Dream 20020730, 7:00 AM:
The Crash of the Two Vans
I’m driving in my car, following a van along a road. The van starts to turn left around a curve, and I know that’s where I’m headed too, but I can see another van coming toward us, and I don’t think it’s going to stop. One of the vans is burgundy and cream, the other is either slate gray or a grayish blue; I don’t remember which one I was behind. There is a wall beside where the van is turning; it is textured oddly, like some sort of stone, but very gridded. It reminds me of a radiator. I brake, but the van I was following didn’t see it, and they plow into each other. They crash corner-to-corner, so that the driver’s side of one van is smashed in, and the passenger side of the other. I stop my car, get out, and run over to where the two vans are. I get the door of one open, and ask the driver if he is all right. He tells me that he is; he seems coherent and unhurt. He is a large, lanky man with black hair, but pale or light olive skin. I go to the other van. I get the door open, and it seems like the driver is lying in the back seat, but the seat itself is facing the open door. He is stretched out with his head to my left, and appears unconscious. He has sandy-brown hair and tan skin; my impression of him is that he is all one color. I gently touch him, trying to find if he has any obvious injuries; he shifts somewhat, as if trying to become comfortable, but doesn’t waken. He doesn’t appear to be hurt anywhere that I can see. I don’t move him or roll him over, although I think to myself that the van may be dangerous if the collision smashed any of the fuel lines, and I might have to risk injuring him to get him out.
I use my cell phone and dial 911. It connects wrong somehow – I can see on the display that it has dialed some local number that ends in 911. I realize that I have to enter the full area code and prefix; I start dialing 972-247-9111, but I get someone in Dallas; then I remember that I’m in Houston, and I have to dial 281 instead.