《LIGHT》


 The Park

    LIGHT


    Dedication


    Book dedications are an author''s way of giving their ego a cameo by thanking others, just before the real story starts.


    So, I thought, enough of that nonsense!


    I dedicate this book to myself.


    Sure, I might be convinced to throw in a nod to my kids, but let''s be honest¡ªthis is about me.


    Well, my wife did endure my creative tendencies, so maybe she''ll get a mention too¡ªno, scratch that. This book is a full-on tribute to me.


    I mean, it''s not like I fought an epic battle to save humanity, tighten my screws and gather up my marbles, and then decided to write a story about myself. No, I battled it out with my daughter for the rights to this story¡ªlike a chain-smoking duck stoned on pot and a purple cat in drag. And I won because: masculinity.


    And let''s be clear: all those baboons, elves, trolls, bats, and jellyfish in this book? They''re not just random fantasy creatures¡ªthey''re all manifestations of me. Every character and fantastical being reflects my modest ego--and my ego is the most modest of all egos. And if you think I''m a bit too eager to explain all this, well, I do have a tendency to mansplain and tell a few dad jokes.


    So just consider this unpretentious dedication my way of warning you about the intricate details of the brilliant story you are about to read.


    You''re welcome.


    Chapters


    Chapter 1. The Park


    Chapter 2. The Taxi


    Chapter 3. The Plane


    Chapter 4. The Train


    Chapter 5. Humberto


    Chapter 6. The Purple Cat


    Chapter 7. The Cave (the gay one)


    Chapter 8. The Trolls


    Chapter 9. The Underworld


    Chapter 10. Color in the Cave (the other cave)


    Chapter 11. The Elves


    Chapter 12. Light in the Cave (but I forgot which one)


    Chapter 13. The Goblins


    Chapter 14. The Desert


    Chapter 15. The Tornadoes


    Chapter 16. Humberto -- the Homage to Faulkner.


    Chapter 17. The Bats


    Prologue: Because I feel like putting it here, so just deal with it.


    Chapter 18. The Purple Cat


    Epigraph: Don''t ask questions--talk to the hand.


    Chapter 19. What''s Your Favorite Color?


    Chapter 20. The Big Bang


    Chapter 21. The Falling


    Chapter 22. The Park


    Epilogue: 1


    Epilogue: 2


    Epilogue: 3


    Epilogue: 4


    Appendix: The Recipe for a Good Life


    Chapter 1 ¨C The Park


    Picture this: the sun, still, at the center of the solar system. The sky, blue. Sofia''s rowing, smoother than a penguin''s ass sliding off a glacier. Suddenly, the ocean rises in anger and slaps Sofia in the face with a fish and she did not say, "WTF?"  She shouted, "Seriously?"


    Then the sky grows dark, and this happened next.


    A hurricane appeared out of nowhere (it happens) and spawned columns of tornadoes that twisted the surface of the sea. Lightning illuminated the sinister expanse with a thunderous malevolence. The maelstrom plucked the ocean, like a black widow tuning its web.


    Sofia wondered whether the winds were an apparition conjured by unresolved turmoil. The child within her feared the storm''s ferocity; however, the woman was resolute.


    "We become weightless when enshrouded within beauty," her father whispered that day, long ago. "Like when we gazed upon the Milky Way, in its iridescent ascent over a glacier, and don''t interrupt me, Sofia; or when our canoe drifted in a spiral beneath an aurora''s cosmic shadows¡ªthat was quite the sarcastic rhetorical, Sofia; or when we witnessed a blade of grass genuflect to a snowflake''s mass; because this is my story. These are the moments when beauty reveals itself. Space contracts, time dilates, all stories converge into one; and our differences cease to matter, as we rise to energy."


    Summoning this energy, Sofia increased her tempo and rowed her boat toward the eye of the male storm. Her hair billowing in streamlines, she muttered with definance, "Like hell it is. I am Sofia. This is my story."


    ***


    As Sofia stepped into San Diego''s Balboa Park, the scene unfurled like a medieval tapestry on a castle''s walls.


    Her daughter Lily disappeared from her side. Another step, and her husband vanished. Sofia pressed on, resolute as she ventured deeper into the park.


    At the center of Balboa Park, the fountain surged skyward, its white spray cascading like chrysanthemums blooming amidst late summer''s warm tones. The roar of the fountain laced with the whirl of children''s laughter.


    Her dream internship at a Manhattan literary agency faded into the recesses of her mind. Waves of academic struggles, lost friendships, and fleeting spring breaks pulled the sands back up the hourglass, defying gravity.


    Sofia continued through the park, her attention caught by a child''s abandoned tricycle in the Eucalyptus grove, streamers fluttering from its handlebars.  She briefly wondered what had happened to that boy and why he left it there, but the pace picked up.


    High School homecoming, assemblies, and field trips¡ªeach step forward like a step back in time.


    The air crackled with an unusual energy, time and space began to convulse, warping reality into a tapestry of unspeakable terror. Above her, two streaks of cosmic light sliced through the sky. From this celestial rift, two enigmatic figures materialized, shimmering with otherworldly intent. Sofia remained blissfully unaware.


    In her mind, her childhood home reappeared. She saw the front lawn adorned with three plastic pink flamingos, a source of playful mischief for neighborhood boys who would steal them, much to her father''s frustration.


    Sofia imagined herself at the helm of a ship, her father''s silhouette at the stern, looking out over lands left behind. She reached out to him, but a blaring trumpet from a Mariachi band jolted her back to reality, and he faded.


    Nearby, a child''s train ride circled its track, laughter, jasmine, and honeysuckle blending in the afternoon air.


    As Sofia wandered through the park, she swirled in carefree nostalgia, her blue jeans flowing, hair surging, shirt billowing like a cerulean sea. Her LA Dodgers cap was turned backward, a small yellow star swaying from her belt loop.


    Her visit to the park that afternoon had three purposes.


    First, her father was in the house, engaged in a heated argument on the phone, railing against the abuse of keypress options. His voice boomed with anger as he navigated the labyrinthine depths of automated phone menus, his temper radiating as he shouted his demand for the tele-operator.


    Second, this day marked the final day before her family''s departure for a visit to her grandmother living by a fjord framed by ice-blue mountains. Her mother had advised her to savor the park''s serenity and expanse before the confinement of the airplane journey.


    There was a third reason she was in the park, but she forgot.


    Suddenly, a cataclysmic force from the same cosmic frontier that brought the streaks of light, descended, threatening to extinguish the sun and shroud the earth in an icy darkness¡ªbut no one in the park seemed to notice. This spiraling vortex, disguised as a gentle breeze, trailed the two enigmatic predators who had previously sparkled into Sofia''s world.


    The first predator moved with a raptor''s toe-tapping deliberation, while the second exuded the aged rage of a saber-toothed feline from the Pleistocene.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Meanwhile, a duck chased a cat.


    The breeze wasn''t just wind; it slithered, coiled, its touch cold as a predator''s breath. Men, women, children¡ªeveryone in its path¡ªshivered not knowing why.


    They didn''t see.


    The wind whispered in dark, twisted tones: Where is the girl?


    They had all come for Sofia, this young warrior preparing to pound the gates of an amazed castle. In her world, she never needed to utter the words, "Daddy, look at me," for her father''s gaze was a reassuring presence. From the moment she drew her first breath, her feet had never touched the ground. Passed from father to grandparents, aunts, uncles, and her mother, she had learned to navigate the world as if it were her playground, never seeking the comfort of the firmament. Her heart yearned not just to fly but to soar to unimaginable heights, a passion that defied her father''s spirited insistence: "Sofia, it''s a kite, not a Lockheed Martin F-22 Jet Fighter." (Her mother would often respond to this in jest, "Just like you:" her tribute to her husband''s neurosis indomitable spirit.).


    In a quiet corner of the park, in the showering in the scent of orange blossoms, an old man and a white cat watched Sofia sailing in a whirlwind of joy. The old man whispered to himself, "She''s ready," as he popped a pinhole in his shoe box.


    Close by, a gang of disaffected kids, colder than ice in the Arctic, cast judgement on everyone. Their envy of those who seemed to row, row, row their boat gently through life''s dreams, blinded them, and they failed see time''s receding waters; anchored to their own discontent, they were.


    A little boy who had been playing beside the fountain tried to pull his toy sailboat to safety as the winds rose. A violent gust slammed into the toy sailboat, snapping the bow from the stern in a brutal twist of fate and steel girders, consigning its imaginary occupants to a watery slumber a thousand millimeters beneath the surface.


    As Sofia watched the maritime catastrophe, a bubble burst above her. The shock wave fragmented the image of the writer she would one day become. However, the sight of the abandoned tricycle frightened her, and she raced toward the boarding platform of the child''s train ride that encircled the park''s perimeter and forgot the vision.


    A park ranger in pinstripe overalls operated the train ride as conductor¡ªex-marine, built like a brick house, tall, and late middle-aged. Life had presented challenges for the rugged vet, whose gruff demeanor and commanding presence hinted at a storied past. The adversity had been met head-on, with a transition that spoke to a journey of self-discovery and resilience.


    The vet accepted the tickets for the ride and welcomed the children aboard. She had a place in her heart for Sofia ¡ª "my little jalape?o pepper," she would call her.


    Mariachi music stirred the late afternoon air, mixing memory and imagination with hopes, regrets, trumpets, and castanets.


    A breeze caressed Sofia''s face and she lifted her hand to hold her Dodgers cap in place. Otherwise, she paid no attention to this wind. She should have¡ªfor this was no Santa Ana slouching toward Bethlehem; this was destiny rising to a conflagration.


    The conductor gazed toward the east and whispered, "I know these winds¡ªthey once came for me. Change is coming for you, now, my little one," then raising an octave and decibel, she added, "And where the hell are these bubbles coming from?" as she popped each one.


    Sofia turned toward the perimeter of the park and saw a wisp of smoke, a flash of orange, and four eyes smoldering from the underbrush.


    "People need to read the script," continued the conductor. "And fix the bubble machine."


    A blink later¡ªthe eyes vanished as the Arctic ice floated into focus. Sofia turned to the conductor, and asked the immortal words that precedes any cosmic showdown, "Where are we going?"


    "The wind now comes for you," the conductor continued in a foreboding melisma that often warns the reader that some serious shit''s about to pop. She raised the back of her right palm to the left side of her mouth and boomed in a thunderous bass that could launch a C?? aloft, "All a-boar-oared!" yet adding with soft elision to Sofia, "C''mon along for the ride, Peps?"


    "I need a real one. I got to get out of here," Sofia replied, tugging the conductor''s pinstripes, afraid to let go, and having chosen "here" as her final word, and not "Dodge" as her dad would have, because this is not his story; or so they say.


    "Then this¡ªmy ticket to you, Pepper," the conductor replied as she gifted Sofia a free ticket.


