DESTINATION UNKNOWN
                                  Part 2

                             Lyndon DeRobertis


copyright 1994
Lyndon DeRobertis14.  WHEN YOU DON'T HAVE ANY IDEA WHERE YOU'RE GOING, IT DOESN'T
REALLY MATTER WHICH WAY YOU TURN.  THE WIND WILL BLOW YOU THIS
WAY AND THAT, AND YOU'LL END UP GOING EXACTLY WHERE YOU WERE
MEANT TO GO (OR AT LEAST WHERE THE WIND WANTS YOU TO GO)


     I felt like a salmon swimming upstream.  As I tried to walk,
it seemed people were pushing me from the opposite direction. 
But every time I turned the other way I met the same fate. 
Finally we turned a corner, and a gust of wind blew everyone
behind me away.
     I smiled to myself as I turned back and saw I was alone, but
the wind blew my precious note out of my shirt pocket and glued
it to my face.
     I tried to peel the page off, but the wind held it with icy
fingers.  I was grasping at the frozen fingertips, trying to
uncoil them, when I walked into a stop sign, and fell face down
into a puddle of grease.
     I spat out mouthfuls of goo and stared at the sodden page,
which floated in the grease.  It began to fade and disintegrate
and suddenly burst into a flower of flames, which burned a hole
in the street and sucked up the grease and the broken bottles by
the curb, along with an overflowing bag of scattered garbage.
     I dashed away just as it was devouring an abandoned,
stripped hull of a car.  It seemed this was clean-up day, and if
discarded junk was what the hole was eating, I had a sneaking
suspicion I'd be next if I didn't get away fast.
     I dashed over piles of flying rubble that swooshed around me
to their doom, and saw the crumpled page flying at me as a
passing cloud spewed it out in a flash of flooding rain.
     It was the same crumpled page.  I know, because when I
peeled it off my face (again) I saw the grease stains, and I re-
read the message.  "Meet me at 11:00 at the place where we met."
     Just then the rain stopped, and the page flew out of my
hands and fell between the cracks of a gutted building that must
have once been an imposing mansion.  And as the sun blared over-

head, a flower sprouted out of the page and quickly began
clothing the building in tufts of color and promise.  Its roots
grew wider and wider, and flowers of color sprang up faster and
faster.
     "Meet me at 11:00," I chanted the sacred words as the broken
bricks all around me disappeared and the entire block turned into
a flowery field.  "At the place where we met."
     I chanted the words over and over, and I knew this was the
place where we met.
     I wanted to run through the grass and flowers and stay there
forever with the girl who wrote the note, but the wind gushed up
again and blew me off my feet.
     I flapped my hands, grabbing for something to hold on to,
but the wind kept pushing me back.  I latched onto a tree as the
wind whipped my feet in the air.  I held on as long as I could,
and then I was flung up into the air and around the corner, and I
fell to the sidewalk with a thud.
     I jumped up and ran back to the corner. I leaned on the
brick building and cautiously peered around the other side, but
there was only a city street there -- the field of flowers was
gone.
     With a sigh, I hurried down the sidewalk, racing for the
next corner, hoping I could get back to where I had been.
     This street looked just like the one that had been filled
with the river of racing people.  Except now the people who
strolled along this block seemed to be going in slow motion.
     I moved my hand. It seemed to be going at normal speed.
     I jumped up in the air.  I fell on my rear as normally as I
could expect.  But the people were gooooiiinnnnnggggg
aaaallllooonngg sssooooooooooooo
sssssssssslllooooooooooooooooowllllllyyyyyyyyyy.
     "Excuse me," I smiled to a polite-looking slowpoke woman.
"Do you know if it's 11 yet?"
     She turned her head ever so slowly to face me.  She smiled
and opened her mouth and spoke, but the words took so long to
reach me, I had no idea what she said.  She walked past inch by
inch by inch.
     I flagged down a small boy.  "Do you know where there's a
park, or field of flowers, or something like that?"
     The boy shrugged forever.  I began to yawn, and I had to
shake myself awake.
     "MAGIC, MAGIC, MAGIC," a voice was saying behind me, and
that woke me up with a start.  I turned around and saw the Kid.
     He couldn't have been more than two or three years old. 
Maybe less.  He was wearing a diaper.  But he was standing on a
soap box waving his hands (at, at least normal speed, if not
faster).  I noticed he was waving over a tall black magician's
hat that stood on the sidewalk, and it must have been at least as
tall as he was.
