Coronado Dreaming (The Silver Strand Series)

by Brulte, G. B.

  After experimentation, I found that the easiest way to get around was a kind of skipping movement, similar to what I had seen the astronauts do in old videos. Since Gid and I weren’t burdened with bulky spacesuits, our hops were longer and higher than those of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, yet, the overall effect was the same.

  We careened about like drunken kangaroos in the low gravity.

  I jumped straight up to test my limits, and instead of the normal foot or so of height, I found it to be more like six feet of vertical clearance. It took several seconds to complete the up and down of the circuit; I noticed that the landing was a bit heavier than I expected.

  “You still have the same mass,” said Giddeon. Although ‘said’ isn’t really the proper description. Sound doesn’t carry in a vacuum. It was more like telepathy. I realized he was right… mass doesn’t change in such conditions, only weight.

  “Look… a golf ball!” I exclaimed, still moving my mouth and forming the words.

  “Cool” replied Gid. I looked up just as he tossed me a sand wedge. It traversed through the void in a shallow arc and I caught it mid-shaft. I set up the Cleveland behind the Titleist, which was much the worse for wear due to extreme temperature changes over the years, and took a nice little swipe at the ‘sand’ just behind the ball. I was surprised by a cloud of particles rushing up to my face, and closed my eyes just in time. When I was sure the storm had passed, I looked out to see the ball still rising into the inky blackness and clearing the Stars and Stripes by several meters. The spinning orb continued on past the Lander and finally settled down almost a hundred yards away; a little cloud of dust marked its new spot. Goggles appeared on my head, covering my eyes… my guardian angel, as usual, a little late to the party.

  “A tad strong.” said Gid. He was next to another faded ball and addressed it, careful not to ground his club. I suppose he considered the entire moon a hazard. He took a smooth, slow motion swing and cut perfectly 2 inches behind the little sphere. It spun through the ‘air’ straight towards the flag. Five or six seconds after it left his wedge, the ball rattled the flagstick and dropped straight down beside it. Most of it, that is. A piece of the cover spun off the small orb and landed on the steps of the spacecraft.

  “I think we need some new balls,” suggested Gid.

  A bucket appeared at my feet full of Titleist Pro-V 1’s; also, a package of extra long tees and a Callaway Diablo Edge Driver. I tried a few more wedge shots, but mostly, we spent the better part of the next hour hitting 2000 yard drives towards the curved horizon. The earth was suspended in the inky blackness above us like a giant eye. A giant eye that watched our every move with blue, white and green fascination… it looked so close that I felt as if I could almost reach out and take it in the palm of my hand.

  __________

  It was fairly late when we got back. Boris was fast asleep on my bed, but he looked up and sniffed my hand as I reached out to give him a ‘rub’. I wondered if he could smell moon dust. He gave me a look that seemed to say, ‘You never take me anywhere.’, and rolled over onto his side. I climbed in beside him and lay there awake in the darkness for quite a while. The last thing I remembered seeing before drifting off to sleep was the full moon through my slit-like window.

  I wondered if Melody could see it from where she lay, also.

  __________

  I awoke the next morning in the familiar surroundings of my boat. I didn’t dream of Melody… at least, I don’t remember it if I did. I did dream about golf. Not on the lunar surface, however; this time Gid and I were back on Coronado.

  __________

  At first, everything seemed normal.

  Then, I noticed the gravity.

  As we carried our clubs to the first tee, we had to hop around just like we were on the moon. When we hit our drives, we literally came out of our shoes because we were wearing flip-flops… the impact made us slip out of them since we only weighed a fraction of our normal weight. We ditched our footwear and went barefoot, the green Bermuda grass soft and springy beneath our feet.

  Boris tagged along, chasing butterflies and making magnificent leaps through the air; he would twist and contort in slow motion, but the iridescent insects were always just out of his reach.

  On our wedge shots, the divots pirouetted through the atmosphere and we had to chase after them for thirty or forty yards in order to bring them back and replace them. On the putting green, when I pulled the pin from the cup and let it fall to the earth, it took an extraordinarily long time for the fiberglass rod to complete the arc and settle into its temporary resting place on the emerald surface. I found the whole experience to be so much better than on the moon because of the colors and textures all around us.

  It was so much more vivid and alive than the black and white desolation of our closest neighbor.

  When we were near the water, dolphins shot from the bay like long-nosed, slick, grey rockets… thirty or forty feet into the sky. At their apices, they would flip and barrel roll, and then descend in a slowly gathering rush to slice into the liquid below, leaving hardly a ripple behind them. Seagulls were so light that they could hover over us in just the slightest hint of a breeze. Sometimes, they would bring their wings in close, like fighter jets, in order to descend… and, then, just as they neared the ground, would spread them wide to catch the air and drift back up and about like dandelion feathers freshly released from a pod.

  In between shots, we had on small backpacks that would magically appear, similar to the oxygen tanks for astronauts… but, instead of compressed air, ours were full of MangoMooMania. We sipped at it from straws that were located next to our cheeks. To make room for the extra gear, our clubs then followed behind us in remote controlled ‘moon buggies’ like the astronauts piloted on their later trips.

  After I chipped in on number three, Giddeon handed me a baseball cap. It had ‘Coming Soon To A Theater Near You’ printed on the front. ‘Price of Admission, One Dollar’ was spelled out on the back.

  Chapter 42

  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?”

  “Nah… we’re equally invisible in all worlds.”

  Chapter 43

  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.