    The Arctic ice moved into position to mock Sofia and the conductor¡ªthat weird girl who refused to act girly, and the "flaming train tranny," they would mock.


    Nearby, the raptor stalked the undergrowth, and the saber-toothed beast dripped saliva onto a black widow spider drinking her liquefied mate, while a Praying Mantis waited patiently for the likes of a turducken.


    The cat chased the duck.


    "Can''t those kids step off and stop judging?" Sofia asked the conductor as she looked down at her feet, tattered sneakers covered in mud, laces untied, jeans not fashionably ripped, and placed one foot on top of the other, concealing her shredded sneakers.


    "Dismiss those Neanderthals, Pepper¡ªerase them from your mind; I wonder, no, I know, they will float the jetsam out to sea¡ªand you will rise. Let love perfuse your pose, Peps. But, by the way, tell your Pops not to be a stranger; he''s hurting¡ªyou may have to dig for him; you''ll need an excavator for that one."


    Sofia accepted the ticket, while knowing that the next morning she would begin a trip of thirty-six thousand seconds to the land of the midnight sun, over eight hundred million centimeters away.


    The conductor leaned close and whispered, "Save the ticket for when you return, Luke."


    "Luke?" asked Sofia.


    "Oops! Sorry, I mean Sofia¡ªsorry, and if you unearth jewels in those Norwegian fjords¡ªI know you''re heading there tomorrow; we talk, your dad and me; got a little mixed up there¡ªleave them for a lost traveler to find. May your voyage uncover new worlds, within and without. Now, go take your pulse, pepper."


    Then, leaning out, she added, "Good man, your Pops is¡ªI hope he feels it one day; he can''t keep acting like a child, forever¡ªit''ll only make him a bitter old man."


    After thanking the conductor and re-sync''ing with the park''s rhythm she moved toward the park''s central fountain where a bevy of Mallard ducks had found a home.


    The little boy, now daydreaming about raising the Titanic, still holding the tether to his sunken ship, was smiling now with a raspberry ice cream cone.


    Sofia thrust herself through the rainbows gracing the mist and landed by the fountain''s edge with a thud, as the gang of Arctic ice cubes tumbled into view.


    With nowhere to hide, she leaned over the surface of the water and studied her reflection.


    "Nobody gets me," she whispered to herself.


    A mallard paddled into view.


    "Are you smiling?" Sofia asked the duck as she gripped the side of the fountain.


    The duck submerged and on surfacing held an orange stone in his beak. It leaned its head back and flung the stone against the side of the fountain. The boy with the raspberry ice cream cone turned his head toward the clanking sound.


    Then the duck hopped out of the fountain and snatched the cone from the boy''s hands. The duck shook its beak, hurled the ice-cream into the water, and turned its gaze toward Sofia.


    Then the duck tossed up the waffle cone which flew up, stilled, turned, and descended into his beak. He chiseled it to smithereens and paddled away after winking at Sofia.


    The gang of Arctic-eyed kids laughed, their cold voices cutting the air like shards of glass. The boy stood frozen, his cheeks blooming red as the remnants of his toy ship and his ice cream resurfaced from the fountain''s now blood-pink water. The fountain''s surface radiated pink from the melting ice cream.


    "It is beginning!" a voice shouted from the spiral slide.


    On the other side of the park, a park-worker had been painting the spiral slide with an anomalous shade of purple.


    Savage smoke curled through the air, devouring the last of light. Darkness descended. The sky, once with warm oranges and reds, shrieked with cold, harsh blues, as if the spectrum was in torment. A darker blue glow clung to the worker atop the spiral slide. Gone were the relaxing reds and oranges, as mourning''s stressed blue forced its way back on stage.


    It seemed as if something was devouring the sun. She shielded her eyes from its unexpected intensity. Shadows were fading and people were lifting shoe boxes over their heads.


    Then she remembered the third reason she was in the park: the solar eclipse. She had wanted to watch the ring of fire with everyone else.


    Sofia turned back to the worker on top of the slide while discordant conversations rumbled around the park: "the alignment of the sun, earth and moon," "don''t look at it," "eat a flashlight," "cement bag," "Pluto is a planet," "a distorted gravitational field," "rectal fumigation," and "the fabric of space-time rent asunder."


    The worker glanced toward the underbrush and his face froze in horror. Blood drained from his face; his lips cracked dry. His pupils dilated as he studied the silhouettes of the predators slithering through the grass. He raised his hands to the sides of his face and could not contain the terror. He, the only one who saw, wanted to shout his warning to flee from the horror.


    "Great Scott!" he screamed.


    "Great Scott? Seriously?"


    All motion ceased as Sofia scanned the scene, whispering, "Who said that?"


    Flummoxed after the worker''s cloying clich¨¦, the crowd lowered shoe boxes and mumbled about a miscue, to which the train conductor snapped, "Don''t look at me¡ªI didn''t write this. I''m a conductor¡ªand who broke the bubble machine?"


    The agitated crowd turned to look at the park worker who feebly offered, "Shiver me timbers?" amidst the pulsing of the galaxy''s center.


    Lub dub.


    Lub dub.


    Lub dub.


    The park worker then tried, "Ay Caramba?" with a rhetorical intonation, but the crowd''s impatience simmered.


    "I got to try something," he muttered to himself, "They are all judging me, now¡ªoh, I know: Holy Shit!"


    The eclipse stalled, bubbles froze, musical notes hovered, and birds levitated in mid-flight¡ªexcept for their eyes which moved freely, as they waited for their cue¡ªall ignoring the worker''s latest attempt to garnish attention.


    Having had enough of the stalled action and colloquial misnomers, Sofia''s confident persona took two steps forward.


    Sofia ascended the see-saw, her legs poised on either side, preparing her response.


    In that moment, softened by shadows, she was struck by something she couldn''t quite name. The world around her shimmered with a beauty beyond reason¡ªcolors of the park blurring together, laughter carrying on a strange and otherworldly melody. The shadows from the ring of fire moved like life, and for a heartbeat, past and future collapsed into one, spinning together in a seamless dance. The edges of everything¡ªtime, space, even self¡ªdissolved. Colors wove into one another, and love seemed to pulse from every soul, filling the air with warmth that was almost tangible. The sky became a kaleidoscope, iridescent bubbles floating on the breeze, while pigeons and flamingos dotted the grass like strokes of some divine hand. Reality felt paper-thin, as if the line between memory and imagination had frayed, stretching toward some unknown, infinite truth just out of reach.


    The beauty overwhelmed Sofia and she struggled to regain balance. Reality rushed back in, and Sofia shouted "O.M.G., OK? O.M.G.¡ªis that what you all want to hear? O.M.G? Alright! O.M.G." to the crowd, before whispering to herself, "But what was that vision? Did I see what I saw?"


    To a collective relief, on hearing the required O.M.G., everything started up again, as if an unseen force clicked "reset,"¡ªthe train ride, the mariachis, the bubbles, the laughter, yadda, yadda, yadda. Then the worker lost his balance, shouted "WTF?" and fell off the slide and onto rubber mats, taking the paint canister down with him; and Sofia, slipped and fell off the see-saw.


    When the canister reached the ground, it hit a form that dashed off in a purple blast. A burst of orange light pursued the purple to the park''s perimeter, leaving a wake of smoke. A spiraling black vortex followed, as all three raced into the canyon beside the park, inducing a layer of darkness to rise and fall, like the billowing black sheet of the Grim Reaper preparing a bed for a new arrival.


    Purple paint flooded the mats with a congealing viscosity as the moon continued its eclipse of the sun.


    As the gang of Arctic ice ran past, following the orange, the purple and the smoke into the canyon, one of the thugs slapped Sofia''s cap off her head.


    "The shadows are disappearing!" shouted the park worker as he lifted himself from the sand.


    "My cat!" exclaimed the old man from the bench who was advancing on Sofia, "She''s going to have a conniption over this."


    "My cap?" Sofia shouted, lost a surge of anxiety, forgetting the beauty she had just seen, holding her hand to her head, "and where are the shadows?"


    "Like rats," the old man said, as he approached Sofia, pointing at the fleeing kids. "Where''s my cat?" he added as he picked up Sofia''s cap, "Here''s your cap."


    "The cat took the shadows?" Sofia asked.


    "Gee Willikers indeed, and that cat has done gone purple," the old man shouted to Sofia, before lowering his voice, adding in a whisper, "Cuz'' home-boy here don''t play OMG," as he rolled his fingertips across the brim of Sofia''s cap.


    Screams erupted from the canyon.


    "What''s happening?" Sofia whispered. "Are they coming back?"


    "That clown posse will turn on itself soon enough," the old man replied, "Pay them no mind. Fall into your own lightness; or you''ll get wound up like a jumpy toy, looking at your own reflection in a mirror. You saw it; I saw it on your face. I''d be dazzled to find out it wasn''t that persnickety purple cat, yes, that spooked those kids. Did you see her just a moment ago? Did you see what just happened to my cat?"


    "Was it the cat that ran past me?" Sofia exclaimed. "I thought I saw something, just now; and what did you say about reflections? What purple cat? The mirror?" "Where''s my cap?" Sofia blasted, no longer digging for answers¡ªshe was excavating like Michelangelo Mulligan''s steam shovel mining marble in Carrera for The David.


    "So many questions, Pepper. Just ignore those kids. Don''t spend your life posing in mirrors like they do¡ªyou''ll only meet the other crazies; see the life you just saw on the see-saw."


    Sofia turned her attention to the Arctic ice cubes now stampeding back out of the canyon, now white with fear, before the darkening sky.


    "Some foul darkness is crawling in," the old man murmured, pulling his collar tight against the chill as he pointed toward the brooding clouds. "Evil¡ªthis thunder. We''d best save our words for another time. You''ve got a journey ahead¡ªclutch your heart for the ride and write your story. As for me? These binders are suffocating, and it''s time for my weekly T-shot. Pass on a grim hello to your pops," he continued, his voice lowering, "and give him this¡ªhe left them behind last time we played. Make sure he knows he''ll have to confront the pain one day, capisce?"


    With that, he handed Sofia a worn bag of marbles.


    Toward the coast, ominous black thunderclouds loomed, gripping her gaze with an insidious pull. Terror washed ashore like a tidal wave, and she frantically searched for her shadow as she sprinted toward home. The old man''s voice echoed after her, heavy with urgency: "Let life''s gears turn for you, little girl¡ªlet them turn. This is your time, traveler. Don''t let anyone lead you astray; don''t stumble when you board the train. Only the mad seek beauty in the mirror¡ªit''s not there; it''s buried deep within you."


    Sofia sensed a purple blur darting from tree to tree; followed by an orange glow and a spiral of smoke. She turned to look, slipped on wet grass, and rolled down a small embankment.