     The slow-motion people tossed coins into his hat, and every
coin that fluttered down took so long to reach its destination
that it burst into a dollar bill.  And the bills took so long to
fall that they turned into fives, then tens, twenties, and
fifties.
     I would have tossed a coin too, if for nothing else, just to
see this magic inflation at work, but of course, I didn't have a
coin.
     The Magician, however, spotted my ring, and his eyes grew
wide.
     "STEP RIGHT UP," he yelled. It was a command.  I turned
away.
     Out of the corner of my eye I saw the Kid waving his wand
wildly at me. "You will come here..." he shrieked.
     I began to run.  But suddenly the people all around me began
to speed up, and they flashed past me.
     As I looked down at the sidewalk, I saw my legs were going
like crazy, but I wasn't moving.
     I tried to run faster, and faster, but I was going
backwards.
     My hand was starting to hurt, and I looked down and saw my
ring was glowing brightly.
     Then my arm began to glow.  And the glow spread and spread,
until my whole body was aflame.  I felt this tremendous pressure
inside me, and then suddenly I burst down the street with a
flashing bolt and turned the corner. 
     I leaned against a lamppost, gasping for breath.   Far in
the distance I could hear the Soap-Box Kid crying like a baby,
but the sound was soon drowned out by the roaring rush in my
head.  I panted and panted trying to calm myself down. 
Eventually the noise died down until all I heard was a dull
rumble.  "Whew," I gasped as I stood up and walked slowly down
the road.
     Across the street was a billboard advertising some chocolate
bar.  Before I could figure out which kid of chocolate bar it
was, the ad changed to a steak sandwich, and then an ice cream
sundae, then french fries.
     The rumbling sound was getting louder and I realized it was
my stomach again. "When was the last time you fed me!!!" it
roared.
     "When was the last time I ate?" I wondered. And then I was
really starving.  Blind hunger washed over me, and I staggered
under its weight.
     "Food, food," I mumbled as I plodded down the pavement, my
tongue dragging behind me.
     Someone stuck a piece of paper under my face.
     "GOOD FOR ONE FREE MEAL" the coupon read.
     I looked up at the toothless smiling three-piece suit that
held out the card.
     "What's the catch?" I muttered.
     "Catch?" the smile snickered.
     I shrugged as I walked into the restaurant beside us.
     Inside there was a giant table filled with food.  I mean,
there was everything there.  I stared, and my mouth started to
water.
     "How many sir?" the waiter asked.
     "Uh, one, I guess."
     "Follow me, please," the waiter smiled, and he led me to a
table that faced the food.
     He brought out a giant plate filled with something that
smelled wonderful.  I couldn't tell what it was from the smell,
nor could I figure it out when he placed it before me.  But even
my eyes were drooling.
     I handed him my coupon, and he snickered.
     Whatever the dish was, there was plenty of it, but I
polished it off in about 16 seconds.
     I looked up from the empty plate to that table filled with
food.  My stomach ached, and I felt even hungrier than before.
     "Will there be anything else?" the waiter asked, sensing the
hunger in my eyes.
     "Why yes!" I gasped.  "I'll have one of those and one of
those and one of those," I blurted, pointing wildly at the table,
and he scribbled them all down.
     "Before I bring out your food, sir, please pay the cashier
in advance.  It comes to...forty three dollars and fourteen
cents." He tore off the bill.  "Plus sales tax and a 15%
gratuity, of course," he added.
     I reached into my pocket and pulled out air.  I swallowed
and tried to smile.
     The waiter's eyes were on fire.  "I thought as much!" he
shrieked and grabbed my ear.
     He dragged me across the room, stopping to take several
orders as we went.  I couldn't take my eyes off the table, and
the people that sat looking at it as well.  I watched them hand
in their coupons with their eyes on the food, and when they'd
finished their complimentary meals, they handed their waiter
money, and more, and more, and more...and then suddenly I was
booted back onto the street.
15.  SOONER OR LATER EVERYONE IS ASKED TO PLAY THE FOOL, AND IT'S
EASIER TO DO WHAT THE MONKEY WANTS SO HE'LL GET OFF YOUR BACK,
EVEN IF IT MEANS YOU HAVE TO WALK AROUND WITH A PAPER CUP ON YOUR
HEAD AND WORK FOR PEANUTS


     I walked along with my hands in my pockets and felt
something wet on my cheek.
     "Rain," I decided quite brilliantly, and dashed under the
alcove of the nearest building.  I wiped the drop off my face and
noticed it was red.
