Coronado Dreaming (The Silver Strand Series) (19 page)

Still foggy from the dream, I got up the next morning and made my way to the refrigerator. Boris followed me hoping for a treat, even though he should have realized by then that I couldn’t provide him with one. To make that point, I shook some dry food onto the floor. He sniffed around and pawed at the phantom Kibbles and Bits, then, looked up and meowed a somewhat annoyed meow.

“Sorry, buddy. How many times do we have to go through this? I can’t help you. You’re gonna have to go see the waitress.”

He seemed to understand, walked over to the door and waited. I drank some orange juice from my never-ending carton of Tropicana, replaced the cap and put the container back in the fridge. I walked over to the door, popped the latch, and let the cat out into the mid-morning haze.

Only when Boris was halfway down the dock did I realize what I had done. I had actually opened the door… over there. Apparently, Giddeon had closed it when I went inside the night before. I had crashed open the door… all by myself. I reached out to shut it, but had no success. Only the ‘alternate’ door would close. I could still detect a flicker where the ‘real’ one was. I tried a few more times, and those times were also unsuccessful.

“Baby steps.” said Giddeon. “Baby steps.
Rome
wasn’t built in a day.” He had appeared behind me in the belly of the boat.

“It’s been almost a year,” I replied.

“All comes to he who waits,” said Gid.

I gave up on the door and turned to my subconscious. “I’ve noticed your philosophy mostly consists of quips and platitudes.”

“I think things should be short and sweet.”

“Like your winkie in a Twinkie?”

Giddeon busted up laughing. I even snickered at my quickly made pun.

“That’s good!” he exclaimed. “God, I wish I could come up with something like that on the spot. But, you’re right… I don’t care for lengthy dissertations. I think truth is more easily digested in little pieces… like snack food… snack food for thought.” Giddeon smiled, obviously pleased with his play on words, and had himself a seat on the couch.

“So, you’re a philosopher with attention deficit disorder?”

“If you can’t get it out in five seconds, it’s probably not worth opining about.”

“You’re a five second philosopher?”

“I’m a deep thinker… I just do it fast.”

“Hummmm…” I thought for a moment. “
Sometimes, you think so deep you talk out of your butt
.”

We both cracked up at that one.

I could then see little wheels turning behind his eyes. Finally, he replied,

“
I think outside the box… I just don’t do anything else, there
.”

Giddeon had on an ear to ear grin, along with a surprised look, upon his face. I nodded and chuckled. He had used the general gist of the quip, which was thinking, and had come up with another quip about thinking. I thought for a moment, and countered,

“
The best box to think outside of is the coffin
.”

My subconscious smiled, furrowed his brow momentarily, and said, “
Always take the scenic route to the cemetery.
” He had absolute delight on his countenance, after that. “Hey… I’m doing it! I’m coming up with original material!”

“Nice,” I complemented him, realizing that he had keyed on the coffin and death for his latest quote. I continued with his theme.

“
Cremation is way too late to light a fire under your butt
.”

We both cracked up, again.

“
Life’s way too short to waste time thinking about how short it is!
” retorted Gid.

We were getting into it. A couple of Bloody Marys appeared in our hands.

“
Live slow, die old, and leave the ugliest corpse possible!
” Giddeon announced it like a toast, and, took a drink.

I was impressed with his twisting of a famous quote, and raised my glass to him from the couch upon which I had taken a seat, also.

“
I’ve never seen my friends drink to excess, but, I’m sure they will… ‘To excess!
’”

We laughed and then each took a sip, both of us enjoying our new word game. Giddeon gave a long look to his partially finished tomato juice and vodka, and said,

“
The glass is half empty, and, I’m pretty sure what’s left in there has gone bad
.”

Pessimism had become the theme.

“
I think it’s time Murphy’s Law became a constitutional amendment
,” I replied.

“
I wanted to make my mark on the world… does this one in my underwear count
?”

I almost choked on my drink. Gid was laughing so hard at his last invention that he was crying.

“
I’d like some Metamucil… to go!
” I said with enthusiasm and then slapped the cushion next to me with glee. I looked up and saw that Giddeon was holding his sides with both hands.

“
I can’t cut the mustard, but I sure can cut the che-ee-eee-se!
” He could barely get the last word out before he fell onto the floor. Our philosophizing had quickly devolved into one-liners. I was laughing harder at his reaction to his joke than the joke itself. After 30 seconds or so he got back onto his seat. He changed his Bloody Mary into a beer, complete with a foamy head.