    The duck from the fountain, having followed her, rolled over her, quacking, as they tumbled. Sofia imagined a Kraken gripping her, pulling her beneath the sea.


    The duck freed itself and raced away as she heard a voice whisper from the brambles, "Don''t get so caught up in yourself that you forget you saw the beauty."


    Horrified by the clash of fear and thunder, Sofa rose and began to run, resolving that she would revisit this park, shortly.


    The first drops of rain slammed into the ground, cratering the soil like fists pounding the earth. Sofia looked up as a suffocating wave of darkness eclipsed the late afternoon sky. The clouds twisted and churned, resembling the rotting undersides of barnacle-encrusted trawlers, looming ominously over a murky ocean of despair.


    A crack of thunder shattered the silence, a growl echoing through the air. Thunder like this¡ªone could never tell if it was heard, felt, or even smelled, but its presence was unmistakably sinister, an omen of dread.


    Thin lines slashed across the sky: thousands of bats erupted from the canyon adjacent to the park, their leathery wings flapping wildly. Their massed streaming began as a torrent, branching into two sinister rivers, each splitting again like streams of blood spilling from a wound, an unholy procession drawn toward the gathering darkness.


    Sofia ran home, across the lawn, uprooting the three pink lawn flamingos, into the house, slamming the door, and hid under her bed sheets.


    For it was going to be a dark and stormy night, after this ominous day of wrath in which no one can make up their minds, and nobody seems to know what is going on; or so they say.

 Chapter 2: The Taxi

    <b>Chapter 2 ¨C The Taxi</b>


    <i>They also say that "the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets, for it is in <del>London</del>, San Diego, New York and Norway, that our scene will lie, rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."</i>


    <i>"You didn''t write that¡ªIt was a dark and stormy night¡ªyou stole that line. There''s not a cloud in night."</i>


    <i>Fine, be that way.  So, on this moonlit, cloudless night, a Traveler stumbles through a jagged mountain pass above a bone-chilling fjord. He sets down his ragged camping gear and squints through a crack in the mountain, grappling with the unsettling urge to answer the call of the void and fling himself into the icy abyss below. Jumping to conclusions had never been so tempting.</i>


    <i>The moon shames the stars to sleep. One star loses its grip and falls into the fjord.</i>


    <i>In the water below, the Traveler sees a fish vault from the sea, drawing a white arc of water. The water-arc disintegrates into spheres that linger in suspension before rejoining the flow.</i>


    <i>If only the Traveler had realized, it had not been a fish¡ªit had been a whale¡ªand his life''s decisions had diverted him onto a dangerous precipice.</i>


    <i>The Traveler looks down and notices purple reflecting off the rolling ringlets of water radiating from the splash. He looks up to the sky to locate the source.</i>


    <i>A blue necklace of atmospheric ice rings the moon. The angle of his head occludes his blood flow. Blood tries to pulse through his carotid artery, pummeling his nerves, unleashing vertigo''s vortex.</i>


    <i>He hears the winds and sees nearby branches bending. He looks further up, while his thoughts fly on golden wings into the Milky Way, and he imagines looking down from far above the plane of the elliptic. He sees himself surrounded by a thin blue light.</i>


    <i>Click.</i>


    <i>"No, double click."</i>


    <i>Click, click.</i>


    <i>The Traveler lifts his hand to his head to steady his disorientation and feels the first puff of wind blow through his hair. However, it''s too late; for this traveler had slipped at the moment of boarding.</i>


    <i>With a roar, the wind uproots a nearby tree and flings it into the fiery embrace of another, like an over-enthusiastic bartender tossing a match into vodka. And just like that, the Traveler is plucked from the ground, lifted into the air like a sad, bewildered rag doll, flailing above the fjord as nature decides it''s his turn to become airborne.</i>


    <i>The creature has claimed another victim and the winds spirit the Traveler to a black castle topped with two twin towers.</i>


    <i>Inside the towers, the scratch of a flint punctures the quiescence, and an orange flash erupts within a puff of smoke.</i>


    <i>"Please, can you take the smoke outside?"</i>


    ***


    Thunder reeled Sofia from dream''s abyss.


    "What was that?" she whispered in the whirlpool of the after-dream. "I don''t want to go. I want my shadow back."


    The eight glow-in-the-dark planets and stars on her ceiling soothed her until one star, unglued, lost its grip. It fell, hit a balloon on the floor, bounced up and momentarily meshed with another star, also unglued, falling. In their stellar collision Sofia perceived the connection at the center of the galaxy''s geared drive train, before it flitted away (e.g., "I saw the meaning of life, one thinks; "But forgot to write it down," one whispers the next morning).


    "I closed that door before going to bed," Sofia thought. "Now it is open," she whispered as she pulled her blanket to her nose, four fingers over, thumbs under.


    Atop her desk, beside a toy trebuchet she had constructed for a science project, a bright red rubber ducky and a brown starfish lay near the balloons she had used to inflate her blanket the week before last: a cloaking device, as she hid beneath the bed, pranking her dad that she had been kidnapped by aliens from beyond the Kuiper belt.


    "Ransom notes should <i>not</i> have the same font throughout," dad had pontificated that next morning as Sofia released gas from one of the balloons.


    Her father had dismissed his daughter''s gas release with a subversive smile at a girl just like himself, while trying to force severity, hands on hips, redoubling his lecture,"You have to make it look like a cut out from a magazine; and can you stop squeezing the balloon''s air into that whistle, it is distracting my explanation," at which point, Sofia released the balloon which zipped around the room, before landing on her father''s head.


    "Daddy," she whispered as she turned toward the closet; the door now closed again. The storm had ended. Her breathing slowed. She looked toward the ceiling from which her stars had fallen, but counted nine planets, not eight.


    "Pluto?" Sofia whispered. "Who put Pluto there?"


    Then she remembered her father''s scientific opinion that he would express with conviction over family dinner¡ª"Pluto is a planet, dammit," he would insist, as often as he would ask, "Why have I never seen a baby pigeon?"; all convenient ruminations, her mom would insist, to forget to mow the lawn.


    Fear eased its grip, and Sofia returned to slumber''s more pleasant dreams of a duck snatching an ice cream cone, cats, pigeons on the grass, alas, alas, and a father who had a habit of never tying his shoelaces tightly enough.


    Hours later, the sun kissed the clouds, and Sofia woke for the day''s journey. She showered, ate breakfast, bulls-eyed the outside cat with a finger-flicked blueberry, brushed, dressed (in blue), clipped her yellow star to her belt, and packed her water coloring set¡ªher dad loved finger painting and he had asked her to bring it on the trip; and approached the idling taxi.


    The driver, a young guy, each ear adorned with an orbit of ruby red earrings, was waving his hands in silence, mouthing words. Strands of dyed blue, green and yellow hair graced a purple shirt.


    Sofia opened the car door as the driver knocked a dream catcher from the front rear view mirror as he shouted, "Contender!"


    A tattoo in the form of a question mark graced the right side of the driver''s neck. His perspiration blended with the citrus Calabrian bergamot of <i>Dior''s Sauvage Eau de Parfum</i>¡ªa peppery, masculine scent for young men going places; one that one would never expect in an Uber (the <i>Parfum</i>, not the young man going somewhere).


    "Sincerest apologies, for any discombobulation," the driver said as he caught the catcher. "I was practicing my solo-lilo-quy. Enter; and grace this chamber with your celestial presence," he continued while re-attaching the catcher. "There, pull down the strap, your majesty, and insert the metal fastener into..."


    "I know how to buckle a seat belt," Sofia interrupted, as she closed the door, looked up at the peace and love stickers stuck to the roof of the taxi, and snapped her seat belt, thinking, "Your majesty? Seriously? Great Scott!"


    In the early morning hours, the storm''s remnants lingered as a fine mist. However, this was San Diego, so enough to cause multiple collisions for those forgetting how to approach the 163/5 freeway split to the airport.


    Rain drops accumulated on the car''s glass window. Sofia saw facets of herself in each¡ªher eye in one, joy in another, a pink flamingo in yet another¡ªand wondered if she would come together amidst the melancholy, she had been experiencing these last few days of summer; while also curious as to who had reset the pink flamingos she had uprooted from the lawn, the evening before.


    "I can''t soar," Sofia thought as a backpack slid down on her, "when everyone''s baggage is falling on me; and why was this driver shouting in this car? And who put those two flamingos back in the grass and where''s the third one? And what did he mean, ''write my story''," she wondered as she pushed her backpack back atop the pile of luggage between the two rear seats.


    A single stream rolled down the window from droplet to droplet, as if asking each one "will you join us?"


    Sofia wanted to leave the banks of the river that had been her home. She wanted to be a traveler but was afraid to take the first step¡ªfearing the slightest slip into the abyss.


    The hedges on the front lawn jostled but Sofia wrote it off to the last of the winds. She noted a pink light sliding into the bushes as she whispered, "Strange¡ªthat pink glow."


    "Look at that flamingo, go," whispered the driver.


    She refocused her eyes toward the smaller drops in the path of the river on the window, as her parents emerged from the house and locked the front door.


    "Don''t they see me?" Sofia whispered as her parents approached.


    "Right? There''s the drama juice. I could have been a..." said the driver, diving back into fantasies.


    "I could have been going to the same school with my friends," Sofia nearly lamented, as she traced one of the rivers on the window with the finger of her right hand and curled her hair with the other. Then she repeated herself louder, "I could have been..."


    "...a contender, word! m''lady," shouted the driver as he raised his arms and flared his fingers. "True that, most righteously," he added, setting the dream catcher swaying¡ªthe mere appearance of Sofia''s parents approaching, enough to shake loose his self-restraint, as he surfaced from the sea of his disorders.


    The water was deep.


    "Whatever," Sofia whispered, accustomed to the driver''s eccentricity, having had lived-experiences with her dad¡ªe.g., Pluto, shoelaces, and pigeons in the grass.


    <i>"Dad''s, deeper."</i>


    "Pardon my discombobulation, your majesty," the driver said, turning back to Sofia, twisting the question mark on his neck. "I was out of containment just now, having received a response of jubilation to inflate my soul. I must now re-combobulate, like that pink flamingo, sliding into the grass, over there, getting outta Dodge," as he pointed to his heart with one hand, his hair with the other, and a nod to the two plastic pink flamingos still left on the lawn.


    "No worries," said Sofia. "You''re about to meet my dad," she added, gazing at the question mark tattoo, thinking, "He''s going to answer that question on your neck. And who took that flamingo from the lawn? Why are there only two?"


    <i>"Answer? He doesn''t even know the question."</i>


    Sofia rolled the window down to clear her memory of what had happened the previous day; and to teach the river on the window who was boss.


    "I love the smell of cut grass," she whispered to herself.


    "I love myself the sweet fragrance of grass, too," answered the driver.


