Coronado Dreaming (The Silver Strand Series) (4 page)

I awoke to dawn light filtering in through the windows, and the sound of Boris meowing outside of the cabin door. I groaned, threw on a pair of khaki shorts, and made my way aft. I opened the door and looked down at the cat.

“You hungry, Boris?”

He meowed, again, and rose up on his back legs. He stood there, balanced in a way that seemed most unnatural. With surprise, I realized that only ‘my’ door was open… ‘his’ was still closed, and apparently, he had his front paws against it. I felt around in the open space for a door handle, but found nothing. Finally, I gave up and stepped outside.

Boris was happy to see me and started meowing, again. He attempted to rub against my bare legs, but only succeeded in going back and forth through them. I could feel his fur where it intersected with my flesh, and it was very strange… like he was rubbing against the front and back of my legs at the same time. I watched with fascination, and then reached down and ‘scratched’ behind his ears.

“I guess I’m still in a coma, boy. Can’t let you in. Maybe they have something down at the Boat House for you.” The staff at the restaurant next door was pretty good about feeding Boris and a couple of other local felines. “Wait here and we’ll go down there in a minute.”

__________

I went back inside, took a leak, brushed my teeth and hair, and then donned a t-shirt and flip-flops. Everything felt totally normal… just like any other morning from my previous twenty-four years of existence. I pinched myself with quite a bit of force on the cheek to make sure I was truly ‘awake’… I was. I inspected my hands, shook my head, and then made my way back aft, once again. Boris, as instructed, was waiting for me outside. We made our way down the dock and towards the restaurant; my four-legged friend heeled behind me just like a well-trained dog.

__________

The red-topped roof of the restaurant, similar to the one on the Hotel Del across the street, stood out against the wisps of the marine layer that were so common that time of year. The cat and I walked up to the structure, and then, down the little gang-plank that’s to the right side of it.

There’s a porch that runs by the water sides of the building where diners can eat at wooden tables, and, since it was fairly early in the morning, they had yet to be set. I took a seat at a chair that was pulled away from an eating station. Boris jumped up into my ‘lap’ and we just sat there for a while, watching seagulls in their element amongst the sailboats of Seaforth Boat Rentals.

Eventually, a cute waitress came through the door from the bar in order to begin preparing tables for the weekend lunch crowd. She looked over and spotted Boris.

“Hey, Boris… whatcha doing?”

She sauntered over and started petting and scratching the cat. He obviously knew the young brunette, and moved his head this way and that… evidently enjoying a real scratching instead of a virtual one.

My eyes grew wide and I tried to scoot back out of the way when I noticed her hands were disappearing around Boris into my crotch area. As that was happening, Giddeon came walking down the planks.

“Whoa! What’s going on here?”

“It’s not what it looks like… she’s friends with Boris.”

“Looks like she’s ‘
in
’ to you, too.”

“Very funny… have a seat.”

He pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table. For a moment, I had the unsettling image of two chairs… the original one still in place and the other one into which he sat. The waitress gave one final rub to the cat and stood back up.

“I’ll get you some milk. Don’t you go anywhere,” she instructed Boris as she went back into the bar area.

Giddeon watched her go, and then asked, “How did you sleep?”

“Like a log. I guess I’m still in a coma. How did the surgery go?”

He nodded. “The doctors seem pleased. You’re in ICU.”

“Great… I figured I must have survived. I haven’t seen any tunnels of light.”

“Neither have I… I can show you what to look for, if you want.”

I shook my head back and forth. “No thanks… I’ll wait.” Boris tilted his head up and meowed, as if congratulating me on a smart decision. “I wonder if they’ve notified my brother.”

“He’s on his way out. Should get here sometime this afternoon.”

“How do you know?”

“I overheard some of the nurses talking.”

That, amongst a host of other things, puzzled me.

“How could you overhear the doctors and the nurses if I’m unconscious?”

He brushed his hair back from his eyes with his fingers.
 
“Your brain is still working… just not the way it normally does.”

“So… what you were saying is true… this isn’t really a dream, is it?”

“Not technically,” Giddeon said, “but, close enough that there is some common ground.”

I looked him over in the morning light. He sure seemed real.

“Humph,” I grunted after a long pause. I thought for a few seconds more, and then asked a question that had been on my mind since the night before.

“Are you an angel?”

Giddeon let out a laugh. “Hardly… I’m you.”

My eyebrows went up on my forehead. “Me? You don’t look like me.”

“I’m your subconscious. I don’t really look like anybody… this is just convenient for you… I mean me… I mean you…”

I rolled my eyes at his lame joke.

“Well… you seem like you’re a lot smarter than me.”

“You’re plenty smart. You just don’t use all of your faculties.”

“And, you?”

He brushed his hair back from his eyes, again, leaned back in the chair and spread his hands wide as if presenting himself.

“This is just the rest of your faculties in action.”

“Humph,” I grunted, once more. “All of that stuff about quantum physics, frames of reference, and, tunnels of light… not to mention sailing boats… I don’t know much about any of those. You seem like an expert.”

“You know more than you think you do.”

I was about to respond, but just then the waitress came out with a saucer of milk. Boris jumped right through my hands to the floor.

“Here you go, Boris! How about leaving a tip, this time?”