     I peeked up from under the alcove and saw another deep red
tear floating down through the thick, grey, soupy air.  Then I
heard the roar of a distant plane and felt the building shake
around me.  The plane sliced through the haze, leaving a black
trail behind, which seemed like a zipper unzipping the sky from
horizon to horizon. I could almost see a deep clear blue leaking
out through the zipper teeth.
     I stared up past the skyscrapers that tore into the haze and
left scratches and tears on the sky, and my head was spinning in
circles as I tried to figure out where the red raindrops were
coming from.
     Something was tugging at my pant leg, and my gaze came
crashing down from the clouds toward the concrete walk, and
landed on a furry brown monkey with a paper cup hat on his head.
     The monkey smiled and tugged on the hat in a friendly
greeting, stretching the rubber band that held it under his chin
until I thought it would snap.
     "Hi," I giggled nervously.  Then I noticed the tin can in
his hand, and I heard the organ grinder's music somewhere around
the corner.
     "Sorry," I shrugged.  "No money," and I pulled out my empty
pockets to prove it to the stern look that washed over the smile
which had greeted me.
     The furry monkey stepped back with his hands on his hips. 
He clicked his tongue and spat on my shoes.
     "Gee, I said I'm sorry," I stammered.
     The monkey turned around in disgust and looked for someone
else who liked animals and music enough to appreciate them with
something that counted.
     Then he stopped and snapped his fingers.  He pulled out a
rag and dashed back to where I stood and began polishing my
shoes.
     "Hey, I said I don't have any money," I gasped.
     The monkey beamed up at me, pulled out an iron and started
ironing my shirt and pants -- with me in them!
     "Ouch!" I screamed, but in a flash he was finished and I
felt like I was in a plaster suit.
     "Thanks a lot," I whispered as I tried to disappear into the
building's shadows.
     But the monkey walked closer and backed me up against the
brick wall.  Then my captor pulled off the paper cup cap and
leaned closer, motioning for me to bend down.  Swallowing, I did
as I was told.
     "Closer," the wave commanded.
     I could feel his hot breath on my cheek.  He put his hand
around his mouth and cupped it against my ear.
     "Hey, you owe me now.  So listen up.  I've got to go
downtown for a while -- continuing education class at the junior
college, you know.  It's the only way to get ahead in this
racket.  Now put this hat on and take the cup and fill in for me
for a while.  The old man will never notice."
     I stood speechless while the monkey strapped the cup under
my chin and stuck the can in my numb fingers (after he first
emptied the coins into his hand).
     "Hey, thanks, guy," the monkey smiled.  "Be back in a
while."
     And he was off.  The old organ grinder turned the corner
just then.
     "Giuseppe," he yelled.  "Come on, let's seea how mucha you
got."
     He pulled my hand and looked in the can.
     "You beena stealing from me again!" he thundered. "I'ma
gonna keepa my eye on you. Now geta dancin!"
     "I..." I started.  But somehow I couldn't talk.
     "Giuseppe, starta dancin!"
     "Oooh, Oooh," I grunted as I hopped around and smiled at the
people who passed by.
     Nickels, dimes, quarters, and dollars came sailing my way,
and I scrambled to pick them up and stick them in the can.
     "That'sa my boy," the organ grinder laughed, and he played
faster and faster.
     The sun was going down and I could hardly move.
     "O-kaaay.  That'sa nuff for today.  You did a gooda job,
boy.  It'sa that new dance I teacha you that dida trick.  Here's
some peanuts," he offered as I handed over the can full of money.
     He held out the peanuts and I reached for them.  I looked in
horror at the hand that I put forth -- it was covered in brown
fur.  I looked down at my other hand.  It was just starting to
come in on that one too.
     "I've got to get out of here," I gasped, but the only thing
that came out was "Oooh, Oooh."
     "Psst.  Hey bud," I heard from over by one of the buildings. 
"Come here."
     I hobbled over and saw it was the monkey.  He was wearing a
graduation cap and he had a diploma in his hands.
     "Hey, thanks a lot," the monkey whispered.  "I'll take over
now."  He pulled off my hat and took the can.  "Hey bud, you need
a shave!" he chortled, looking me over.
     I stood in the shadow of the building while the monkey went
up to the organ grinder, threw the diploma at him, and began
yelling in a loud voice.
     The monkey tossed the paper cup and the tin can into the
organ grinder's hands and grabbed the organ.  I watched as they
headed down the street, with the ex-organ grinder dancing and
"Oooh, Oooh"ing.  The new organ grinder winked at me as he played
and played, making the old man dance faster and faster, and then
they were gone out of sight.