    "I bet you do," thought Sofia.


    "But here comes a'' ''da judge, and there goes the flamingo across the street," the driver added as he nodded toward Sofia''s approaching father.


    Sofia''s father, first; a most handsome man, youthful appearance, yet solid, and with a build like a brick house, a full head of thick hair, large hands with long fingers, and a sparkle in his eyes in a finely shaped head resting atop a frame almost six and half feet tall that he ported with grace and power; very handsome, broad shoulders, muscles like a brick house, with long feet, but finally accepting hearing aids which he was not wearing¡ªso not completely accepting; green shirt, brown cap above thick hair, a Sequoia of a man, and extremely handsome (as we said), well-defined pecs, long arms, wearing stuffed beige cargo shorts (because a husband can never have enough pockets when his wife prefers to wear jeans), exceptionally good-looking, and a smile bearing the only possible greeting to the question mark in the driver''s seat.


    Her mother followed, ensuring her dad did not get into a discussion with a passing pigeon.


    <i>"Right there? Now do you see the problem? It''s all about him."</i>


    <i>"So, we have to go back one more time?"</i>


    <i>"Yes. Mom needs a good night''s sleep."</i>


    Mom approached the idling taxi, engine humming, wondering how many life stories had played out in the car; how many ghosts it had ported over Asphalt Rivers with Charon the Question Mark, the driver.


    She came around to the rear driver side seat and her father, to the front passenger seat. She looked over the top of the car toward the jostling hedges and said, "I think we need to get animal control¡ªthere, in the grass, they''re back. And one of your flamingos is missing and your shoelace, untied."


    Then mom froze in place and looked toward the sky when she heard the discordant notes, this ominous day of wrath. She searched the clouds for the source of the somber trochaic F minor, followed by a half-step down, then a half-step up to the first note, and one-and-a-half-steps back down¡ªthat little four note ditty that portended the rise of the Grim Reaper from the earth''s bowels.


    "Dad?" Sofia asked her mother who was shaking her head and pulling her earlobe.


    "He''s down there," mom replied, pointing to the front.


    "Why can''t they make laces for shoes with more friction?" demanded Sofia''s dad, as he rose after retying his laces, and entered the car.


    "Could be moose and squirrel ran off with them," added the driver, "Welcome aboard!"


    "No one understands me," Sofia thought, while marveling at how her mom could open the door, enter the car, sit, close the door, pull the strap, and buckle the seat belt in one graceful, continuous motion, as if it were choreographed in the heavens.


    "Where''s the damn buckle?" her father shouted as he twisted left and right, then, looking over the lawn, adding, and "I can never find the buckle. Those hooligans stole my flamingos again."


    "Peace, pard''ner. May the range be calm, and the cattle be fat," said the driver, hoping to soothe the search, "Y''all best be keeping an eye out, ''cause them flamingo rustlers are-a-plenty ''round these parts."


    "Now there''s two of them?" Sofia''s mother whispered.


    "Two flamingos! I knew it," Sofia said.


    "No, not the flamingos. Them," Mom answered, ping-ponging her pupils between her husband and the driver.


    "Dad, why does cut grass smell sweet?" Sofia interrupted.


    "Let me explain," her dad replied, still searching for the seat belt.


    "Look under your butt," Mom interrupted, to plug her husband''s word faucet.


    "Pluto," Sofia snickered with a diabolical smile as the driver leaned over to her father.


    "Not now, Sofia, not now," whispered her mother, "Don''t launch him."


    "What did you say, Sofia?" Dad asked as he lifted himself up and reached beneath, "I don''t have the hearing aids on. What did you say? Where is this other seat belt? I didn''t hear, Sofia," her dad finished, out of breath, exasperated by his struggle with the <del>meaning of life</del> the seat belt (i.e., the meaning of life).The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Nothing daddy," Sofia said as her mother pinched her, leaned over, and whispered to her, "Don''t get him started with the driver."


    "Pluto," Dad said as he turned to Sofia (because sometimes, people with hearing loss can hear, but lack the patience to listen; and saying ''What?'' is a lot easier than paying attention), while continuing the search for the seat belt, muttering, "Pluto," softly, then loudly adding, "Should have been a plan..."


    "... a contender, exactly," the driver interrupted, sitting back up, with a shout and a fist slam on the steering wheel.


    Sofia''s mom leaned back from the blast, and raised her brows, fascinated by the driver''s outburst, thinking, "So the driver has the launch code?"


    Dad froze from his quest, smiled at the driver, his own eyes, ignited, and replied, "Yes, indeed, my young knight errant," clued that the driver might be a fellow cosmonaut, as he continued his hunt for the seat belt, which caused a red and blue cat''s eye glass marble to fall out of his pocket, bounce off the middle console, and roll beneath the driver''s seat, never to be seen again for about thirty years.


    "There goes another one," Mom whispered, watching the marble roll beneath the seat.


    "Please receive my <i>amendes honorables</i><b>,</b>" the driver announced to the backseat of the car, and then, turning to Sofia''s dad adding, "The belt strap fell over down the side of the seat, Mr. Patriarch. I got the part of Stanley in the play. Who''d a thunk it, know what I''m saying? <i>On The Waterfront</i>. It''s this dream catcher that caught my dream," he said, gesticulating as he knocked the dream catcher off again and it landed on dad''s crotch.


    "Stanley is a character in a Streetcar named Desire," Mom corrected.


    "Especially, because, oh, yes, there''s the buckle, it leans to the side. Here, let me lean over your lap getting the buckle," the driver continued as reached over dad''s waist, his hair falling over the dream catcher, as he turned his head sideways to Mom, saying, "In our theater, we combined the stories into one¡ªexperimental theater, know what I''m sayin''?; the Street Car on the Godfather''s Waterfront," before lifting his head to Dad saying, "Brando, you know, sometimes it leans to the side¡ªthere it is¡ªthat one went both ways, or so they say¡ªthe seat belt, Brando too, I hear. Can you pull it?" while pointing with one hand, as his hair hooked on the dream catcher, lifting it, and at dad''s lap with the other, adding, "here, let me yank that for you," then turning to the back seat to Mom, "we find our wisdoms in our overlapping stories, know what I''m sayin'' your highness?"


    "Might be too late," thought Sofia''s mother; then adding out loud, "Yes, I know what you''re saying."


    "Got it," said her dad. "Snap."


    Locked.


    Sofia''s father smiled and turned back to study his wife''s face which bore a "please do not engage with this driver," expression that he knew quite well, and never remembered not to forget to ignore.


    Sofia''s mom smiled at her husband, who then inserted the hearing aids as the taxi pulled away.


    "When he wants to hear," Sofia''s mom confirmed to herself in a whisper.


    "What did you say, honey?" Dad asked his wife.


    "You heard me," answered Mom.


    Most of the houses along the street, innocuous and vacuous, each home resembling every other, posing as a Botox beauty.


    "These houses," Dad began, with a sly smile, as he turned around to face his wife, "They are all the same. You know, honey. I don''t see why you won''t let me..."


    "... no, we will not paint the house purple with pink polka dots," Mom said to her husband.


    The driver screeched to a stop, and everyone leaned forward. Mouth agape, he smiled, flaring his fingers, fingernails painted red, like an Ocotillo in Borrego, and nodded to dad, saying, "May the pink and purple force be with you, General; a most outrageous master plan."


    Then the car continued forward, and everyone leaned back while her father studied the driver.


    "Do you think you can divert a minute down that street, young man?" Sofia''s father asked the driver. "I''d like to see what happened¡ªin the lit light of day."


    "He''s going to start the launch countdown," Sofia thought while her mother lip-synced, "Two of them."


    "This here young knight errant," the driver began, pointing to himself, then turning to back Sofia, adding, "That be me, attuned to the ways of the force¡ªby orders of the General of the Pink Polka Dots¡ªwill now take a path less traveled," as he turned the car, while everyone leaned left, "We will find what you are looking for, General."


    The catastrophe rolled into view with the sublime majesty of the Grim Reaper taking stage for a TED talk on the importance of Birthdays.


    "Whoa," the driver interjected as he studied the charred ruins. "Holy Mother of God, run me over with a truck, leave the gun and take the cannoli," he added as he plunged into the depths, again. This scene is like, whoa, amirite?"


    "You are most righteously right!" confirmed dad.


    Sofia lipped, "Ignition-pending?" and smiled at her mother.


    During the night, the wind''s fury had ripped two trees from the ground and thrashed them together, and then against the house as the electrical wires shorted, igniting the rafters despite the rain.


    "A most flaming embrace," exclaimed the driver.


    "Quite the passionate flaming embrace," added dad, as the two men exchanged smiling glances at each other; but then froze amidst fear of friendly fire and immediately turned back to the trees.


    "Over there¡ªthat embrace," rushed Dad, as he returned focus to the horror, pointed, and cleared his throat.


    "Yes, over there, yes indeed," the driver confirmed as he also cleared his throat, "That embrace."


    The house had burned to a charred husk; scorched beams still smoldered under the oppressive drizzle. The acrid stench of incinerated wood permeated the taxi, searing the nostrils. A sinister grey vapor coiled around the house''s ash-laden remains. Jagged shards of shattered glass clawed at the sky¡ªa dragon''s maw frozen in a silent snarl. Melted siding had congealed mid-drip, resembling coagulated blood oozing from a fractured jawbone. The collapsed walls unveiled a grotesque tableau, where the outside violated the inside like a twisted Klein bottle. Splintered timber beams jutted upward, defying the heavens. The house groaned as another beam surrendered its tenuous hold, crashing down with a cacophony of splintering wood and shattering glass¡ªglistening tears of a once-living entity now reduced to ruin.


    "A dragon?" Sofia thought as she studied the exterior.


    "This could be the resting place of the Holy Grail," announced the driver as pulled back his hair, revealing the question mark tatoo, "Guarded now by a dragon, most vicious. King Amfortas is in pain here, General, waiting for Parzival to ask the timeless question about the arrow ahead in the scrotum," the driver added as he adjusted his testicles, "You know; that question?"


    "Is that a dragon, Mommy?" Sofia uttered as stories raced toward her from all directions, and from past and future.


    "That was the crash last night," Sofia''s mother answered.


    "Indeed, Empress Mother," interjected the driver. "This catastrophe is supremely illuminated."


    "Yes, most superbly, lit," as only a gesticulating Dad, freeing himself from shackles of proper behavior could, say; like he did just the other day, after the pink inflatable tube man outside the used car sales lot unhooked itself from the anchor cables and he led the other boys men chasing the flaming flailing tube man down the street, as he whispered, "How did the arrow get stuck in his nut sack, anyway, and who took my flamingo?"


    The burned trees resembled a two-headed, multi-armed troll, stripped bare, clawing, grasping, much like an octopus looking back at you, from inside a glass blender, as you put your finger over the blend-button, and, well, you know...