“
I’ve
found that beer really quenches that thirst for knowledge!
” my subconscious exclaimed after a deep draught. We both guffawed, and then guffawed, again, as we tried to drink.

Since I wasn’t too good at conjuring things, I went to the cupboard, got out a bottle of Stoli’s, held it up and freshened my Bloody Mary. “
I don’t know if you can save time in a bottle, but, you sure can lose a weekend in there!
”

Now, it was Gid’s turn to slap the couch cushion beside him. We then fell into a rapid fire cadence, swapping lines that weren’t necessarily related.

“I put my electroshock therapy on a charge card!”

“I’m not a porn star, but I do moon people!”

“I went to have liposuction, but they accidentally got the muscles!”

“Every family tree starts with a little wood!”

“I’ve almost reached hypocritical mass!”

“The wheel was invented by cutting corners!”

“I think my love handles are just handles!”

“You should see me without the steroids!”

We really cracked up over the last one. I looked over and noticed that Boris had come back from wherever he had been. My animal stood at the door as if hesitant to enter into what was obviously a loony bin.

“Come on in, Boris,” I said. “You can be the judge.” He came down, took a few steps forward and sat there looking at us.

“
I’d rather be in the cat house than the dog house
,” said Giddeon.

“
Nobody ever says I’ve been working like a cat
,” I replied.

“
Felines have to pay 900 percent more for past-life regression therapy
.”

“
The house-cat may be evolution’s end-point
.”

Boris meowed long and loud from the middle of the room. Obviously, he had had enough.

“Okay, okay… we’ll quit.” I said.

Giddeon took another sip of beer, and then, his brew and my Bloody Mary disappeared into thin air.

“Too early to be drinking. Geez, that was fun! So that’s what it’s like to be creative… cool!

“I never came up with things so fast. That was bizarre!” I said.

Boris meowed, again, as if he wanted to make sure we didn’t start back in.

“Come here, Boris.” I patted the couch beside me. He jumped up and paced back and forth through me and Giddeon; I tried to ‘pet’ my little buddy, but he would have no part of it. He jumped down and then up onto the table across from us and sat there with a somewhat disgusted look on his face. Then, he began licking a paw to clean his whiskers and ignored our presence.

“Looks like we both have more horsepower over here,” said Gid. “That firewall really got in the way, didn’t it?”

“I suppose so. What are you doing up so early? I thought you would sleep in after playing lunar tour guide last night.”

“Nah… I told you, I don’t need much sleep. What do you want to do, today?”

“I don’t know. It’s gonna be hard to top golf on the moon.”

He grinned. “There’s always time travel… I’m thinking a trip to the past.”

“For real?”

“As real as it gets, over here… let’s go and see some of our ancestors!”

At first, I thought he was joking, but, then, I realized he was serious. “We can do that? I know you showed me alternate futures, but that was more like a probable thing. We can actually go back?”

“This from a guy that was playing golf on the moon last night?”

“Humph,” I grunted. “You do have a point. Where do you think we should go?”

“Since
Rome
wasn’t built in a day… I was thinking maybe ancient
Rome
so we could see it under construction.” Gid blinked and I was no longer in my boxer shorts, but a cotton sheet and sandals.

“Too much?” he asked. He blinked again and I was in regular attire… blue jeans, a tee shirt and tennis shoes. “Better?”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t suppose we have to worry about fitting in. They won’t be able to see us, will they?”

The first thing I noticed about ancient
Rome
was how nice it was without all of the advertisements, automobiles and electrical power lines everywhere. We were in a market; fresh fruit, vegetables, fish, meat and flowers were all on display. The second thing I noticed was the colors. I had assumed everyone would be wearing simple white dress, like at a fraternity toga party, but that wasn’t the case. Colors were everywhere. Deep reds and indigos, yellows and blues, browns and greens.

The men were mostly thin, muscular and a bit shorter in stature than in our modern day and age. The women were healthy-looking, suntanned and strong. The younger ones were often beautiful… dark hair, high cheekbones and aquiline noses. Periodically, I would spot a blonde, obviously with ancestry from the northern regions. Small children ran and played, chasing each other in a game of tag as old as Mankind itself; their squeals punctuated the early morning air. A few pigeons strutted this way and that, and overhead, ravens cawed from tree-tops.

Giddeon and I walked up and down the aisles and looked over the produce. A dog underneath a table barked at our passage. Near one stand, a young, somewhat shabbily dressed teenager stood beside a catch of fresh fish and shooed away flies with an ornate fan. I had the feeling that he was a slave.