     I shook my head and sighed in relief as I noticed my hand
was back to normal, and then I sat down on the curb to eat my
peanuts.
     I leaned back against the building and cracked the first one
open.
     "HEY!  What's going on?" a tiny voice yelled from inside.  I
stared down at the opened shell and saw a brown nut standing up
and waving his hand angrily at me.  He was in flannel pajamas and
had a wool cap on his head.
     "What is it, dear?" a squeaky female voice called from under
the unopened part of the shell.
     "Nuttin' honey.  Go back to sleep," the peanut whispered. 
"I'll take care of this."  Then he turned back to me with a
growl.  "OK buster...Put that shell back the way you found it,
and let us get some sleep.  OR ELSE!"
     I smiled politely and dropped the pile of peanuts in the
corner.  I got up and quickly hurried off.
     "BETTER THINK TWICE NEXT TIME!" the peanut yelled after me.
16.  BETWEEN LIFE AND DREAMS IS A WALL OF GLASS THAT WILL NOT LET
US ENTER, NO MATTER HOW HARD WE POUND, OR HOW LONG WE WAIT.  BUT
LIKE EVERY WALL, THERE MUST BE AN END SOMEWHERE UP AHEAD, AND
THUS THERE IS ALWAYS HOPE THAT DREAMS CAN COME TRUE


     "Talking monkeys and peanuts," I muttered as I walked down
the street.  If this isn't a dream, then I've got to be crazy!" 
And then I happened to glance across the street.
     Sitting on a porch step sat the most beautiful woman I had
ever seen.  She was looking at me as the last rays of sunlight
all seemed to flow down around her like a blanket of warm golden
feathers.
     Our eyes met, and I could not look away.  As I stared into
her eyes of brilliant blue, I saw flashes of the two of us,
somewhere far away.  Somewhere where we were always together. 
Somewhere where we both knew who we were and what we wanted and
we were a part of one another and nothing else mattered.  I saw
us laughing and singing and living.
     I blinked and noticed she had risen from the porch and had
walked to the curb.  We stood across the street facing each other
and I had this urge to run to her.
     I could almost see us running in slow motion through a field
of flowers, laughing and laughing as we met and fell in the soft
grass, wrapped in an endless embrace.
     I stepped off the curb, and a car whizzed by, just inches
from my foot.  Another and another streamed past.  I jumped back
onto the curb and noticed she had done the same thing.
     The cars sped by faster and faster.
     I could see the fear in her eyes, and I wanted to hold her,
and tell her everything would be all right.
     But the cars kept going quicker and faster, and they roared
louder and louder until they were a blur of light, and the noise
a dull distant hum.  The blur of cars seemed like a glass wall
that separated us.
     I pressed my face up against the wall and she did the same
on the other side.
     She stared at me with lost eyes that mirrored my own.
     Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear what she said over the
humming roar.
     "What is your name?" I mouthed in silent words.
     She didn't answer.  I tried again, this time making sure I
enunciated each twist of my mouth.
     She understood.  But I couldn't figure out what she was
saying.  "Cassandra?" I whispered.
     Her lips moved again.  I had no idea what she was trying to
say. "I love you!" I screamed in frustration, but I could not
hear my own voice.
     "I love you, too," she sighed unmistakably, and tears ran
down her cheeks.
     I pressed my hand against the glass wall to pound it down,
and fell into the whizzing colors, flowing in the blur.  Faster
and faster I went, and blinding colors whirled around my head. 
Louder and louder the colors danced and raced until I thought my
mind would burst.  And then, just as suddenly as it had all
started, everything was silent, and I was sitting in the middle
of the street.  Alone and in the dark.

17.  LIFE MAY BE A PLAY, AND ALL THE WORLD (AND OUR MINDS) A
STAGE, BUT THERE SURE ARE A LOT OF DIFFERENT SCRIPTS OUT THERE


     I crawled over to the curb and lay there face down, tired
and empty.  I didn't feel like getting up, ever.  I had just seen
Heaven, and life (or this dream, or whatever it was I seemed to
be stuck in) didn't seem worth the trouble plodding through.  But
if I could only find her, then maybe it would all be worth
it...but how?
     Bright headlights stung my eyes and I stood up, shielding
them.  But I couldn't move.  A long black limousine had run over
my shoelace.
     I hobbled over on one foot, and knocked on the black, tinted
windows.
