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Something About Harry | The Dreamweaver

Updated: Nov 14, 2021


I was invited to come out of “teaching retirement” to return as a lecturer at Hotelschool The Hague. I was asked to accompany a small group of students—though these students in particular were kids about eight or nine as opposed to the traditional college-aged students that attend the school—from The Hague campus to the one in Amsterdam.


I sat in the passenger seat next to the driver, “Harry.”


Soon after we got on the motorway, Harry began driving erratically and slurring his speech. After swerving off the road, I noticed he was having what appeared to be a stroke so I grabbed the steering wheel as Harry passed out. I was able to get my foot on the brake and pull the van off the road and bring it to a stop about halfway down the off ramp. I instructed one of the students to call for an ambulance and we took Harry out of the van and placed him comfortably on the grass at the side of the road. Then I got back in the van with a few of the students while the others stayed behind with Harry.


As we were driving away, we heard a loud explosion and saw it was Harry who had burst into flames and was certainly dead. We got back to school and I tried to remain collected while looking for the school’s director. I ran into my colleague, an old friend from Chicago, Brooke, and asked if she had the director’s number and she asked my why I wanted it.


I told Brooke about what happened to Harry and she told me that we should call the school’s new dean and that she was the only one who had her personal phone number. I tried to insist that I should be the one to make the call and when she refused, I walked away.


Just then, I happened to see the director walking with a woman I presumed to be the new dean, so I approached them and asked them to sit down with me as I had some very bad news to tell them.


Then I woke up.

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