Daughters of the Moon

On February 6, 1976, at 4:30 in the morning I was startled out of a sound sleep by a recurring nightmare I had as a child. The landscape was mountainous, with trees so tall and majestic they peaked the clouds. I was floating through space like a feather tossed about in a storm. I could hear myself scream but when I opened my eyes everything was quiet.  It took several seconds before I realized I was safe in bed, lying next to my husband, Matt.

Although the room was chilly, my hair and gown, even the sheets were soaked with perspiration.  My heart was racing and there were goose bumps on my arms.  For a brief moment I had the strangest feeling that something terrible was destined to occur. Little did I know I was about to embark upon a journey that would change my life forever, as well as the lives of everyone I loved.

Except for a dim light shining beneath the bedroom door, the room was dark. With a trembling hand I reached for Matt, who was buried under a mountain of blankets. When I touched his shoulder I felt a sense of relief yet I was unable to shake the ominous feeling of terror that had invaded my soul.

As the minutes ticked by I snuggled closer to Matt, pulling the comforter tighter around me. I lay quietly for almost an hour. When he rolled away from me, I slipped from beneath the covers and rose from the bed.

The hardwood floor felt cold on my bare feet as I tiptoed across the room to the picture window that overlooked Central Park. As I drew back the heavy drape, a sliver of light from the streetlamp below lighted the darkness and my heart sank. I had prayed for a blizzard but no such luck. The early morning hour showed no signs of precipitation. Steeped in disappointment, I walked into the adjoining bathroom to shower. When I reached the door I stopped and glanced back at Matt, who was sleeping soundly. I fought the urge to awaken him. I wanted to tell him that I did not want to go to Brazil, but since he had been looking forward to this trip for over six months I could not bear to disappoint him.

It was still dark when I finished showering. I wiped the accumulation of moisture from my vanity mirror and stared at my reflection. Pale blue eyes, encompassed by dark circles, stared back at me. Wearily, I smoothed moisture cream on my face and decided to wait and apply my makeup during the flight. I towel-dried my platinum blonde hair and then opened the closet door. The night before I had chosen a comfortable linen pantsuit for the trip and a pair of gold sandals and I quickly dressed.

According to the crystal clock on my vanity, it was ten past six.  When I opened the bathroom door I thought once more of awakening Matt, but I decided that if he overslept it was his problem not mine.  Feeling like a traitor, I crept across the bedroom like a thief in the night. Softly closing the bedroom door behind me, I continued tiptoeing along the Oriental rug that ran the length of the hallway.