    "Press the button," Sofia''s mom whispered, "He''s going to press the launch button."


    Sofia''s breathing stalled. She looked past the trees, into the remains of the house, past the liquidated computer monitors and cables.


    "Some nasty darkness coming this way," Sofia whispered, loud enough for her mother to hear. "I don''t like this."


    "Don''t worry, baby-love. Everyone got out safely," her mother said. "No one is going to act up," she added, looking at her husband''s eyes in the rear-view mirror and emphasizing, "Everyone will calm down, right, Papa? There will be no launch sequence¡ªno 5, 4, 3, 2, 1."


    Sofia''s dad smiled, eyes ignited in resistance, "How about 1, 2, 3, 4, 5?"¡ªalways, Sofia remembered, before any eccentricity that surged against the towering bluffs of normality¡ªand he continued with joy, "I could gobble a cannolo into smithereens, right now, too, I could; maybe a calzone," before closing in a sudden despondent whisper, as wave of despair surged ashore from nowhere, "maybe I failed to launch."


    "What was that general?" said the driver, "Cheer up."


    "Honey, what''s wrong?" Sofia''s mother asked her husband, noting his sudden sadness.


    "Never mind," Dad resisted as he lowered his head. "Just a memory."


    "I''ll get a few at the airport," Mom whispered, while thinking, "He needs to get over it or he will be living in fantasies."


    A purple cat ran across the road.


    Loaded.


    "Did you see that?" the driver shouted to Sofia''s dad. "I am, like, most righteously gob smacked by this astounding tour of <i>da</i> force."


    "Yes, I certainly did. A most righteous smack in the gobs," her father agreed as his smile returned, and he came back alive. He waved his hand, dismissing the memory, as the towering bluffs commenced their collapse at the sight of the purple cat.


    "General, that cat had a pack of cigarettes in its mouth!" exclaimed the driver.


    The driver and Sofia''s dad turned toward each other, like old friends, as they both pointed toward the purple streak.


    "And it was purple," Sofia''s dad exclaimed, as he turned to his wife, adding, "Never mind, honey, I had a bad memory just now¡ªit passed."


    Mom raised a peace sign to her husband¡ªknowing when to soothe his turbulence.


    "We let those float away," confirmed the driver, hoping to redirect the feelings in the car, back to joy, "A purple cat, indeed it was¡ªthat was crazy."


    "I saw that cat yesterday," Sofia added.


    "You too, now?" her mother whispered and looked toward the sky, lip-syncing, "I am powerless."


    A boulder dislodged from the self-restraint in the driver''s mind, and he capitulated to the performance of masculinity, mock-slammed the steering wheel and shouted, letting loose his aged-mock-rage, "You don''t understand! I could''a had class. I could''a been a contender, I could''ve been somebody, instead of a bum on the waterfront, which is what I am, before the purple cat."


    "Marlon Brando, the man," her father affirmed, meekly.


    "Oops," said the driver.


    "Locked and loaded," Sofia''s mother said aloud, "Please, someone stop this launch."


    "The Purple Cat will," Sofia replied.


    "A lamentable verbal ebullition¡ª<i>mea culpa</i>," the driver interjected, adding, with almost as many <i>embolalias</i> as words, "May I, um, proffer an excuse? I was, um, practicing a scene, for my, uh, acting class, and I just, well, um, received the annunciation that I, uh, got the lead, and um, failed to restrain my perimeter¡ªknow what I''m sayin''?¡ªin the presence of this family''s Patriarch?" finishing with renewed confidence, "Please forgive me for my euphoric exuberance. My deepest regrets to you, simpatico," and a nod to dad.


    "Did they forget we''re sitting back here?" Mom whispered.


    The car began moving again, leaving confusion in its wake.


    "Get off me," Sofia shouted to the suitcase that fell on top of her, as the car turned, and everyone leaned right. She pushed the backpack back atop the pile, which then rolled over onto her mother.


    "Don''t throw it, Sofia," her dad said. "Clear your route," he added, winking at the driver, who smiled back.


    "Out the window with negativity," the driver chimed, "Yes, sir," as he glanced at himself in the passenger rear view mirror.


    "Clear your path, young lady, the patriarch of our space vehicle announces to all voyagers," continued the driver to Sofia.


    "But not on me," her mom interrupted as the luggage Sofia had tossed up fell over onto her.


    "Duck!" shouted the driver.


    "What good is that going to do?" mom said. "It''s falling on top of me, not past my head."


    However, Dad immediately leaned forward and lowered his head to the dashboard, as the driver blasted <i>Ahoogha! Ahooga!</i> with the car horn.


    "No, no," shouted the driver, "I meant, look, there''s a duck staggering across the street, <i>mon ami</i>. There, scrutinize it, General! And in his beak! What is a duck doing with a flash drive? In his beak? A maximal perplexation, here we have we here."


    A duck had raced out of the shell of a house with a flash drive in his beak.


    "And a router," her father interjected, joyfully. "The duck has a router under his wing."


    The duck had a router under its wing.


    "Makes you want to say, Bong," said the driver, who paused on sensing the silence he induced in the car.


    Silence.


    "Oops, again," The driver continued, "I mean, not that kind of bong, but the other kind of bong, what''s the word? I forget the word. <i>Lethologica¡ªthat tongue on the tip feeling; I forget the word I''m thinking¡ªlike</i> where the New York CEO in one of those old movies finally makes it to Japan¡ªcan I get to the 5/163 spit this way to the airport this way?¡ªand the director cuts to a Samurai warrior banging a bong to let everyone know you''re in a new world¡ªyes, I think we should go this way; we''ll take the road less travelled, we have no choice; likely some varmints or coyotes high tailed out of town with one of those flamingos ¡ªand that duck with a router, what was up with that? I think this is exit ramp to the airport¡ªtakes time to start a journey. That kind of bong, not the other kind, know what I''m saying? Everything is happening at once."


    "I believe you meant to say, Gong," Sofia''s mom offered, not realizing that the word "Gong" was, itself, the code that would now launch her husband and the driver.


    Silence gobbled up the seconds in the car and spit them out as a moment. You see, we have one part of our brain that has thoughts. We have another that gives words to thoughts. Connecting these two spots, the brain and mouth, is one long nerve¡ªa kind of information superhighway, if you will. Now on this road sits a director, a toll keeper, and his job is to inspect the thoughts that come racing down the freeway from the brain to the mouth. The toll keeper inspects a thought and says, "You''re a mighty fine thought, you head right on out." To other thoughts, he says, "I think you need some work. You go back up there, and get yourself a velvet glove, at least." Then there are those other thoughts that, when they come down the pipeline, the toll keeper says, "Hell no, no one needs to know you''re thinking this. You head right out the other end and don''t come back." Well, the toll keeper on Sofia''s dad''s superhighway quit the job years ago, and there had been no one to keep his mouth shut, so he rolled down the window, took a deep breath of air, and shouted¡ªas one would do when the abyss looks into you¡ªand having decided to row, row, and row his boat with the driver for no other reason than ''why not?'' at the top of his lungs, screamed, "Stella!"


    Startled by the scream, the duck dropped the flash drive and the router and took to the air, while the purple cat dropped the cigarettes.


    Sofia''s mom exhaled, thinking, "I suppose I''ve heard worse."


    "I am impressed by your performance, General," affirmed the young driver, "May I contribute to this Stanislavsky method?" he asked, before belting out his own "Stella!"


    "Look at that duck soar," Sofia''s mother whispered wistfully while watching the duck fade into the distant sky.


    "I wish I could fly away, too," Sofia whispered.


    "Your horn slays," Sofia''s dad said, then asking, "Vintage?"


    "I have found certain situations in life justify the <i>ahoogah</i>," the driver pontificated.


    "That <i>ahoogah</i> always gets me here," dad said, pointing to his heart with his right hand, while adjusting his testicles with his left.


    "Hash tag, Me Too," confirmed the driver who did the same, and the same, with a smile, while steering the car with raised knees pressing up against the wheel.


    Sofia''s mom turned down her head to inspect her fingernails as the two men commenced a conversation about cars, colors, light, stars, whether one should go to law school in case an acting career did not pan out, NAFTA, Norway, bubbles, elves, trolls, goblins, rectal fumigation, fragrances that are an introductory foray into the world of men''s cologne, and a new painting of a green baboon with a broken leg playing poker with a grasshopper that Sofia''s dad had commissioned to hang in his man cave.


    Onto the freeway, avoiding collisions, off the freeway, into the parking lot, out of the car, extract the luggage, pay the fare; wish the driver luck in his role, and begin parting like friends who had met up with each other for the first time after a journey of a lifetime.


    The driver and Sofia''s dad turned to each other, recollecting their time together in the car, during which Sofia and her mother thought, "It was just a fifteen-minute conversation."


    Nearby a group of pilots, co-pilots and flight attendants waited for the last member of the flight crew, a strapping hunk of a flight attendant carrying an opened red umbrella, across the street.


    As the two life-time friends separated amidst the congestion of departures, arrivals, and a jungle of cars, the driver approached Dad slowly, asking, "May I ask you something, General? I got to thinking¡ªwhat you said, before, about the green baboon. Can I query you something?" the driver repeated.


    "Lay it on me, Jedi," her dad answered, as her mom set down the luggage and exhaled while Sofia smiled.


    "A terrific honorific! Well, we had such a nice time; a kind of inexplicable <i>je ne sais quoi, </i>and I thought I''d ask you¡ªunlike how Parzifal forgot to ask Amfortas about that arrowhead that got shot you know where and got stuck, in that story, where it got stuck; you seem like a soul mate. I have a question that plagues my soul," the young man said.


    Sofia and her mom looked at each other, and then at the question mark.


    "Fire away, my good knight," encouraged her dad, arm around driver''s shoulder, with his hand near the question mark.


    "It is a bit personal, I mean, we connected, during our sally at the windmills of memory just now, like kindred-spirits, <i>paisans</i>, as the Godfather would say. I hope this does not perturb your wife''s majesty¡ªor should I say, your majesty''s wife¡ªwe no longer nourish these moments between men, poignant they may be, so may I be candid, compadre? The world is fluid, right, for all questions?"


    "My dad is an ally of all genders," Sofia volunteered as she pulled her hair through the pony-tail hold of her baseball cap, "But I don''t know what that means."


    Both men immediately froze. They turned to study Sofia, stunned, as when one is stoned on weed and thinks the carved Pumpkin is reciting Hamlet''s "To be or not to be; that is the question."


    "Sofia, let him ask the question," said her dad.


    The two men, startled by the dislocation of Sofia''s assumption (and whether Sofia knew something), studied each other, like two soldiers now rather enjoying friendly fire and recalibrated, as they overheard the passing flight attendant with the red umbrella calmly announcing, "Supplemental income," to the co-pilot.