     "Excuse me, can you back up a little?" I pleaded, trying to
pull my foot out as I spoke.
     The window rolled down and a hand reached out and began
autographing my forehead.  The window rolled closed again, and
suddenly a crowd was "Ooh"ing and "Aah"ing all around me.
     "It's HIM!" girls cooed as they stared at the limousine.
     Suddenly I was crushed against the car as everyone screamed
to get closer to the movie star inside the limo.
     The car screeched away with a puff of smoke, and my shoelace
must have gotten caught around the wheel, because I found myself
being dragged off down the street.
     My sneaker finally fell off a half a block down and I rolled
onto the sidewalk.
     "There you are, Billy!" a voice laughed and pulled me by the
collar to my feet.  "Billy Jones, it's me, Mr. D!"
     I looked up at the burly figure with gold chains around his
neck and wrists, and a big gold earring at least the size of a
football.
     "Billy, you don't look yourself today.  You look awful. Come
on, let's get you cleaned up, and get you something to eat."
     I hopped along on one foot as I was dragged by my ear (twice
in one day!) down the street.
     First we stopped at a salon, and I was pushed into this
cubicle.  Hands reached in and out cleaning and dressing me, and
then I was standing in front of a mirror looking cool and hip in
dark glasses and tight leather pants.
     They were about to throw out a swatch of material they found
in my remaining sneaker, but I grabbed it and stuffed it back in
my fancy leather shoes before they could open it and find my
heart.
     Before I stashed it away, I checked it. It was still
beating.
     Then we were eating in a posh restaurant and cameras were
flashing when we walked in, and people stood at the windows
pointing at me.
     I was still seeing spots from the camera flashes.  "Billy,
as your agent, I must say I've been worried about you lately," my
benefactor was saying.
     I must admit that I didn't really feel like I fit in Billy's
leather pants, at that point, but it felt good to have someone
who thought he knew me, even if it was this Mr. D.
     "He's not so bad," I thought as he ordered me some food and
babbled on about my next movie.
     "This play thing should be good publicity, babe," he was
saying, and he patted my back like I was choking.  "Now hurry up,
we've got to be on stage by 11."
     My eyes opened wide. The note blazed across my mind.  "Did
you say 11?"  Maybe I was this Jones guy.  Maybe on that stage
there would be flowers and everything else I saw, all painted on
a set.  I was excited and bubbling over.  I was someone after
all. Someone with a place to be.
     "Now, that's my Billy," Mr. D exclaimed, seeing the
excitement in my face.  Then the waiter stepped up to the table
with the bill.
     The fear I suddenly felt almost popped my bubble of
happiness as I cringed and waited to be pulled out by my ear
again, because it was that same waiter, only he was wearing a
different suit.
     He gave me an evil look, but smiled when Mr. D handed him
more than he was entitled to.  And suddenly the waiter was
helping me to my feet.
     "Come again, any time, sir," he slobbered on my shoes, and
then wiped them dry with his tongue.
     Then we were at the theater, and Mr. D was squeezing my
cheeks like I was five years old. "Now Billy.  I'll be back
later.  Try not to give the director a hard time, OK.  I know
you'll do just great," he added, seeing the fear in my eyes.
"It's just like the movies, only talk louder."
     "Billy," the Director laughed, running over to greet me.  "I
really appreciate your taking the time for this benefit
production.  Here's the script.  We'll go real slow at first. 
Oh. I'd like you to meet Lucy Cole.  She's your leading lady. 
But I think  you've worked together before."
     I smiled at the pretty face and was just about to make some
small talk when suddenly the stage was filled with people rushing
everywhere.
     Lucy tried to get the Director's attention, but shrugged
because he was lost in his own little world as he ran back and
forth in front of the stage trying to get everything ready.
     "All right, let's run through it," the Director was saying.
     I blinked and looked blankly down at the script.
     "All right, Billy.  You start," he directed.
     I had no idea how to act.  I started to read the script and
moved around the stage the way the Director told me to.
     I tried to concentrate on what I was reading, but it was
weird. Lucy, Joe, Peter, Sally, a bunch of others and I each read
from our scripts, but none of the lines seemed to match up with
any of the others.  It was like we were all reading different
scripts.
     We each walked around speaking our lines, and the Director
was sweating as he ran back and forth trying to help each of us
back on the right track somehow.
     "You keep practicing," he groaned, and went off to find a
cup of coffee, or a new writer, or maybe his psychiatrist.
     And then I noticed that Lucy's lines were matching up with
mine.  As I read each line I started to grow more and more
excited.
