I'm (Almost) Back
A teaser for a new dream journal entry (with an appearance by Special Agent Dale Cooper) Stay Alert <3
Disclaimer: the following narrative is non-linear and rife with surrealist anti-logic.
As the gliding boat veered and lightly struck the salt eaten wooden dock, mom wobbled upright, uncoiled the rope, and tied it down to the dock cleat. She plopped down to regain her breath, then muttered to my sister and I to start carrying luggage to the house and to bring her back a pillow because she felt too sore to get up. We had arrived by boat at our old family river house on an island along the Canadian border. She turned to me, hair frizzed out and looking cross from the long journey from the mainland.
“Don’t you dare think about taking off with the boat by yourself you hear me Monica? You were halfway to London by the time the sheriff found you!”
“Did you enjoy riding in his boat, looking for me?”
She snarled. From her seat, with a languid glare she leaned into my face. “I’m warning you, no one will come looking for you next time.”
I surrendered with a nod. With people like her, you had to hand them their “You win” medal, gold or plastic, they didn’t care.
It’s not that we didn’t want to be here, every visit was a saving grace for Hope and I. There was always somewhere on the island to hide from Mom and Dad. We would pretend that our friends and us were the only people there. We had more than just the island in common.
Resentment was present among the local residents to which the island rightfully had belonged to for thousands of generations. They could barely afford to live in their own home thanks to real estate agents… like our parents.
The sun was low, and the calming waters multiplied it into thousands of little stars. There were days when the black silk sea lions and whales would rise and dip between the waves, slicing the glittering stars into even more tiny pieces. Before total nightfall, we met up with Hope’s best friend Viola. She was part of one of the earliest dwellers of this island.
Ten year old Viola deduced that we couldn’t scare off the tourists just yet. The manager would lay off her older sister, their relatives, and their fellow native employees as retaliation. She concluded then to scare off the seasonal girl workers to balance the competition for weekly hours in their favor.
Whatever wicked rebellious whimsy we were planning this summer, no matter whether we succeeded or got caught, the memories we made would stick like ant-corpse coated gum under our sneakers.