus — the Dean of Women had scheduled a meeting with me to see how things were going and to discuss my dorm’s coverage in our absence.

The dean was a lovely woman. I always enjoyed our talks. Heading across campus to her office, I felt carefree, excited at the prospect of three full days away with my husband. My earlier dream never crossed my mind until our meeting ended. Then, abruptly, it resurfaced.

“Dean Walawender,” I began hesitantly, “if something were to happen to me this weekend, and I was unable to return to work Tuesday, who would oversee my dorm?”

Then I told her about my dream. Although not generally prone to surreal drama, for some reason this dream resonated deeply. And, given my new job and responsibilities, I needed to know what would transpire on campus should the unthinkable happen. The dean quickly eased my mind, assuring me that contingency plans were always in place should emergencies arise.

Relieved, I put the foreboding dream out of my mind once and for all. Ron and I and our two cats spent a delightful three-day weekend in the Adirondack Mountains. On Monday, we piled back into our Volkswagen Beetle and headed north. That’s when the unthinkable happened. Just fifteen miles into our five-hour journey, we rounded a notoriously dangerous ninety-degree turn that we’d driven countless times before. This time, a light rain was falling. We were talking, the cats were wandering about, and all was well. But as we made the turn a little faster than marked, Ron and I both sensed something amiss. Although the nose of our car was heading forward, the engine-heavy back of the Beetle was failing to make the curve with us. It just kept sliding outward into the opposing lane.

Before we could fully register what was happening, we were fishtailing back and forth across the road as a monstrous, fully loaded logging truck approached from the opposite direction. Stunned and incredulous, we continued weaving perilously, certain we would collide with the semi. But somehow, miraculously, the truck sped past us as we headed straight for the right-side ditch. There was an abrupt impact — amazingly soft, I remember thinking — and then I was airborne, hurtling through the air eight feet above asphalt. Helpless, certain I would crash and die on impact, I suddenly heard a clear directive: “Land like a banana!”

WHAT? I shrieked silently.

The words came again: “LAND LIKE A BANANA!”

Instantly, I relaxed my body, shoulders rounded forward, head and knees bent toward my chest. A second later, my entire left side slammed down on the asphalt, and then rebounded so hard and high that I managed to stumble to a semi-standing position.

My body was screaming and I could hardly see, but I did spot our car upside down in the ditch twenty-five feet away, facing the direction we were traveling. My dazed and shaken husband was struggling to exit a side door. Our cats were nowhere in sight, having beelined, we later learned, into the neighboring woods. Ron and I hadn’t been wearing seatbelts — they weren’t mandatory back then — and, as pet owners, we hadn’t yet evolved to the point of caging our cats while traveling. But everything changed that day. Seatbelts and cat carriers became staples in our lives going forward.

We could never fathom how that massive truck managed to miss us, or how our car managed to flip over and turn ninety degrees as it did. But, to our vast relief, our cats were uninjured, albeit traumatized. Getting them back safe and sound was the day’s high point. A deputy soon arrived, perhaps contacted by the trucker who hadn’t managed to stop to help us. Although our car was totaled and we were stranded, a kind neighbor took us in, fed us chili, and helped us arrange for transportation back to school.

My husband, thankfully, suffered no physical injuries. But the damage I sustained that day continues to haunt me all these years later. Initially, I was told I’d broken my neck. But, fortunately, that was not the case.

Upon our return to campus one day later than planned, the Dean of Women immediately sought me out.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, hugging me gently. “It’s amazing that your dream actually came true.”

Hearing her words, I felt sucker-punched. Incredibly enough, I’d forgotten all about my dream! I hadn’t lived in fear of it going into our trip, and my thoughts hadn’t returned to it after we crashed. But, upon hearing the dean’s reminder, my heart swelled with gratitude for all the help we’d received from above. Although I hadn’t fully heeded my dream’s advance warning, I had felt compelled to mention it to the dean — which greatly eased my job worries when disaster struck. Miraculously, our tiny VW had been guided safely past the grill of that monster truck. A voice out of nowhere had coached me on how to land as safely as possible in a dangerous situation. And, last but hardly least, Ron and I and our sweet felines were alive. Battered, yes, but not broken.

To this day, I remain humbled and awed by the fact that a dream could so accurately foreshadow real life. That long-ago incident marked the first of many times over the years when, inexplicably, I’ve felt guided to act in some way that was not, intrinsically, initiated by me. I can’t say that I live each day actively watching for signs from other realms. But when they do appear, either in dreams or wakefulness — with that uncanny sense of urgency that cannot be overlooked — I pay far closer attention now. And when directions are given, I do as I am told.

— Wendy Hobday Haugh —