The Green Aura Island Dream

Snug in my bed, I wake up to my aunt Linda shaking me and telling me it is time to go. In a sleepy haze, I gather my packed book bag and take my place in the backseat of my aunt's SUV.

"Is everyone ready?" my mother shouts to my aunt and I. Linda closes the trunk and heads toward the passenger seat. My mother would drive this leg of the trip, and Linda would drive home. Along the way, basic conversation between the two women creates a nice white noise for me to doze off to. I normally had trouble sleeping in a moving car, but not today.

The car bounces up and down and comes to an immediate stop. I open my eyes and see that Linda and my mother are fumbling with bags and empty soda cans before exiting the car. My door opens, and Linda is ready to carry me out of the car.

"It's time to walk now. Almost there." my aunt reassures me. She helps put my book bag on my back and gives me a small plastic grocery bag to carry. While Linda and my mother take more bags out of the car, I kick the large gravel stones in the parking lot. The noise carried to the ear of an older man with a few gray hairs left on his head, and many more growing from his ears. He starts to approach us. Being only in the second grade, I am shorter than him, but I know that in a few years I could probably tower over him. He was bent over like a bendy straw, which I don't believe could be comfortable.

"Time for the adults to talk." the man says. I knew I would forget his voice, but the smell omitted from his mouth would stay with me forever. I wish it was the other way around.

The three adults are talking now and I begin to move forward. It is about time we get moving. Once I leave the gravel, I am on crunchy brown grass. The weeds are up to my knee, and some of them are very prickly. Linda is the first to catch up to me, followed by my mother.

"It's just up ahead. A small walk won't hurt us at all! I don't know what that guy was saying. As long as we can get there, we're going." mother said. I have no problem walking, but I am sure there are a thousand better ways to get there. The wind is just cold enough to make my skin crawl. My nose is stinging, but it seems like I am the only one aware of this, so I have to keep everyone informed of my discomfort until we reach our destination.

Neither my aunt nor my mother acknowledge that I have even said a word. They just keep leading me through the grass. It almost feels like we are going on a nature hike. From what I know of nature hikes, eventually you end up at your car again.

"We're going in circles. I know it. Let's go home." I say. No one responds, and I continue to move on.

I knew we were in for trouble, and now I am sure of it. We approach two bridges. Both are suspended over a large hole in the earth.

"Time to turn back. Can I have my sandwich now?" I asked.

"Let's take this one here." my mother points to the left bridge. The left bridge is wooden and winds around a bit. It is suspended like an Indiana Jones bridge. Those always turned out to be a disaster choice.

"Where are we going?" I ask. I suppose I had no curiosity earlier and was content just to go on the ride. My mother and I to this day enjoy taking rides in the country. However, we always go home after a short while and I believe we are now bordering on a long while.

Again, no one responds to my concern. Instead, the two women argue over which bridge to cross. I cannot believe we are even considering walking near one of these things. It seems to me like a broken Indiana Jones bridge would result in turning around and finding a new way, or giving up. I am in full support of just giving up.

"The left one can hold the weight." my mother began to raise her voice, which decides it. We are going to the left one.

The bridge is everything I thought it would be. It is made of splinters and parts of old cars and medal scraps. The ropes are probably made from the brown crunchy grass woven together. And on that bridge, we walk.

The two bridges stemmed from around the same area and then parted in a Y shape. My fear is that we are taking the one that leads to the wrong place. This time, however, I keep that thought to myself. The sky touching the treetops seems to be glowing green. The light continues down toward the island, so that it looks like there is a glowing green dome over the entire area. The air is thick and hard to take in.

"I think a storm is coming." I say, half to myself. We move forward, but without concern. Once we are off the bridge, I am able to breathe normally again. My mother snatches my hand immediately and we begin to run toward this little cottage. The home could have been from a painting. It is very simple and clean on the outside.

Without knocking, Linda opens the door for my mother and I. Inside the house is a complete disaster. Clothes, food, papers, sports equipment, and cats fill the living room. The mother of the house greets my mom with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

The mother is exactly what a movie would portray as the stereotypical mom. She has three children, is wearing an apron, and although she is smiling you can hear her labored breathing from not sleeping well at night. Perhaps she is worried about the bills, her children, her marriage and that keeps her up at night. Perhaps her children keep her going until she eventually passes out from desperation. Either way, she is far too young for wrinkles, but her eyes are squinting at me and her hands feel and look like my grandmother's hands.

"I have children, too" the woman leaned down to tell me, "and they are very excited to see you!" She points to a small opening where her children's room is. There is not a door, it is just open for everyone to see. It, too, is filled with garbage. I climb over everything and finally meet a boy around my age. I seem to have aged during this trip. I feel like a teenager now. I am a teenager now.

"I play the drums," the boy says, "what is your hobby?"
"I do a lot of things." I respond.
"No, I mean what is the hobby for you?" I cannot for the life of me figure out what he is talking about. Does he want to know my favorite hobby?
"I guess I like being outside." I say, rather delayed.
"You are not tall enough for that. You're a liar." The boy goes over to a chart that looks like one that a family has to keep track of how much their child is growing. Instead of measurements, the chart has hobbies and jobs listed. According to your height, you should be involved in a particular activity. It keeps the society diverse and working well together.

I look around and see more charts. Some have birthdays, some involve what length of hair one should have, and every chart that was displayed clearly revealed that I was not living my life the way it was intended.

Suddenly, the new family rushes toward the window. The mom quickly gives the oldest son, the one closest to my age a look. It seems like this is a normal procedure for them. He grabs my hand and we start running outside.

The green orb became richer in color. It is isolated just beyond the trees near the family's home. Hand in hand, the boy and I begin to run toward the hill that the green orb was engulfing. I laugh and smile and enjoy the run. Once we reach a few feet away from the hill, we could not pick up our feet. The green orb became an energy, and we were too late to stop it. Shocking spikes shoot up my legs and fill my entire body with energy.

Then it stopped. I am let go to run back with my energy and knowledge from the green aura. It followed me back to the home. I run to my mother. I am young again. My mother picks me up and we decide it is time to leave.

The mother said she hopes that someday we will join her.

I sleep until I hear aunt Linda and my mother arguing about the bridge again. I open my eyes, and see the green aura growing. In a way I miss it, and then again I am glad to be going home.

We arrive back at our car and the old man is there to greet us and to tell my mother that we need to pay him. An argument begins, but my head is too fuzzy to put together the words that are being said. It all sounds like mumbles to me.

It's been a few days since my trip. I took some pictures and I am ready to show my friend Cassie. There are nice ones of scenery, me sleeping in the car, my lunch box, the gravel driveway. The next one, however, is completely out of place. I see a picture of my mother and aunt Linda in 1800s gowns with big hats strangled and drowned in the sea of water we walked over. I drop it on my bed in shock.

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And then I woke up.