If you had told me during daylight hours that I’d be doing this, inexplicably going for a midnight drive in my prettiest dress, I’d have called you crazy. That’s just not the sort of thing a person does, especially not me. I’m so utterly normal it’s silly. Yet here I am, driving down the highway in my husband’s Ford Fiesta, and I have the strangest feeling that something familiar yet unknown is about to occur. Twenty minutes ago, I woke from a dead sleep. Burt was snoring away next to me, and I felt like I had suddenly remembered an urgent appointment that I had to be off to, although I couldn’t for the life of me recall what the appointment was.
I felt compelled to go anyway, sneaking away in the car, not knowing which road or turn to take until I was on it. And where did it lead me? Absolutely nowhere. Smack in the middle of nowhere in fact.
I should be cranky, or confused, or scared, or sleepy, but instead I’m smiling, as happy as a clam on a dinner plate. I pull the car off to the side of the road, and just look out into the blackness of the night. There’s no moon, no stars. Nothing.
Then, without warning, there is something. There’s a great light shining down on my car like an enormous spotlight. The whiteness is overwhelming, and I--still smiling--have to shut my eyes to avoid pain. I unbuckle my seatbelt, and...