I find myself outside the strange house in
the coolness of a pine forest with my backpack slung
over my shoulder. The pine scent lingers in the air
and I can hear the faint sound of music from far away.
This dream is different somehow than others I have
experienced. I am walking on a tangled trail in the
woods on a full-mooned night. A memory from a
night in my home town pushes its way to the front of
my mind. I can hear the far off sound Fourth of July
festivities, kids screaming on carnival rides and even
the sounds of fire crackers in the distance. The trail
narrows and I push aside limbs and prickly vines that
are interwoven among the tree branches.
All of a sudden I walk out of the trees and find myself
in Gig Harbor. The night is warm and has the
magical feel that are reminiscent of most small town
festivals. I am walking down the hill, along the rows
of small restaurants and people sit outside on patios
sipping wine and sharing the latest gossip. I can see
the carnival rides at the bottom of the hill in the
parking lot that stretches out along the waterfront.
The bright lights of the parachute ride cast magical
lights on the dark water of the Puget Sound. The
small town is teeming with visitors. College kids
from the University Of Washington have made their
way across the Sound by ferry and people from
several adjoining towns have turned out to enjoy the
festivities. A local band is playing the latest songs
and some high-school kids are hiding behind a shed
smoking and drinking a bottle of stolen wine.
One of the voices laughing behind the shed is my
own. It’s funny how something that seemed so
insignificant can cost you so much. That stolen wine
cost me dearly in many ways and as the saying goes
hindsight is 20/20. I would be arrested later that
night, for theft, as the grocery store had caught me on
camera. As if life wasn’t difficult enough for me that
summer. I had made a flying leap from the frying
pan into the fire. But that’s a whole other story. One
that is best left for another time.
People are milling around the town and meander from
booth to booth. I stop to watch one booth in
particular. An older lady with beautiful milkchocolate skin is rearranging her hand crocheted
afghan and baby blankets that she makes to
supplement her pension. I can see the same old
twinkle in her eye when a young couple with a baby
stopped to admire the beautiful blankets. They went
through the stack and the young couple exchanged
glances but the seller missed nothing.
“You know, this
one has a few flaws and I really
shouldn’t be selling it. Would the two of you like to
take this one off my hands”? As she spoke she took a
lavender and yellow baby blanket and put it into a
paper bag .
The young woman shook her head and started to
speak but June wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“You’d be doing me a favor to take this one. It wasn’t
meant to come hereand I just can’t see throwing it
away”. While she spoke she put the bag in the
woman’s hand and went about rearranging her goods.
The woman smiled and took the blanket out of the
bag and placed it around her baby.
“It looks just perfect on your beautiful baby Honey.
Thank you for taking it off my hands”, Said June
The young couple smiled warmly at June and walked
off. Seeing Gramma June brings tears to my eyes.
It’s just like her to do something like that. She
always thought of other people before herself. I can’t
help but grieve for her, even in my dream. The week
we were to move into the caves I went to her house
and she was gone. The little house was empty and
June was nowhere to be found. I searched for her for
days and there was no trace. She had just vanished
out of thin air and it was all I could do to not
disappear myself. I was a mess the day we locked the
doors to the caves knowing what was coming.
Perhaps the people from the other side took her away.
If anyone deserved to be spared it would be
the coolness of a pine forest with my backpack slung
over my shoulder. The pine scent lingers in the air
and I can hear the faint sound of music from far away.
This dream is different somehow than others I have
experienced. I am walking on a tangled trail in the
woods on a full-mooned night. A memory from a
night in my home town pushes its way to the front of
my mind. I can hear the far off sound Fourth of July
festivities, kids screaming on carnival rides and even
the sounds of fire crackers in the distance. The trail
narrows and I push aside limbs and prickly vines that
are interwoven among the tree branches.
All of a sudden I walk out of the trees and find myself
in Gig Harbor. The night is warm and has the
magical feel that are reminiscent of most small town
festivals. I am walking down the hill, along the rows
of small restaurants and people sit outside on patios
sipping wine and sharing the latest gossip. I can see
the carnival rides at the bottom of the hill in the
parking lot that stretches out along the waterfront.
The bright lights of the parachute ride cast magical
lights on the dark water of the Puget Sound. The
small town is teeming with visitors. College kids
from the University Of Washington have made their
way across the Sound by ferry and people from
several adjoining towns have turned out to enjoy the
festivities. A local band is playing the latest songs
and some high-school kids are hiding behind a shed
smoking and drinking a bottle of stolen wine.
One of the voices laughing behind the shed is my
own. It’s funny how something that seemed so
insignificant can cost you so much. That stolen wine
cost me dearly in many ways and as the saying goes
hindsight is 20/20. I would be arrested later that
night, for theft, as the grocery store had caught me on
camera. As if life wasn’t difficult enough for me that
summer. I had made a flying leap from the frying
pan into the fire. But that’s a whole other story. One
that is best left for another time.
People are milling around the town and meander from
booth to booth. I stop to watch one booth in
particular. An older lady with beautiful milkchocolate skin is rearranging her hand crocheted
afghan and baby blankets that she makes to
supplement her pension. I can see the same old
twinkle in her eye when a young couple with a baby
stopped to admire the beautiful blankets. They went
through the stack and the young couple exchanged
glances but the seller missed nothing.
“You know, this
one has a few flaws and I really
shouldn’t be selling it. Would the two of you like to
take this one off my hands”? As she spoke she took a
lavender and yellow baby blanket and put it into a
paper bag .
The young woman shook her head and started to
speak but June wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“You’d be doing me a favor to take this one. It wasn’t
meant to come hereand I just can’t see throwing it
away”. While she spoke she put the bag in the
woman’s hand and went about rearranging her goods.
The woman smiled and took the blanket out of the
bag and placed it around her baby.
“It looks just perfect on your beautiful baby Honey.
Thank you for taking it off my hands”, Said June
The young couple smiled warmly at June and walked
off. Seeing Gramma June brings tears to my eyes.
It’s just like her to do something like that. She
always thought of other people before herself. I can’t
help but grieve for her, even in my dream. The week
we were to move into the caves I went to her house
and she was gone. The little house was empty and
June was nowhere to be found. I searched for her for
days and there was no trace. She had just vanished
out of thin air and it was all I could do to not
disappear myself. I was a mess the day we locked the
doors to the caves knowing what was coming.
Perhaps the people from the other side took her away.
If anyone deserved to be spared it would be
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