Danny was surprised to see the on-ramp to the SR-520 floating bridge empty—it was the most direct way from Seattle to the East Side, so it was usually clogged with traffic. He rounded the corner and descended the ramp, speeding up to merge into the lane that would carry him across Lake Washington to look at some office space in Kirkland for a new clinic. Danny had just graduated from the Northwest Institute of Acupuncture and Oriental Medicine and was about to begin his career.

The bridge sloped down from both ends, drawing his car down like a giant water slide to where the middle of the bridge rested on water. He could just make out Bill Gates’ lakeside house on the right and a bit of Mount Rainier beyond that before a dense fog rolled in. Suddenly, he could not even see the other side of the bridge. Huge waves crashed over the side rails and as it often did in storms, the bridge began to sway.

Danny was still the only driver on the bridge, and he wondered if he had missed a bridge-closing announcement. Wouldn’t they have closed the on-ramp if there were a problem? The deck was slick with water and his tires slipped a bit. Visibility was so low that he was relying on the feel of the bridge to figure out where he was; he could tell he was almost to the center because he could hear the tires howling on the metal grid surface. Another wave broke across the bridge, and the water rose up over his grill. He hit the brakes. The car skidded and lifted. He saw the cement guardrail coming at him. Then the hood caught on the railing and the back of the car rose; the movement was so swift and sudden that he had the sensation of going up on a roller coaster.

The car plunged down into the cold, gray lake water. Danny watched helplessly as bubbles streamed past the windows. A flood poured in from somewhere, and he felt the cold fingers of water moving over his legs. It was difficult to see anything, and it was intensely quiet, he thought, for such a violent scene. He felt paralyzed—he wanted to shout, but couldn’t make words come out of his mouth. Then there was only darkness.

The next thing Danny knew, he was on his back. He moved his hands around on either side of him and felt the cold rails of a gurney. He tried his legs and they seemed to move, but they were tangled in something. He became aware of someone bending over him. He blinked, trying to bring a face into focus. It appeared to be an Asian man in an old-fashioned gray robe, almost like something a monk would wear. The aged man straightened, and Danny could see more of him. As their eyes met, the old man’s face softened into a smile and Danny felt a wave of warmth flow over him. When he tried to sit up, the man seemed to recede, not exactly walking, just smoothly backing away from him. “Wait!” he shouted. “Deng-yi-xia!” The Chinese phrase burst out of Danny’s mouth but did not help; the old man shrank away more quickly, speeding backwards into a corner.

The phone rang and Danny bolted upright. Then he saw muted light through his window and the curtains flapping in a slight breeze. The phone continued to ring as he struggled to sort dream from reality. He cleared his throat and answered the phone. “Hello?” “Happy Birthday, Ming Dan!” chirped his mother. His mother always preferred to call him by his Chinese name. He could not muster much enthusiasm. “Oh, hi, Mom,” he said, as he flopped back on his pillow. “Ah, Ming Dan, I’m looking at a baby photo of you right now. Can you believe that twenty eight years ago you took your first breath, halfway around the world? I remember it as if it were yesterday…” she said nostalgically. “Yeah, long time, huh?” Danny responded, still trying to shake the dream. “Long time! Ha! To a parent, twenty-eight years seems like the blink of an eye.” “Right, right,” he said to placate her. He wasn’t in the mood for aphorisms in the Chinese way. “I have a birthday surprise for you, Ming Dan—Grandfather left you a present. Either I can put it in the mail for you, or you can get it next time you come down to Berkeley.” “From grandfather? For me? But he passed away a long time ago!” Danny said. “Yes, I have been keeping it for you for a long time,” his mother replied. “He told me to give it to you on your twenty eighth birthday.” “You’ve been keeping this from me all these years?” Only a Chinese mother could keep such a secret, Danny thought. As he tried to digest what his mother was saying, the image of the old man in the dream kept resurfacing in his mind. “It’s great that he remembered me,” said Danny, finally feeling lucid. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen his grandfather. “Why twenty-eight?” he asked. “Oh, you know your grandfather; everything had to be done at just the right time.”

Danny remembered his grandfather fondly, having spent his first eight years living near him in Taiwan. This was before his American father, a teacher at Stanford Language Center in Taipei, had convinced his mother to move back to the United States because he thought Danny would have better opportunities. Danny’s grandfather owned an herb shop, and when Danny visited, he would be given a sweet licorice twig to chew, while he watched his grandfather mix prescriptions and fastidiously sort herbs into small wooden drawers that seemed to reach from floor to ceiling. “Well, I’m anxious to see what’s in it, but don’t put it in the mail,” he said to his mother. “I’ll let you know when I can make a trip down.” “Good-bye, little Ming Dan. I hope this is the start of a very good year for you.”

As he hung up Danny tried to push all memory of the enigmatic dream out of his mind. He showered and dressed for his appointment to view the clinic space, had some breakfast, and got into his car. As he approached the SR-520 Bridge, he flashed on his dream of water enveloping his car. Instead of turning towards the bridge he kept his car pointing south on I-5 and drove straight to Berkeley, stopping only three times during the fourteen-hour trip.