Dreamland

Leaving the Island

I'm hiking across a dry, dusty island with Mark, this guy I used to work with years ago. The island looks like Catalina in late September: warm, but not too hot, the grass turned to golden straw, just waiting for the rains.

"Pick up the pace Steve, we gotta get to the hill. We don't wanna miss the helicopter."

"Slow down, Mark," I tell him, "We got plenty of time, it's a beautiful day... We might as well enjoy it."

There is a small pond directly in front of us, blocking the way to the hill. Mark dives in. "Come on in, if we swim across it'll be faster than walking around."

"No thanks, I don't wanna get wet," I say, as I walk around the pond.

We meet on the other side. Mark gets out of the pond and is instantly dry. "Hey, how'd you do that?" I ask.

"I don't know, must be magic," he says, kinda confused.

We continue walking until the path ends at an old tumble down cabin, with a dog barking at us from the yard. We can see the hill behind it, so we start to detour around the lot with the cabin to avoid the dog and get to the hill. An old man with a scraggly beard walks out of the cabin. "Hey, what're you boys up to?" he asks.

"Sorry to bother you mister, we're just trying to get to the hill," I tell him.

"Looks like you've been hiking for a while, why don't you stop for a bit and have something to drink," he says.

We take him up on the offer, and soon we're all sitting on the porch, drinking lemonade and talking like old friends... "You boys like bluegrass music?" he asks.

"Sure!" I say, "I played some guitar at a few bluegrass festivals when I was a kid."

"I used to be a pretty fair banjo player myself, but it's been a while," Mark says.

"I got some implements here, lets see what we all can do!" the old man says.

He brings out a beat-up six string for me, and an old banjo for Mark. He keeps the fiddle for himself.

We have us a pretty good jam for a while and I want to stay longer, but Mark is itching to go. "We don't want to miss that helicopter," he says... "Hey Earl, you comin' with us?"

"No thanks," the old man says.

"But I heard it's so much better on the mainland, everybody wants to get there!" Mark says.

"No, you boys can move along without me," Earl says. "I seen plenty of you folks come and go, but this here island suits me just fine...."

We climb the hill and the helicopter is waiting for us. We climb in and the pilot flies us across the island and towards the harbor. He dips down low and hovers maybe a hundred yards offshore from the pier. "Sorry, you boys don't rate a ride to the mainland, this is the best I can do."

We jump in, and the water is surprisingly warm. We swim effortlessly to the pier, and climb up. Once on top, we are instantly dry. There are dozens of people milling about, but we don't know any of them.

There is an announcement on the dockside PA system: "Everyone in blue move towards the stairs to the left, everyone in red go towards the stairs on the right. Hurry, the transit boats will be leaving soon!"

I'm wearing red, so I start to follow my crowd. Mark is in blue, so he walks away towards his group. I try to say goodbye, but before I can he's already gone...

I'm standing in line when it hits me: In real life Mark is dead, he's been dead for a couple years now. Maybe I'm dead now too, and this is some kinda in-between place. So where am I going to end up on this boat ride?

"I'm at the front of the line, everyone else is already on board the transit boat. They've already pulled up the gang plank. "Hurry, we're ready to leave for the mainland! You'll have to swim across to get on board!" the captain shouts to me.

I'm standing on the edge, looking at the boat in front of me, and back at the island shore... I'm thinking maybe the old man has the right idea... I take a deep breath and dive into the warm water...