I Guess This World Is Over

My eyes darted left and then right; the room was mostly dark but I could see the dust flurries falling in the golden light shining through the heavily-curtained bunkhouse window. I slowly sat up and searched the room for my alarm clock. There it was. Eleven o' clock. AM. Early for me but very, VERY late for them. I hopped out of my bottom bunk space and trotted barefoot and pajama-clad into the mess hall.

The mess hall contained two very long wooden tables where everyone sat together for meals. The ceilings were high and the echoing voices of the "lunch ladies" could be heard from a distance. "Lunch ladies" would be selling them short, though; they also cooked breakfast and dinner.

Of course, I came in at odd times and usually missed organized meals. I routinely raided the cabinets myself much to their dismay. Today was no different. Underneath the condiment table was a cabinet with a random assortment of no-cook breakfast foods left over from earlier; tiny boxes of cereal, bags of bagels, and loose pouches of Poptarts. I decided to try my luck with the Poptarts.

I selected a shiny silver pouch, opened it, and.....what? No frosting? Who eats Poptarts without frosting?

I took a bite.

Cherry.

Cherry is my favorite but...entirely too dry. Hmmm.

I finished the first Poptart but tossed the second one (still in its silvery pouch) in the trash.

Gross. Why do they even make those?

Still barefoot and in my sleep shorts and tank top, I grabbed my notepad and headed out toward the front entrance to see what was going on. The director and the other leaders glanced over at me as new campers arrived. I pretended to scribble things down in my notepad but really I was looking at the mountains and trying to figure out where exactly I was.

When I was sure none of the counselors were watching me, I walked up to a parent and asked her where I was.

"Switzerland", she answered in another language.

Oh. That makes sense. I thought I was in Europe.

As the children started to take shape and form into something camp-like, the buses and the parents left. People disbursed. I rounded a corner so no one would see me then I furiously scribbled words in my notebook. I whispered something magical into the air and all at once my notebook became a contraption which strapped to my back. My pen multiplied and became four long wooden rods which could be twirled in such a way that I could fly.

I burst back through the front entrance of the dining hall and ran the length of the place. When I came out the other end, I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and facing a downward slope. I jumped down the hill and twirled the sticks above my head so I floated and landed gently on the horse path that separated the buildings and the paddocks. The nearby campers on horses ooh'd and ahh'd. The young Asian woman guiding them was beyond angry. She left them behind and approached me.

"Why are you flying? You know you're forbidden to have that machine here with you! You're supposed to be writing! Go back to your cabin right now!"

I looked at her strangely and drew inappropriate signs at her in the air with my sticks. My mouth opened, but not a word escaped so I made more signs which she quite obviously didn't understand.

"What on Earth are you doing?! Stop playing with me. I'm seriously losing patience here; I can't just drop what I'm doing with the rest of these kids every time you feel like doing something different! If you don't go back to your cabin this instant, I'm going to have to report you to the director and you're going to get written up again."

I frowned at the girl. My sticks began to wave; I drew pictures in the air that only I could see. I took a few steps back then....magic! I was propelled upward by the thing on my back which was somehow controlled by the sticks in my hands. The woman screamed at me in another language and I laughed at her from a good fifteen feet above her head. The children on horses all looked on with great concern.

"Come down here, you coward!", she shouted in another language. She was terribly angry.

All at once, I heard voices on radios; they were all coming for me. I was scared but I was confident that I wouldn't be taken because they couldn't catch me. I whirled my sticks and drew fabulous works of art that only I could see and my backpack sent me forward, following the horse path into the shady area between the barns and a fence lined by a row of tall trees. The Asian woman was chasing me on foot and others were coming on horse. Flight was no longer an option so I put the sticks away and jumped. I bounded forward at an alarming pace; even those on horses couldn't catch me. When I reached the front entrance, the sticks appeared once more and I hovered a few feet above those in charge of the camp. I couldn't understand their language this time but I understood that I wasn't allowed back ever again.

I rounded the corner of the long building and floated into a farmer's market. My head kept bumping into the ceiling of the shed overhang but no one seemed to notice; it was as if I were invisible. Big strong Russian-looking men were buying fruits and vegetables and tiny little girls were tending to baskets of flowers. The old-fashioned cash register made ching-ching noises at regular intervals.

I looked across the road and thought that it was such a short distance yet a huge undertaking to actually cross. For just a moment, I looked at the yellow stripes down the middle and I was back in Brightwood again. I was on the ground with my new bicycle and behind me was a party of presents and picnic tables and cake. In front of me was the road and across it was a very tall garage and steps leading to the loft above. I no longer needed my training wheels but they didn't know that; when I finally crossed and showed them it was a complete surprise! I don't even know how I learned, but I did. That moment was imprisoned in a photograph and that's how I know about it.

But no.....I wasn't on the ground and there was no party behind me, nor was there any garage or loft before me. It appeared to be another farmer's market shed but instead of patrons there was an entire black church full of mourners standing around sobbing openly. With a little movement of my sticks, I was soon above them.

I heard familiar music. What...? I let myself down gently and the sticks disappeared from my hands. I wandered in and out of the crowd until I came to an opening with a stage. There on the stage was a gospel band. Everything looked like business as usual but they were playing the song, World Over by Edna's Goldfish. I looked around me and big black ladies with ridiculous hats were weeping and praising Jesus. I felt a familiar warmth overtake me; like the sun had just come out from behind the clouds. When the second verse began, I stepped forward into the front row. I closed my eyes, smiled, and looked upward. I began to quietly mouth the words.

Weeks to go before I leave for good
You don't know my name
But you probably should...

I opened my eyes and suddenly everyone around me was aware of the music I was hearing. Everyone was angrily looking at me as if it were my fault. Even the gospel band had stopped playing and looked confused as to where the music was coming from. Though incredibly self-conscious, I closed my eyes and continued to sing louder. I could hear the angry mob over the music and my own voice. Suddenly, I threw up my arms and screamed wildly. This seemed to confuse and quiet them momentarily.

"God! It's from God! The music you hear is coming from the sky! God is playing Edna's Goldfish for me!"

I closed my eyes and kept singing, smiling, and looking up. I knew the crowd was closing in on me but I didn't care. I became one with the music and --