In the mid 1990’s, America was discovering that the coffee served in offices and restaurants, compared to new coffee shops, wasn’t great, not even good. Internet use required telephone land line, usage was charged by the hour. Folks who could afford cellular phones listed numbers as car or mobile phone if they own both. For the rest of folks, we used pagers and payphones. If you wanted to find someone in a different city and didn’t know her address or phone, you placed a personal ad in the local paper, hoping for a respond through a P.O. address.
Why any of these points matter is that if I had re-occurring dream that I am about to share, today, I would never gone a wild goose half way across country.
The dream was this. I’m standing at the playground of my first elementary school, Pinehurst in Seattle Washington. I would walk off the grounds, go down a street, brush pass a raspberry bush. head downhill past lined with single story homes and evergreen trees. The journey would end at last house of a dead-end street. I would just stand there…staring. Then hear a woman’s voice. “Where are you? What happened to you? Where did you go?” Voice would repeat until I would wake up.
My girlfriend at that time worked as a director of a small coffee company. They had three stores in downtown Chicago where we lived, few in California, most of stores were in Seattle, its founding location. As the company started to grow, my then girlfriend traveled from home in downtown Chicago, to Seattle and eventually across United States. When I told her about the dreams, she suggested that I place a personal ad in a Seattle newspaper.
Thought about it.
“My name is Peter, lived in Seattle as little boy, immigrated to States with sister and Uncle from Seoul Korea in mid to late 1960’s. Father lost his job at Boeing. Family moved to Michigan and now live in Chicago. I’ve never return. I am thinking about it because a voice in a dream is asking me to find you. Are you trying to find me?”
Sounded ridiculous, never placed the ad.
Every time I had the dream and mentioned “the dream”, my girlfriend knew.
“Had that dream again.”
“Why don’t you accompany me to Seattle. Fly out day or so before my meeting…look for your school or home. You could call your parents….”
“I don’t think so.”
“About the trip or calling your parents?
“Calling my parents.”
I purchased a plane ticket.
Before the trip, I telephoned Seattle school district for an address of Pinehurst elementary. “No such school or place existed.” according to an administrator. Dead end. Ticket was non-refundable was I went not expecting to find anything.
We arrived at SeaTac, Seattle’s airport. What I could remember?
I remembered arriving at SeaTac, being led into small room with a door with small window. being questioned alone by white women showing black and white pictures of men and women, asking me to point out who my mother or father were. My parents had left my sister and I behind when I was 3 months ago. They left Korea to move to San Francisco.
I stared at photos of people, words from the lady’s mouth was strange, she looked strange, all people in the photograph were strange. No clue what my folks looked like. I pointed out a man and woman, on a guess.
My girlfriend and I rented a car and drove south. We headed in this direction because someone had mentioned that area called Pinehurst was south of the airport, but it was in Tacoma. It’s plausible that our family never actually lived in Seattle proper.
However, my hopes started to rise seeing single story homes and evergreen trees. Mind raced trying to make connection to the area. It was the only lead I had. It had to be the place.
“Anything?” She asked.” In 30 years, place can change, people change, world can change. I sensed that this place time moved slower than anywhere else.
“Sorry, this isn’t where I grew up.” Heart sank in the way you are expecting gift or cake for your birthday, and nothing happens. You don’t know if you’re supposed to cry, vent, sulk or just suck it up and be a man.
Sun set a while ago. I found a payphone, could barely read numbers on phone calling card to make long distance call to my sister in Michigan.
“Hello?” She whispered.
“Oh, it’s me, so sorry to be calling late at night.”
It must have been past midnight, EST.
“Where did we go to school, was it Pinehurst, was it in Seattle Washington?”
“Yes, Pinehurst was in Seattle. Why? Where are you?”
“Think I’m in Tacoma?”
“What are you doing there?”
“Please go back to sleep, explain tomorrow.”
