Thursday, May 14, 2009
A Short Story from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son
“Dual Dreadms and John Hill (1968-1976)"
by W.Z Snyder
© 2006 William Snyder
Dreams are wiser than men.
I was shuffling through the playground sand at Hawthorne Memorial Park on the corner of Prairie and El Segundo. It was 1968 and I was in the fourth grade. The park was completely empty. It was quiet; there were no cars on the road, no other kids, no old Italians playing bocce ball, no planes in the sky. I was feeling kind of lonely, and then I noticed John Hill from my class at Saint Joseph’s swinging on the monkey bars. He was wearing his thick black-rimmed glasses and our school uniform, a neatly pressed white collared shirt and salt and pepper corduroy pants.
“Hill!” I shouted to him.
The kid was doing some amazing things on those monkey bars. He looked like some kind of gymnast, swinging up and over the bars. John Hill was a pretty good athlete but these moves were nearly impossible.
“Hill!” I shouted again as I sprinted to the monkey bars.
“What are you doing here?”
Hill let go of the bar, did three flips, and in the same motion, shot upward to the square platform at the top of the big metal winding slide. Dumbfounded, I executed a Little Rascals style double take. Something wasn’t right.
“What the heck? How did you do that Hill?”
“We’re in a dream Snyder. You can do anything you want.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding, Snyder?”
He hopped down from the platform, strolled over to the basketball court and casually picked up a weathered red, white and blue, ABA style ball that just happened to be sitting at mid-court. John Hill dribbled the ball, showing moves that would have put Walter Clyde Frazier, himself to shame. Upon reaching the free throw line, he leapt into the sky and threw down a crushing, rim-rattling, two handed Wilt Chamberlain style dunk.
“Go ahead and try something Snyder. Nothing’s impossible in a dream.”
Taking a couple of steps, I leapt into the sky. I became weightless as I shot rapidly above the park and into the clouds. I was flying. The cool pristine breeze rushed against my face. Freedom. Hill was right. This felt too real to be a dream. John Hill promptly joined me amongst the mysterious white clouds. “Try this.” Hill said.
He dove into a cloud. I followed him into the thick fog that made up the immaculate white cloud. It felt good, wet droplets spitting against my face. The pure white light from the sun hurt my eyes as I emerged. I really dug flying. I still do, at middle age - in my dreams. It feels so incredible, so free, and always so real. John Hill taught me well.
“So Snyder,” Hill looked at me as we shot past a screeching seagull, “isn’t it weird that we’re both having the same dream at the same time?”
“I thought this was my dream.”
“Well, it’s my dream too. Isn’t that obvious to you?”
Hill was the smartest kid in the class.
“This is your dream?”
“No. It’s our dream Snyder; I read about this in a psychology book.”
“No stupid, dual dreams. Two people sharing the same dream.”
"How do I know you’re not just part of my dream and the real John Hill isn’t at home dreaming about the Green Bay packers?”
“Here’s a simple solution, Snyder. Ask me about the dream when you see me at school tomorrow.”
He spun left, executed a series of rapid rolls and spins before rocketing off into the horizon over the blue Pacific.
Dual Dreams and John Hill can be read, in it's entirety in The EIght Fingered Criminal's Son, available in a book store in Thailand in November of 2010 - Or you can check current entries to this blog to order a copy of this book...