    Sofia, her mom, and dad leaned in toward the driver and prepared themselves for the intimate question that would beckon the wisdom of the family''s patriarch.


    The driver looked down, paused, then looked up, compressed his lips, trembled before his own words, and then asked, "Do they got baboons in Norway?"


    "Huh?" Sofia''s mom interjected, shocked into near immobility. "What? What was that? What did you ask?"


    "I''m sorry," Sofia''s dad interrupted, without missing a beat. "I''m afraid," he added, pausing with compassion, and then continuing, "I''m afraid not. I''m afraid to say that there are no baboons in Norway."


    "Oh no," exclaimed the driver, "Egregiously gloomy news," he added, like a boy who watched the ice cream tumble off the top of his cone.


    "What''s happening?" asked Sofia''s mom.


    "Isn''t it?" her dad answered, his smile evaporating as he remembered when he lost his grip on his balloon in the Bronx Zoo, forty years previously.


    Both men shared a moment of sadness as they contemplated a world without baboons and balloons.


    Sofia and her mom waited until the light bulb of awareness magically appeared over Sofia''s dad''s head¡ªactually, it was the arrival of the TSA agent, demanding the driver move his cab, but let''s go with the light bulb¡ªand he readied his advice.


    "But they gotta lotta mice," her dad added, "and that is not egregious."


    "Mice; nice," said the driver, flaring his fingers like fireworks, "I like mice."


    "So do I," answered her dad joyfully, with the smile of a boy who had given his balloon to his best friend.


    "What are you two talking about?" Sofia''s mom interrupted, then turning to her daughter, adding, "Are they going to get a room?"


    "Good news to catch my dreams," the driver answered.


    "My fine young man," Dad continued, "You have to find something you like, something you love to do, then go with flow; and row, row, row your boat."


    "Find, flow and row," the driver repeated, "Wisdom, and cannoli one cannot refuse."


    "You need to take your own advice," Mom whispered to her husband.


    "I will," Sofia whispered.


    "You need to move this car," interrupted the TSA agent. "This is a phase 1, real world, order. Haul that asset now!" she continued, pausing, and then adding with a Serengeti growl, "And that scent is savage on you, my fine specimen of a man, <i>capisce</i>?"


    "Dior''s Sauvage," the driver shouted as he dived back into the car, while Dad scribbled the name of the fragrance, and growled.


    "Gratitude to you, father of us all, and go with the pink; may you find your flamingo. Young Miss Sofia, you know what you will do¡ªtell your story. And best to you, your Majesty''s wife: you will need it," the driver shouted though the window which he had rolled down to clear the air of his fart, "I take seriously your sagely advice, sir, and free myself of the shackles of a misguided life. I shall not become that traveler who slipped off the beaten path on an ominous day of wrath!" he said [F minor, half-step down, half-step up to the first, one-and-a-half-steps back down; you know the four note ditty], as he drove away, cutting off cars, swerving, having resolved at that very moment that he would go with the flow, accept the offer of enrollment from Harvard Law School and go on to become the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court; but that''s another story; or so they say.<b>


    </b>

 Chapter 3: The Plane

    Chapter 3 ¨C The Plane


    The creature chains the Traveler to a workbench in the castle¡¯s minaret.  A vertical sprocket cable, emerging from the wall, drives the gears beneath the table.  The meshing gears send stress waves rolling over the black travertine floor. They crush particles still lodged between its teeth.  The gears torque a shaft that rotates a bevel gear beneath the ceiling.  The bevels turn a horizontal sprocket chain to which shards of glass dangle above the Traveler¡¯s body.


    The chains crush him, hold him down, but his arms flail, crisscrossing his chest.  His scream punctures the night¡¯s silence and echoes in the canyon.  A lurid purple glow infuses the room and weakens his attachment to his shadow, enough for the gear-driven glass to sever it.


    A shadow the size of the Traveler hovers above the table.  The shadow¡¯s arms try to grab onto the Traveler, to reattach itself, but it loses its grip, and the shadow is sucked into a funnel at the end of the table, down a tube, through the wall and into the canyon below: food for the vortices.


    She has claimed another; but the sinister creature enjoys not, her new capture.


    She had been hearing the rumors that someone was on the way.  She wonders who this unlikely challenger is¡ªthis girl named Sofia¡ªdestined to pound on the gates of her castle.


    The creature hisses in anger.  Forms swirl in the corners of her castle.  She grows volatile as she moves.


    ¡°Go!  Take down that plane!¡± she screams into the maw of the endless night.


    In an explosive burst, hundreds of dark vortices lift into the night and fly toward the eastern sky, to meet a plane on a runway at the other end of the spectrum.


    ¡°And smash it, smash it, smash it into the sea!¡± it screamed.


    ¡°Bit of a drama queen, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ***


    Baggage-drop: graceful relaxation; security: constipated.


    Directly in front of Sofia¡¯s family, a horde of Comic-Con die-hards decided to turn airport security into a cosplay parade, treating the conveyor belt like red carpet for action figures. Space Aliens with shiny cue-ball heads took their place followed by the blue dude from Avatar, Trolls, Elves, and a vintage GI Joe with the Avengers passing through the X-Ray scanner.


    But the real showstopper was how these fanatics navigated the full-body scanner, putting their right foot in, taking it out, putting it in, doing the hokey-pokey like a cosmic conga line.


    Dad''s irritation soared as he snapped, ¡®What is taking them so long?¡¯ He saw his wife¡¯s glowing expression, retreated, and changed the channel to ¡°GI Joe was my favorite,¡± as he raised his hands over his head in the full-body scanner.


    ¡°Daddy played with dolls, too,¡± Mom whispered to Sofia as she waited her turn.


    ¡°It was not a doll, it was a soldier,¡± Dad insisted from the booth.


    ¡°Well, now he¡¯s Barbie¡¯s boyfriend,¡± one of the Comic-Con contingents concluded, overhearing the boomer.


    ¡°The end times are here,¡± Dad muttered.


    ¡°What was that?¡± asked the TSA agent.  ¡°What did you mean by that, sir?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.  Sorry.  Oops!¡±


    They entered the main concourse.


    A toy store blossomed on the right, deep as a cave, squeezed between a currency exchange and a perfume shop¡ªparallel worlds of commerce, desire, and dreams.


    A glass works shop sparkled on the left side of the concourse.  Its adjacent coffee and pastry shop infused the area with the roasted fragrance of the Amazon.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to check the crystal shop over there,¡± Mom said.  ¡°Might find a centerpiece vase for the living room¡ªget an idea,¡± Mom continued, to her husband, ¡°Go play with the Toys,¡± and then to Sofia, ¡°Go watch him.¡±


    Stuffed animals swayed from the ceiling of the toy store.  Prisms, lanterns, strobe lights, and flashlights illuminated the wall behind the cashier¡¯s counter. Telescopes, kaleidoscopes, microscopes, stethoscopes, periscopes, bore-scopes and even an oscilloscope¡ªanything to keep a child focused on a long flight; and for everyone else to see that the story was about to happen right now, before their very eyes¡ªfestooned the facing counter.


    Sofia noted her dad playing with a wind-up toy¡ªa springy-thingy whatchamacallit with four thin, long, flexible elastic legs¡ªwhile she herself tried to decipher the optical devices that graced the back wall.


    ¡°Sofia turned from the optical devices to watch her father. He wound a butterfly knob, locking it with a switch, and pressed a button that sent the toy jumping like a Chihuahua on caffeine, joy radiating from his face.¡±


    Sofia¡¯s mother arrived with coffee for herself, after having purchased cannoli from the espresso shop¡ªshe¡¯d been married to the man and knew she would need reinforcements for the journey.


    Dad stepped back from the jumping toy and knocked a toy boomerang off the counter.


    ¡°Well,¡± her dad said, looking down at the boomerang on the floor, oblivious to the gathering audience, ¡°aren¡¯t you coming back?  You¡¯re supposed to come back,¡± before bending down to retrieve the boomerang, ¡°I have to do everything myself.¡±


    ¡°Imagine that?¡± muttered his wife.


    The bearded shopkeeper, a forest green pagri swirling like a halo, set aside stacking when he noticed Sofia¡¯s dad rewinding the whatchamacallit.


    Sofia¡¯s mom set down the bag of cannoli and, together, she and Sofia watched the man, eyes ablaze (initially his; theirs too), catch the toy that jumped off the counter and into his hands.


    The shopkeeper, clearly Indian, was meanwhile speaking to a customer, ¡°Would you like a telescope or a microscope,¡± in a Russian accent; but kep glancing at Sofia¡¯s dad.


    ¡°I found a perfect centerpiece for the table,¡± Sofia¡¯s mother remarked, pointing to the gift shop across the pedestrian concourse.  ¡°It¡¯s Venetian glass. It¡¯s delicate,¡± she added as she watched her husband pick up the boomerang from the floor. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s wise to have that in the house.¡±


    ¡°The Venetian glass?¡± Sofia asked as she leaned forward and up to watch the smile roll over her mom¡¯s face.


    Sofia turned to look across the concourse, through the flowing crowd of terminal workers, passengers, toward a member of a flight crew with the red umbrella who was waiting in line for coffee as he finished explaining to the pilot, ¡°And that is what the red umbrella means; part of my life; and I will never let the flaming go, capisce?¡± and then onward to the glassworks glittering, adding, ¡°Mom, I think I know what I want to do when I grow up.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that baby-love?¡± her mother responded to Sofia, setting down her coffee, mesmerized by her husband¡¯s ability to play with the toys, thinking, ¡°This is why he forgets to mow the lawn¡ªit¡¯s not focus; men just have more colorful excuses.¡±


    ¡°The vase is pretty,¡± added Sofia who returned her gaze to her father who was rewinding the toy, while her mom returned to the here and now. ¡°Why is daddy like a boy sometimes?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?   I don¡¯t know¡ªdoesn¡¯t talk.  It¡¯s in the shape of a chrysanthemum, opening,¡± her mother continued, as she returned her gaze to the vase across the concourse, ¡°Fragile. I think I am beginning to understand him, though.  Glimmers in the light¡ªhe gets sad, too. It¡¯s red and yellow in the middle¡ªmarble at the base; I wish he could let it go and be the rock.  It¡¯s as if he¡¯s sliding through life on Saturn¡¯s rings. The orange glass blossoms from the green stem, blood red on the petal tips.¡±


    Sofia glanced across the corridor at the vase ablaze in the sunlight, while her mother turned to her husband, repeating, ¡°Very delicate,¡± and then to Sofia, asking, ¡°Do you think he remembers we are here?¡±


    Sofia refocused on her dad as he released the lock, sending the toy jumping. He raised jazz hands to accentuate the fireworks he imagined exploding around him.