My subconscious read my mind. “Oh, yes… slavery has been around forever.”

I looked him over and said to Giddeon, “Poor guy… he should be in high school, flirting with all the girls.”

“I’m sure he does alright. Some slaves in this era had more free time than you would expect. Many were basically considered part of the family… in the end, we’re all slaves to something. You know that, don’t you?
Freedom’s just the ability to choose your master
.”

“Now you are becoming a philosopher.”

“Notice it was quick? Five seconds or less.”

“I thought
freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose
.”

Gid grinned. “Oh, yeah… that was a good line… Kris Kristofferson. Quite right, you know. But, one word can have multiple meanings. Sort of like quantum physics… multiple places, multiple times…” he spread his hands wide, “… all the same.”

I looked around at the ancient city. He did make a strong argument.

“What year is this?”

“37 B.C. The empire is in full swing. Roads and bridges are being built, also, aqueducts and coliseums.”

“Amazing… how can they do all of this with no internet?” I queried.

Giddeon chuckled. “Probably got more done without all of the distractions. Speaking of distractions…”

I followed his gaze. A beautiful young woman in a white dress was walking between the tables, a basket full of apples, radishes and grapes cradled in her left arm. Her hair flowed down around her shoulders in a cascade of dark, shining curls.

The lovely female had a simple gold necklace around her neck and a matching bracelet on her right wrist. Leather sandals covered her feet, and she moved with a fluid grace that also hinted at athletic ability. I had never seen Giddeon speechless, before… I watched with interest as he circled the vision of loveliness inspecting lemons at a kiosk.

She held a yellow specimen up into the sunlight, more as if she was admiring the fruit rather than looking for imperfections. When satisfied, it was placed reverently in her basket. This ritual happened five more times. She then spoke to the merchant, produced a little purse, and handed over a small, copper colored coin. He took it gratefully and kissed her hand. She smiled a dazzling smile, turned her attention to a table of tomatoes a few feet away, and moved in her slow motion, seductive way towards a new goal. Giddeon followed close behind; I could see him smelling her fragrance as he went. He looked for all the world like a cat overdosed on cat nip… his eyes were heavy-lidded on a ridiculously contented face. I came up behind him. After a few seconds, he noticed my presence.

“Isn’t she something?”

“Yes, she is.”

“I know that for you, Melody is perfect, but I’ve always been partial to brunettes.”

“I totally understand… she’s lovely.”

“God, I wish I could touch her. I wish I could talk to her.”

“Do you speak Italian?”

“Oh, yes… somewhat. We could probably understand each other.”

He continued to gaze at the maiden, totally mesmerized.

“I think someone once told me that looks aren’t everything,” I said.

“I take it back.”

I laughed out loud. “My, my… one pretty face and your words of wisdom fall apart like a cheap suit.”

“She smells divine.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well… at least it isn’t totally looks. She stimulates your olfactory receptors, too.”

“The way she moves… so lithe and graceful,” said my infatuated alter ego.

“I guess we can add balance and posture…”

“And, look at the way she admires the produce… it’s like she’s in love with the bounty of the earth.”

“Now, that, I understand.” I thought back to the way Melody had been at the restaurant.

Giddeon took one final inhalation of her aroma, and then turned to me. “Mama Mia… we should move along before I can’t tear myself away.”

“That’s your Italian? Mama Mia?”

“I know more… but, it’s all from the television.”

“Come on, then. At least you know her time and place. You can moon over her, later.” I started down the aisle, headed away from the market and towards what I took to be the main part of the city.

“Ciao, my love, ciao!” Giddeon trailed behind me, looking back over his shoulder until the crowds of people blocked his view. He started quoting poetry from the Romantic Era.

Lord Byron, I think.

__________

We found ourselves outside of an art school… at least that’s what it seemed to be. Through the open door we could see groups of people gathered around marble statues that were in various stages of completion. Older men were directing younger men in the intricacies of chipping away the white stone, and, also, in the various ways to polish and smooth the material. On one side of the room were male and female students working with clay; they were shaping pots and ornaments from the wet, pliable material. An oven was in the back, and slaves kept the fire stoked as its heat turned the art into nearly finished products. In another room, colors were added to the hardened pieces of art with brushes dipped in various pigments, and then, it was back into the oven for a final glaze.

The activity inside the building was continuous, and although everyone involved looked serious, they also looked happy. Even the slaves. It was like they were all engaged in a grand task, and were simply grateful for the opportunity to bring forth beauty and splendor from raw materials provided by Mother Gaia.

