“Daddy, I was flying!”

When my daughter, Xaria, was six-years-old or so, she burst into our room one early morning as my wife and I were waking and announced,  “Daddy, Daddy! I had a dream that I was flying. I was actually flying!” She was over the moon (pun intended). I said, “Really? Were you actually flying with your arms or with wings or what?” “I had wings and I was flying all through the sky! They were big wings, and they were colorful and long,” she said. I was happy for her. I’ve had the dream a few times, and it’s unique. If you haven’t had it, I hope that one day you do. It’s probably the most beautiful dream you can have, especially if the spirit of your flight comes from a healthy place.

The first time I had it, I was about twenty-three. I might’ve had it before, but I don’t recall it. In my dream, I found myself running down a childhood street at full speed. I think I already knew that I had the ability to fly, which is why I was running in the first place. At full pace, I then jumped into the air and flapped my arms as fast and as hard as I could. I did so as though my life depended on it. I wanted to fly! I managed to stay in the air for a few seconds, but quickly came back down. I wanted more. I was pretty conscious of my abilities. I tried again. I did it all the same. Then, just like magic, I was in the air. I was in a state of amazement, too, but I was conscious of my flight. I flapped and gilded, flapped and glided, and then I simply controlled myself across the night sky, flapping my arms and guiding myself over neighborhoods in L.A.

Us Mexicans are a pretty superstitious bunch. I told my mom about the dream, and she said, “Oooooh, that’s good, mijo! It means you’re going to get money!” A part of me thought my mom was maybe a little foolish to believe in that stuff, but in the back of my mind, her words were taken as a bit of wishful truth. It just so happened that my brother and I were preparing for a Vegas trip with our dad. It took place two days after my dream.

We were in the Tropicana when my dad hand me a $100 bill. He gave my brother one, too. We weren’t going to spend it. When my dad gave us money, we pocketed it and used it on stuff we needed for school or clothes. I did, however, have three dollars of my own. I exchanged them for Tropicana, one-dollar coins so that I could play the slot machines.

I walked around the casino searching for the right slot machine, theone, lucky machine that would call my name. I found it. It was a corner machine, at the edge of a major walkway in the casino, side-by-side with about ten other machines. It was decorated with colorful pictures of the Tropicana lady. She wore a big hat with fruits and flowers stacked on top it. She wore a bikini, and she had beautiful breasts and long legs. She was the one!

Because I only had three-dollars, and also because I expected to lose all three dollars in the blink of an eye, I didn’t even take a seat. I just stood in front of the machine and proceeded to give it my money. I put the first coin in and pulled the lever. The wheels inside spun wildly for a few seconds and then one by one they stopped. Nothing. I put the second coin and watched the numbers and fruits and ladies and all kinds of other icons roll to a complete stop. Nothing. Then with one foot pointed in the direction of the door, I popped in my last dollar and went for the lever.

Before  I could pull it, though, the coin popped out at the bottom of the machine. I thought, “Well, at least I didn’t lose.” I put it in again. This time the machine took it. I pulled the lever and watched the numbers and symbols roll across the face of the machine. The first roll stopped. It was the Tropicana lady. The second roll stopped. Again, the Tropicana lady. Finally, the last roll stopped. The Tropicana lady. There wasn’t a sound. No lights, no sirens, no horns–just silence. “Did I win,” I asked myself. I stood directly in front of the machine and squinted my eyes as I stared deeply at the icons and the center-line on the glass. They seemed to be lined perfectly, but still there was no indication that I had won.

Then a voice called to me. There was a woman standing atop the row of machines. I hadn’t notice her, and I didn’t even think it was possible to be up there, but it was her perch and she made sure the machines were functioning. “Did you win?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I said. “The ladies are lined up, but there wasn’t a sound or any lights or anything.” “Yeah, you won,” she said. “You won $800!” “No way!” I said. “Oh, shit! She called me over and handed me eight, $100 bills. “You’re dumb,” she said with a laugh. “If you would’ve put in two counts, you would’ve won $2700!” I didn’t care. $800, was the most money I’ve ever had. Mom was right!

When we got back to our hotel room, I put the $800, under the mattress. There was no way that I was going to spend a dime of it. After two more days, we left. We were on Highway 15 when I realized that I had left the money under the mattress in our room.. My dad was pissed! “Son of a bitch,” he said as he angrily drove us back. We didn’t lock the door behind us, so I went in and straight for the bed. The money was still there.

Xaria was so excited about the dream, and I didn’t want her to forget it, so I said, “You should paint your dream. You should paint what it looked like so you don’t forget it.” She did. My wife always has Xaria’s art supplies within arm’s reach, so Xaria got to painting at the kitchen table. We left her alone. This is what she painted:

Xaria's flying

I’ve since had the dream a few more times. In fact, I just had a few weeks ago. It never gets old. I’m glad Xaria had it. I hope Iris has it, too. I can’t really put to words how beautiful it is to fly. It’s funny, though. In my flying dreams, I never have wings. I always have to use my arms. Xaria is lucks. She got wings.