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty.¡±


    ¡°It would be perfect for the dining room table,¡± her mother added as her husband knocked the boomerang off the display, again.


    ¡°Boomerang, huh?  Then act like one,¡± her dad snapped at the boomerang, as he bent over to retrieve both toys, adding with a contralto, ¡°Come back, Toto, come back.¡±


    The shopkeeper watching Dad from behind a rack holding Greeting Cards of San Diego, now ignoring the customer, whispered, ¡°No, it¡¯s: run, Toto, run,¡± in his Russian accent, as the crowd grew, ¡°Telescopes, anyone?  Microscopes?¡±


    Sofia¡¯s mom, hearing this, looked over to the shopkeeper, lowered her head and raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement.


    ¡°A writer, I think, yes,¡± Sofia said.


    The shopkeeper nodded approval.


    ¡°Wonderful!¡± her mom said, turning to her. ¡°You would be a great writer.  Maybe too fragile.  What do you want to write about?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a story, a dream, I had.  I think, I will write about it,¡± Sofia said as she clutched the little star hanging from her pants.


    The shopkeeper moved over to stand beside Sofia and her mom, as Sofia¡¯s dad picked up the toy from the floor.


    ¡°You could write about this,¡± her mom said, pointing to her husband.


    ¡°I¡¯m not that good,¡± Sofia answered.


    ¡°No one is,¡± whispered the shopkeeper.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll buy that orange vase when we come home,¡± her mom said, then turning to Sofia, ¡°Sorry, what¡¯s the story, sweetie?¡± as her husband set down the toy, locked and loaded, distracted now by a second jumpy toy.


    Sofia explained her dream story about a star that fell from the sky and caused a commotion in a classroom, as her father picked up the second whatchamacallit.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lovely story,¡± Sofia¡¯s mother said as she glanced at the eavesdropping shopkeeper who nodded in agreement.


    ¡°What is he doing now?¡± Sofia asked.


    Her dad had wound up the second toy. The shopkeeper braced himself as he turned to watch Sofia¡¯s mother, amazed by her patience.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a clue,¡± her mother said.


    The shopkeeper whispered, ¡°No one does,¡± as the crowd of spectators continued growing.  ¡°Maybe he has to write his story, too.¡±


    Her husband released both buttons and both toys jumped over the table, slammed into each other, and fell off the sales desk, to the floor, and got entangled with each other and with her husband¡¯s shoelaces, the boomerang landing on top.


    Together, Sofia and her mother, along with the shopkeeper and the other patrons, watched as youth blossomed in the man.  Dad looked down at the tangled conglomeration of untied shoelaces, two whatchamacallits and a boomerang, and shouted, ¡°This boomerang is broken!¡±


    Then Sofia looked up and saw it on the ceiling: a stuffed mallard hanging just above the counter¡ªyellow beak, green head, brown body, and pink feet¡ªright in front of her eyes.


    Her dad approached the salesclerk with both toys his hands, but first turned and looked at his wife who lip-sync¡¯d ¡°On the plane?  To play with?¡±


    Mom turned away to hide her smile.


    Dad realized this purchase would not happen, and he set the toys down, the smile evaporating, muttering, ¡°I wanted that toy.¡±


    Suddenly, a power surge caused the toys hanging from the ceiling to start spinning.


    Then the duck winked.


    Sofia gasped, ¡°What is happening?¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The family began moving toward the boarding gate as the shop keeper offered to employ Sofia¡¯s father. ¡°You come back, work for me,¡± then turning to Sofia¡¯s mom, added, ¡°That glass vase over there, my other shop, I¡¯ll make you an offer¡ªyou can¡¯t refuse.¡±


    Sofia turned to look back at the duck as the group of pilots and flight attendants, the red umbrella, and the Comic-Con conga line, moved past as her father whispered, ¡°I liked playing with that toy¡ªthere were gears and an elastic coil, and I liked watching the behavior.¡±


    The shock wave of the winking duck transformed the elastic, orthotropic trabecular structure in Sofia¡¯s femur into that of a visco-hypo-elastic solid and she stumbled, turning back to the duck while overhearing her mother say to her father, ¡°Stop over-explaining bone structure¡ªno one needs those details.¡±


    Her mom and dad practically pulled her onto the plane, like two rubber duckies in a bathtub nudging a supertanker to its berth in Brooklyn before the arrival of a Mediterranean hurricane spiraling down the drain after her mom had pulled the plug on the bubble bath.


    The gate agent had announced the flight was not full, so Sofia had asked if she could sit behind her parents by the window with an empty seat to her left while her dad argued with a passenger who was stuffing a large suitcase over his jacket, ¡°Dude, that¡¯s mine, do you mind?¡±


    His wife exhaled and turned the page of her magazine.


    Sofia turned to look out the cabin window to watch the tarmac luggage loaders immersed in an epic battle to extract a small white mouse crouching beneath the left rear wheel of the plane, as a bar-coded baggage-tagged plastic pink flamingo made its way up the cargo ramp.


    One of the baggage handlers turned around, glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, spread his buttocks, bent forward, grimaced, and then subtly sniffed the air. His shoulders relaxed in apparent relief, and he walked away; and Sofia giggled.


    A large piece of luggage opened as it moved up the ramp.  It emitted a mysterious violet light.  Sofia noticed two yellow eyes gazing at her from within the bag.  A feathery disturbance zipped the luggage lid closed again, while the pink flamingo began to sling fisticuffs at what appeared to be a stuffed brown starfish.


    ¡°Let it go,¡± her mom nudged to her dad.  ¡°It¡¯s a jacket, it¡¯s not the end of the world.¡±


    The mouse ran out, stopped, turned, looked up to Sofia, winked and waved before making its escape, as the bag opened again, briefly and a tagged plastic pink flamingo was pulled back into the bag and the luggage zipped closed.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± Sofia thought when she watched the mouse.  ¡°The duck, and the mouse; and dad¡¯s flamingo.¡±


    A burst of sunlight burst through the clouds and a crisp rainbow shimmered into existence above the airport.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that lovely?¡± Sofia heard a woman say.


    While Sofia had been looking out the window, a woman with swept-back grey pixie hair, wearing a crisp blue pantsuit, pearls, diamond earrings, and crimson red Jimmy Choo pumps, had sat in her row, in the aisle seat on her left, leaving the middle seat empty.


    ¡°Good morning, my dear travelers,¡± a voice announced, ¡°This is your Captain, Ntozake Shange, welcoming you aboard, this lovely morning.  Please, now, to direct all marked attention to all instructions on the screens, now descended with grace.  In line for takeoff, yes indeed, on this blooming day, however there will be a slow-down due to last night¡¯s storm ferocity, and this morning¡¯s late arrivals from San Diego¡¯s great beyond.¡±


    Sofia and the woman both turned their attention to the lowering screens.


    Upon watching the safety instructions, ¡°fit the metal fastener into the clasp,¡± from the video, Sofia leaned over to her new companion and said, ¡°One day, we¡¯ll be flying across the galaxy, hopping from planet to planet and the flight attendants in the future will still have to explain how to buckle a seat belt.¡±


    From the row in front, her father smiled on hearing this as he snapped his belt and turned to his wife, poised to speak.


    Her mother turned to him and said, ¡°Just like you.¡±


    Her father smiled, muttering, ¡°Pluto.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯ll be our little footnote,¡± the woman whispered to Sofia.


    ¡°Good idea,¡± nodded her father. ¡°A footnote to clear the debris from the orbit.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± her mother said to her father.


    ¡°Too late.¡±


    ¡°Pluto.  Should¡¯a been a contender!¡± her dad shouted.


    Her mother turned back to Sofia and shook her head to express, ¡°We can still switch seats.¡±  She then turned to her husband and added, ¡°If you stopped taking out your hearing aids, you¡¯d know everyone on the plane heard you.¡±


    However, Sofia¡¯s dad did not hear his wife due to the newest fixation.  He had mistakenly tangled his shoelaces with his backpack beneath the seat before him and was trying to unhook his foot while his wife looked on, half nonplussed, and half not nonplussed, amidst his use of other shimmering words and incantations.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope that clarifies how to use the word nonplussed in a sentence.¡±


    The last Sofia remembered was her companion¡¯s smile as she drifted into sleep as the plane lifted anchor and ascended into the heavenly abyss.


    ***


    Sofia gazed out the window at a thundercloud billowing ominously in the distance, as if it were auditioning for a horror movie. Just as she contemplated how the cloud might be hiding something sinister, it dissolved, revealing an alien spaceship that zoomed up to the plane¡¯s window like it was preparing for a selfie.


    Inside the cockpit, two aliens appeared, each sporting large, smooth, bald heads that glistened menacingly under the cabin lights. They peered into her eyes as if weighing her soul, then turned to whisper conspiratorially to each other.


    With a gasp, Sofia blinked to clear her eyes, but the spaceship-cloud sparkled with internal flashes of violet lightning, casting an unsettling purple glow into the fuselage. One alien leaned over, grabbing a strap, and yanking it like it was trying to strangle the other, who was clutching a small GI Joe with a look of sheer panic.


    Suddenly, Sofia heard the ominous sound of shearing steel. Her own plane began to vibrate like a washing machine on its final spin cycle, and overhead compartments burst open like popcorn kernels in a microwave. Every color of the electromagnetic spectrum sparkled chaotically, creating a psychedelic light show that screamed, ¡°This is not your average flight!¡±


    The second alien fumbled wildly, struggling to lock a seat belt, its expression a mix of determination and impending doom. Sofia screamed from deep within her world, a mix of fear and disbelief.


    ***


    Sofia snapped awake to turbulence, whispering, ¡°Just a dream. It was just a dream. No spaceships.¡±


    However, had the cabin been transparent, the passengers would have shrieked at the sight of the helices of black wind clutching the tail of the plane as it blasted through a layer of clouds.  Deep within one of the turbines was something that no one would have seen: a small orange glow behind a cloud of smoke.


    The plane fell, and Sofia, restrained by the seat belt, felt the acceleration. Outside the window, she saw the wings swaying.


    ¡°Mom,¡± Sofia said.  ¡°It¡¯s flapping like a bird¡ªit¡¯s not supposed to fly like that. There was a spaceship out there.¡±


    ¡°It will be fine, Sofia,¡± Mom called back.


    The woman leaned forward and reassured Sofia¡¯s mother, with a tap on the shoulder, and a smile, and turned to Sofia and said, ¡°It was just a cloud¡ªand you have a lovely imagination, young lady.¡±


    Further along the fuselage, an over-head cabinet snapped open and a child''s stuffed baboon from the San Diego Zoo fell onto one of the passengers.


    Outside, blackness engulfed the plane, as it rolled to the left, and then the right, and then pitched, nose-down.


    The plane rose and then took another fall.  One of the flight attendants with flaming auburn hair tripped and flailed her arms as she fell.