“Industrious, aren’t they?” I observed.

“When you love your job, it’s not really work, I suppose,” said Giddeon.

We watched the sculptors for a few minutes. Their concentration was intense.

“Humph… I like mowing greens, but I’m not really passionate about it,” I said.

Giddeon grinned. “There’s something to be said for a beautifully manicured golf course, not to mention free green fees… however, I think in the long run, you’ll get bored. Maybe you should branch out.”

We made our way towards an exit.

“What do you suggest?”

“It’s not a good sign if you have to ask… that means you don’t really know.”

“Humph,” I grunted, again. “You’re my subconscious. I figured you might have an inside track.”

“Fair enough.” We left the art school through a side door and stepped out into the gathering heat. The sky was solid blue and provided a dramatic backdrop against the white of the stone buildings all around.

“Well…?”

“I’m thinking.”

We walked down a small alley in silence. A group of young children ran through us, chasing a puppy. Finally, Giddeon spoke. “The only thing I’ve ever seen you really passionate about is Melody.”

“Hard not to be.” I thought for a moment. “Hey… I like playing golf.”

“You don’t dream about it.”

“I dreamed about it last night.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah… I know. It’s fun, but, I don’t sit around thinking about it.” We turned a corner and stepped onto a main thoroughfare. “So, I guess club pro is out.”

“Hmmm… let me think,” said Giddeon. I could see his brow was furrowed in profile. Then, his face lit up. “You have a way with words…why don’t you combine the two?”

“Write about Melody?”

“Write about the way she makes you feel. Everyone loves a love story.”

“I don’t know…”

“You’ve already got some songs about it… love, that is… that’s pretty much poetry. Just expand on the words and cut out the rhymes and music.”

“Write about Melody without the melodies?”

He smiled, broadly. “See… you do have a way with words.”

“Why don’t I just stick to music? I like that.”

“Pays to have a Plan B.”

I pondered his advice, and then said, “Doesn’t seem like there would be much money in it.”

“You’d be surprised. Plus, you don’t do it for the money. Did those artists back there look like they were worried about money?”

“I guess not.” Several men carrying ancient tools filed past.

“Anyway, you don’t even have to quit your day job… just work on broadening your creative horizons.”

“I don’t have a day job… I’m in a coma, you know.”

“Excuses, excuses…”

“I would ask for a note from my doctor… but, I’m in a
coma
. If I get back over there, I’ll work on it.”

Gid
smiled. “You’ve done more over here in ten months than you have in the past 24 years, combined,” replied my counselor.

I couldn’t argue with him, there.

I had learned tons of scales on the guitar, not to mention on the keyboard. In some ways, I think my piano skills had actually surpassed my abilities on the guitar. It probably helped that I found the synthesizer to be a great instrument for composing songs… so many sounds and rhythms. In addition, I had even taken up the cello, mainly because I always had loved the sound. Everything was coming easier to me at that time than it did in the first part of my unconscious existence. I had learned to surf and to sail, and was pretty much a scratch golfer. Maybe Giddeon had spilled over into my limited domain.

I gave in a little bit. “Okay… I’ll consider it. I’ll stick to songs for now, though. I can’t carry a whole book back in my head.”

My time traveling companion glanced around at the young city. “Just jot down memorable scenes of what happens over here… it’ll help you remember them. Plus, it’ll help you recall how you felt about her when it comes time for you to go back.”

“If it comes time for me to go back.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

“Didn’t they throw Christians to the lions around here?”

Giddeon shook his head in the negative. “Too early for that… but, there is something I’ve always been curious about… let’s go check it out!” He grabbed my elbow and the tunnel of light flashed around us, again.

Turns out Giddeon was right. Writing down my experiences over there did help me recall how I felt on this side. I started with this one, first:

__________

I had the feeling we were no longer in
Italy
, but judging from the attire of the people in the stands, I was pretty sure we were in the same general time period.

Giddeon and I were outside of a wooden gate, peering into a stadium of some type. On the inside of the arena was a man being escorted to the center of the dirt area by two strong-looking men with military bearing. The captive had his wrists bound with a leather thong, and when they all reached the middle of the space, one of the guards undid that leather and freed up the hands of their charge; the other guard then stood face to face with the disheveled prisoner and did something that to me seemed out of character for a person in his position. He put out a hand and held the captive by the shoulder… he spoke to him and nodded, almost as if in the way of an apology. The two held a look between them, and finally, the prisoner returned the nod; oddly, it was accompanied by what seemed to be a compassionate smile.