We got in the car and drove up back North, checked into a waterfront hotel, ate bowl of clam chowder, drank Grand Mariner and listened to song requested by my girlfriend. Don’t remember song title that the piano player played. Something about coming home. Bittersweet.
The next day my girlfriend showed me around Seattle. After day’s jaunt, in the late afternoon, she wanted to get her nails down before her meetings. “No problem, least I could do after you humored me with wild goose chase.”
She didn’t say anything.
We drove randomly and stopped at the first nail salon we found. Vietnamese woman said manicure and pedicure would take an hour or so. I had running clothes in the car and could use time wisely.
“I’ll run for an hour, see you back here.”
Started running through the area. About 10 minutes into run, the pace slowed. I stood in an empty lot, Deja vu. Can’t remember how I long I was standing there.
A man approached and asked if I needed help.
“No thank you, I don’t need help.” I didn’t know what to say.
“Was there ever a school here?” I asked.
Man shook his head.
“Lived here for 10 years…no such school…. if it was here it must have been before my time. What was name of school?”
“Pinehurst.”
“No such school called Pinehurst…but this area is called Pinehurst.”
I smiled and waved goodbye as the man walked back. Heart pounded and something opened up, Inner voice said “You’re in your dream. Walk your dream.” Just do it.
Walking down the street I saw the raspberry bush, street going downhill, single story homes with evergreens, and the house at the end of the road. This was house that had the women’s voice. Who lived here?
I remembered an elderly couple without children but had a dog who licked ice cream dish after the woman feed us bowl of ice cream after school. More than 30 years ago, long time ago. Poor folks must have passed away years ago.
I stood there. I just stood there…waiting for a sign…something to happen…
Door of house open partially; dark screen door hides the face.
“Can I help you?”
“I don’t mean to startle to you”…. trying to think of the words to say.”
“What did you say?”
“I don’t mean to startle you…but I think I use to know a couple that use to live here. They were retired couple who used to serve ice cream and cookies to me and my sister after school.”
“I still can’t hear you…. you need to come closer!” Woman said.
I walked up the door and keep distance not to scare stranger.
“I think I use to know the couple that use to live here.”
“Who’s that?”
“Use to call them Auntie Vee and Uncle Harold. They were very kind to our family, especially to my sister and me. Family was from Korea.”
“Who’s your family?” “We used to live here a long time ago. We moved to Michigan after my father lost his job at Boeing.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“Cecilia”
“What’s your brothers’ name?
“Ben and John”
“Where were they born?”
“Ben was born in San Francisco. John was born here in Seattle.”
“What’s did your uncle do when he was here?”
“He was a priest.”
“Do you play instrument?”
“Yes, I play the piano,”
Rapid questioning stopped. Long silence followed.
“I’m Auntie Vee.” said the voice behind the screen. “You’re Peter.”
“Yes, I’m Peter.”
She opened the door and I could see her frail face. I cried.
Inside her house, she told me that her husband, Uncle Harold had passed away some time ago.
Time had mentioned was when my dreams started.
She said that she went to St. Matthews and prayed every Sunday that someone from our family would like her to know what ever happened to our family, especially after her husband passed away.
“You know we didn’t have children; your sister and I were like our kids…never heard a word after family left.”
We spoke for a while. Telling her about my family. I never mentioned the dream. Said my goodbyes, said I would keep in touch and hugged.
“If no one every said thank you. On the behalf of our family, I wanted to say you for all the kindness and opening of your home to immigrant family.” I ran back to the nail salon.
“How was your run?” My girlfriend asked.
“I have a story to tell.”
A year later Auntie Vee passed away. Some folks asked if I believe in God and Jesus. If I didn’t believe in them back then, did I become a believer because of that experience?
No, I was a participant in Auntie’s Vee miracle and her prayers to God. No, the experience didn’t make me a believer because that dream wasn’t mine, miracles was hers. 20 years later going on more journey’s, I’m still learning that trying to live a dream is good, but living His dream is far better.
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