    In the cabin, people exhaled forgiveness (blame someone and forgive), prayed (reeling in regrets), leaned forward against the seat in front in a brace position (drama queens who never learned to lip sync), grasped with great care for pills to relax (don¡¯t confuse them with Viagra).  Rows in front, a little boy vomited (to get even with his sister¡ªand on her). Anxieties blossomed in overlapping conversations, while her dad inspected the oxygen mask door, muttering ¡°This shit better open.¡±


    Sofia¡¯s mother turned the page of her magazine while her dad stated his fear about the overuse of fiber-reinforced composite materials in the aerospace industry that could fail in a catastrophic delamination that would fracture the fuselage causing the plane to crash, explode and kill everyone on board as her mother turned another page of her magazine.


    While ratcheting into the sky, the plane fell again, rising, losing its grip, and falling before ratcheting up again¡ªtwo steps forward, one back.


    Sofia clutched the edge of the seat and found herself holding hands with the woman seated next to her.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine, precious,¡± the woman said to Sofia.  ¡°We¡¯re in the strongest, most powerful ship ever built, and we will not flip and fall,¡± she continued, holding Sofia¡¯s hand.


    ¡°The Purple Cat.  She¡¯s trying to catch me!¡± Sofia whimpered, squeezing the woman¡¯s hand tightly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a pussy,¡± the woman replied as she burped loudly.


    Sofia froze.


    ¡°Cat,¡± the woman added quickly, ¡°Excuse me.  I¡¯m sorry,¡± pausing, then continuing, ¡°I don¡¯t know why I said that.  Gas.  I meant pussy cat¡ªdon¡¯t be a frightened cat.  Turbulence, sorry for that,¡± she finished, before whispering, ¡°I gotta stop smoking that skunk before a flight.¡±


    ¡°The Purple Cat¡¯s trying to steal my shadow,¡± Sofia insisted, awash from the delirium of the departure, and the possible collapse of another towering bluff in the aisle seat beside her.


    ¡°I sound ridiculous,¡± the woman muttered to herself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± said Sofia, confused by the woman¡¯s mutterings, ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± the woman replied, ¡°Just ignore that.  Our ship,¡± the woman continued after clearing her throat, ¡°Where was I?  Oh yes.  The ship.  That¡¯s right.  It¡¯s a Viking ship, and, um, we are sailing over a fjord of magical sea monsters.  Yes, that¡¯s right.  You can¡¯t see it, but we have a mast above us, billowing sails and a magic dragon leading us onward, and our pilot¡¯s name means she who walks with lions, and she will lead us through the storm.  I sound like an idiot.¡±


    The plane leveled.  The roaring subsided. The turbulence dissipated.  The passengers relaxed (except for one man who sat erect¡ªit wasn¡¯t a sleeping pill).


    Sofia calmed down.  Outside, the plane skirted a grey ocean of clouds.


    Over the speaker, the captain Shange announced, ¡°I apologize for the turbulence, over is the worst of this shaking, we have risen above the winds, so fierce,¡± and the plane continued its ascent, calmly.


    Sofia relaxed and smiled at her new friend.  They continued holding hands until the luggage that had fallen from the overhead compartments, had been re-stowed.


    ¡°Nothing takes down our ship.  Now, where are you off to today, Pepper?¡± the woman asked.


    ¡°To fight the Purple Cat ¡ª¡± Sofia paused, shook the dream from her head, and then continued, ¡°¡ªmy shadow back from...¡±  She paused again, adding, ¡°The eclipse took¡­ those kids laughed¡­ to visit my grandmother in Norway, and how did you know my nickname?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful,¡± the woman interrupted, as she tapped Sofia¡¯s mother¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Such important things to do, for such a beautiful young lady.  We must protect our shadows¡ªthey follow us.  Even in recovery, we need them; they remind us of our journey forward. And you¡¯re slaying dragons back home?¡±


    The woman caressed Sofia¡¯s left hand as Sofia continued to calm down.


    ¡°I start a new school soon,¡± Sofia added, ¡°But how did you know my nickname?¡±


    ¡°Gas.¡±


    Sofia¡¯s mom turned to observe, and the older woman nodded with a soft smile.


    Sofia twirled her hair and continued, ¡°But I don¡¯t know.  I¡¯m not like the other kids.  They have clothes,¡± she answered as she let her doll fall from her grasp onto the floor.


    ¡°Well, you can¡¯t expect them to walk around naked, can you?¡± the woman said. ¡°Maybe they haven¡¯t broken free of, what did you call it?  The Purple Cat?   Or maybe they¡¯ve lost¡­¡±


    ¡°Their shadows?¡± Sofia interrupted.


    ¡°Yes, of course.  That¡¯s lovely, my little one¡ªindividuality.¡±


    ¡°My friends are going to a different school,¡± Sofia interrupted.


    ¡°Oh, precious, I am sorry.  But imagine, when you see them again, you all bring new friends from your new school to the party,¡± the woman continued.


    ¡°They already have their groups.¡±


    ¡°Well slap me in the face with a fish,¡± the woman continued after a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°Those kids in groups¡ªthey never let you make up your own mind.  They look into your eyes to see their own reflections.¡±


    ¡°Reflections are bad?¡± Sofia asked, cable straining.


    ¡°Yes,¡± her dad said in the front seat, as he prepared to turn and speak to his daughter.


    ¡°I know, you know,¡± his wife interrupted, retraining her husband, ¡°but it¡¯s her life; she needs to hear it from others, too.¡±


    Sofia¡¯s dad sat back into deep thought, looked out the window, and thoughtfully wondered if he talks too much.


    ¡°You do,¡± his wife said, aloud.


    Her husband swiftly turned to look at his wife, who turned a page in her magazine.


    ¡°The larger the audience,¡± the woman continued to Sofia, ¡°the less you change¡ªyou can¡¯t leave the stage if the applause won¡¯t let you go,¡± she said.  ¡°Their adoration locks you into one way of seeing yourself.  Maybe this is your time to leave the mirror, my angel, leave the stage,¡± pausing and adding in yet another mysterious whisper, ¡°Why do women always get these motherly lines?¡±


    ¡°You read my mind?¡± Sofia¡¯s dad asked his wife.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°So, what do you see inside here?¡± Dad asked his wife.


    ¡°I¡¯m confused,¡± Sofia said to the woman. ¡°What¡¯s inside those kids? Why do those kids think those things?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing in there.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes, I don¡¯t think I know anything,¡± Dad said as he bit his knuckle and exhaled.


    Sofia¡¯s mom smiled in agreement and said to her husband. ¡°Yes, you do, if you stop wallowing in the past without feeling it, but this time, let that woman advise Sofia; and let her have the glory.¡±


    ¡°Hole.  It¡¯s just an empty hole in those kids,¡± answered the woman. ¡°Just influencers who don¡¯t want you to change and grow, so they can keep the audience.¡±


    ¡°I want the fun,¡± Dad said to his wife, ¡°But sometimes I forget the fun is in me.¡±


    Light from the rising morning sun blasted through the windows and ignited the fuselage with an orange glow. It refracted off the diamond earrings the woman was wearing.  Rainbows glittered throughout the cabin.


    ¡°How¡¯d they get inside?¡±  Sofia exclaimed.


    ¡°They must have come here to see you on your journey to battle that terrible purple cat,¡± the lady began before sinking into a strange melancholy, adding, just above a whisper, ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t mind dishing this sugary shit, bit sometimes I wish I was one of the crazies, too. Women give the advice all the time¡ªmotherly instinct, my ass¡ªwhile the men have all the fun.¡±


    Unsettled by the woman¡¯s eccentric murmurings, Sofia whispered, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Never mind, Pep.  I just lost my train of thought, again¡ªthe cabin pressure makes my head spin and, you know, gas.¡±


    Sofia refused to let go of the woman¡¯s hand and tightened her grip, drawn to the sudden appearance of the eccentric, in the lady¡ªbecause you never know when the towering bluffs collapse.


    ¡°And what do I adore most about rainbows?¡± the woman continued with a rising intonation. ¡°By the way, just ignore what I just said, Pep, just a moment ago¡ªI was thinking of something else.  As I was saying¡ªnow where was I¡ªoh yes, you can never tell where the red ends and the orange begins in a rainbow.¡±


    ¡°Is that important?¡± Sofia asked.


    ¡°Try looking for where one color becomes another in a rainbow.  So much, so: where the green becomes the yellow or the yellow becomes the orange¡ªfind beauty there; when you see it, time stops; you will see everything happens at once¡ªall stories; mine, yours, your dads, and it¡¯s all the same story, and you will write your story.¡±


    ¡°You said you can¡¯t see where the colors flow.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but never stop trying, sweet Pepper.  If you see a difference between yourself and another, there is always someone in between, another color, to bridge the difference. You¡¯ll learn to see beauty that way; and the search for beauty makes you beautiful.¡±


    ¡°True, but trite¡ªlike she said.¡±


    Dad nodded in agreement, as the woman inhaled deeply and then continued, ¡°Don¡¯t choose one thing, one way, one color.  Don¡¯t open just one door.  Open all the doors¡ªand go through all the passageways, Pepper, and¡± she added with a melodic intonation, ¡°And dance among the stars.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I should go through rainbow circles?¡± Sofia asked as glanced out the window, seeing a perfectly round rainbow.


    ¡°Smashing!  Through round rainbows¡ªyou can see them from a plane, you know, when the earth is not hiding the other half,¡± the woman affirmed. ¡°You¡¯ll defeat the Purple Cat and come home through a circular rainbow of light¡ªa glory hole in the fabric of space and time.¡±


    Then the woman leaned over and whispered, ¡°And it¡¯s not that I didn¡¯t like pink¡ªno, no, no. I just loved the color blue.¡±


    Layup, slam, dunk, friends for life.


    The two new friends talked for a while before Sofia drifted off to sleep, talking to herself as she fell into slumber, ¡°Why does everyone¡¯s luggage fall on me?¡± while the older woman, falling into her own somnolence, muttered, ¡°Why do the men always get the funny lines, and women are reduced to Kansas carnies spinning cloying clich¨¦s like cotton candy,¡± as she joined Sofia in dreamland, ¡°And I was all set to explain the Green Flash to this girl¡ªand now some man is going to do it.¡±


    ¡°To be fair, she did get the line about the glory hole.¡±


    As they were both now asleep, neither saw it.  No one on the plane saw it, just outside the window. Before the sun, ninety-three million miles away, dipped below the horizon, and was gone for the day, a brilliant laser of intense monochromatic light¡ªa brilliant green flash¡ªstreaked across the sky.


    However, deep within the turbines of the jumbo jet, immersed in a magical eerie light and a haze of smoke, fumed a creature with dark coal eyes that the passage through the storm had not sheared off the plane.