She scratched him for a few moments as he lapped up the white fluid. Then, the brunette sashayed back inside. I watched the cat enjoy his breakfast and contemplated what Giddeon had said. Finally, I asked,

“How can I know more than I do? That doesn’t make any sense. I’m no Einstein… just ask my school guidance counselor if you don’t believe me.”

Giddeon nodded, again, and pursed his lips as if pondering. After a second or two he said, “You know all of the times when you had the T.V. on and weren’t really watching it? Or, when talk radio was playing in another room, and you could just barely hear it? Also, all of those books, magazines and newspapers you flipped through while waiting for an appointment?”

“Yeah…?”

He pointed to his head. “All in here.”

“In your head?”

“In
your
head.”

“My head?”

“Yep… almost everything you’ve ever seen, heard or read. Every movie, television show, book, conversation, lecture… et cetera. All in here.” He pointed at his head, again, and then, mine.

“For real?”

“Oh, yes… for real. And, more. Scientific theories, hypotheses, certainties… all constructed by you or ‘gleaned’ from the ether.” Again, he had made air quotations.

“By me? I’m no scientist… I never ‘gleaned’ anything.”

Giddeon gave me an animated look. “Everyone’s a scientist. They just don’t know it… except for the scientists, I suppose. And, everyone’s a philosopher… it’s hard to be one without the other.”

He smiled, and the little lines around his eyes became more indented.

“Melody has a degree in philosophy,” I said.

“And, you would like to have a degree in Melody.”

“Definitely a field I’m interested in.”

Most of my brain, which was apparently seated across from me, laughed. “You just made yourself a pun about academics and quantum physics… clever. I told you you’re smart.”

“I think it was an accident.”

“There are no accidents.”

“What about a golf ball slamming into my temple?”

“Well… maybe there are a few. Then, you just have to make the best of them.”

He winked, and two heaping platefuls of waffles topped with strawberries and cream appeared on the table.

“Orange juice?” asked Giddeon.

When we were done, my subconscious decided we should play some golf. We stood up from the table, leaving our mess in that frame of reference. Boris looked at us from his place near the saucer; Giddeon spied something under the table, and held his hand out to me.

“Hold on… I want to try something.”

I saw him stoop down and reach for a penny that was there on the wooden floor near the animal. Giddeon seemed to be concentrating very intensely as he placed his thumb and index finger around it.

Slowly, very slowly, he picked up the copper coin. I had the feeling that it was all he could do to keep it within his grasp. Carefully, he moved it over to the porcelain dish which had been licked clean by the marina’s mascot. I heard a clink as the penny dropped into the saucer. Giddeon then rose back up to his full height, seeming happy with the results of his labor.

It was a perfect day for golf. Not a soul was on the course. Apparently, Giddeon had found a day that the links were closed for some reason or other, and we were in that frame of reference. Boris stayed on the boat, curled up in the captain’s chair outside, catching rays from the morning sun. He’s not much into golf, although, I had seen him on occasion beside number 15 (the par three closest to the marina). He sometimes just sat there in the weeds by the tennis courts, watching birds and people with his big, yellow eyes.

Standing on the number 1 tee was like standing in a post-card. The marine layer had burned off and the sky was blue; the green of the grass and trees stood out in sharp contrast against it. Just the slightest of breezes was blowing, and a couple of fluffy, white clouds accented the
California
horizon beyond the graceful curve of the
Coronado
Bridge
that connected the island to the mainland.

“No place like
Coronado
,” observed Giddeon.

“It’s hard to beat… probably the best weather in the country,” I replied.

“Sure better than the
Sahara
in summer, or the Faulklands in winter.”

“Have you been to those places?” I inquired. Then, I realized how odd it was to be asking ‘myself’ that question.

I didn’t expect the answer I received.

“Oh, sure… I’ve been lots of places… and, lots of times.
Time
and
place
aren’t really the way you perceive them from your normal viewpoint… well, they are, but they’re other ways, too.” He was bent over, teeing up his ball. When it was oriented just so, he stood back up and took a couple of practice swings using an FT-I driver that had conveniently popped into existence just a few moments before. “Everything’s in the same place and it’s happening at the same time… sort of.”

“How come I don’t remember you going, if you’re really just me?” I questioned.

“I remember it for you. You only use 10 percent of your brain… that’s being generous, by the way… I’m the other 90 percent. We don’t talk much, normally.” He smiled and waggled his club.

“So, you’re my subconscious… and, you have frequent flier miles?”

Giddeon chuckled. “That’s pretty good… wish I had thought of it… that’s a darned good description.”

He addressed the ball. After a few seconds of intense concentration, he took one of the most bizarre, crazy-looking, hitched swings I have ever seen in my life. In comparison, video of Charles Barkley’s golfing form was a thing of beauty. Upon impact, the ball flew off of his clubface 310 yards straight down the middle, and then faded just slightly in order to follow the gentle dog-leg of the fairway.

“I hope you don’t make me look at that swing for 18 holes.”

He grinned. “Nah… I was just making a point. Funky, huh?”

I shook my head and went over and teed up in the same general vicinity as he had. I hit the ball about 275, also down the center.

“Good drive. What are we playing for?”

“I don’t play for money… especially against dream-genies.”

He grinned. “You do have a knack for descriptions… I’ll give you that.”

“At least my sub-ten percent is good for something.” We made our way down the fairway.