     "Cassandra," I read. The stage directions said I was
standing on one side of a glass wall.
     Lucy was standing across from me. "MICHAEL," she mouthed
silently, as if she were really screaming, but her words could
not be heard through the glass that separated us. "Help me,
Michael."
     As I looked into her eyes I suddenly realized she did look
like the vision I had seen across the street behind the wall of
glass. I hadn't noticed it before. She seemed different, her
hair, or...something.  But now I was sure it was her.  Or, pretty
sure, anyway.
     My body was trembling as we read our lines. Everything else
seemed to fade away, it was only us.  I couldn't wait to turn
each page and live through the wonderful lines when we would tear
down the wall and be together and..."
     The Director grabbed the script from my hands and spun me
around as he grabbed my collar.
     I felt like my life had been torn away.
     "All right, who are you?" the Director demanded.
     "Uh...Billy Jones?" I stammered.
     "That's Billy Jones!" the Director sneered, pointing to a
man standing next to an angry Mr. D across the room.  He sort of
looked a little like me, but not exactly.
     "Uh..." I looked at Lucy.  "Michael?" I offered.
     "Is that his name, Lucy?"
     I stared at her waiting for her to tell him she was
Cassandra.  And I guess I was Michael, somebody.  But she refused
to look at me.
     "I don't know.  I've never seen him before in my life.  I
tried to tell you before it wasn't Billy..."
     "Get him out of here," the Director yelled, and a cane came
from offstage and yanked me by the neck.
     My shoe fell off as the cane dragged me away, and my heart
rolled onto the floor.
     I stared at Lucy as she walked towards Billy.
     "Cassandra..." I cried.  "Help, save me."  But she wasn't
listening, and she stepped on my heart.
     One of the stage hands dropped me out a side entrance and
stuffed me in the back of a taxi that was sitting in the alley. 
He threw my shoe and heart in after me, and they hit me in the
back of the head.
     As if that weren't enough, Billy came running out.  "Not
with my clothes you don't!" he growled and he ripped them off me
and tossed a crumpled flannel shirt, ripped blue jeans, and
scuffed sneakers in my face, before he slammed the door.  "Take
this bozo home!" he hissed and the taxi took off like a bullet,
and I flew against the other door.
     I scrambled on the floor and picked up my heart. It was
covered with dirt and broken in two.  There were tears running
down my cheeks as I tore off a swatch from my trusty old shirt
and wrapped the pieces inside. I pulled on my faithful old
clothes and stuffed my heart back in my shoe and slipped it on my
foot.
     Then I sat up in the seat and leaned over to talk to the
driver.  But there wasn't anyone driving the cab.  Panicking, I
thought about jumping out, but the taxi was moving much too fast,
and besides this was only a dream, so I lay back and rubbed my
pride and decided to take a nap.
     The next thing I knew I was flying in the air.  Down below I
saw the cab speed away.  The roof over my seat had pulled back,
and I must have been ejected out.
     My trajectory brought me in front of a thickly cobwebbed
house with a giant door.  "Home Sweet Home," the sign read over a
giant metal knocker.
18.  THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME...HOME IS WHERE THE HEART
IS...HOME SWEET HOME... AND ALL THOSE OTHER "HOME" CLICHES.  BUT
THE TRUTH IS, WHEN YOU GO BACK HOME, IT'S NEVER QUITE LIKE YOU
REMEMBERED.  EVEN SO, A PART OF YOU STILL DOESN'T WANT TO LEAVE
WHEN IT'S TIME TO GO AGAIN


     "Home?" I wondered.  Sure didn't look like home.  Not that I
had any recollection of what home was supposed to look like.
     I lifted up the knocker with all my might and banged it
against the door, smashing my knuckles in the process.  I began
to lift it up again, when a deep voice saved me from more
masochistic pain.
     "YOU RANG," it bellowed inside.
     Then the door opened, creaking ever so slowly.
     "Great," I thought.  "A haunted house.  Like I haven't seen
enough spooks lately!"
     "COME IN..." the voice commanded, and I found myself doing
as I was told.  Or at least I thought I had stepped inside, but
when I turned around, my body was standing there looking dumb and
confused (no big change, really).
     I tried to retrieve myself, but the voice thundered me to a
halt.
     "PLEASE LEAVE YOUR BODY AT THE DOOR."
     I watched as I, or actually, my body, walked over to the
side of the house and sat down by the wall, where quite a number
of other bodies sat waiting patiently.
     I stepped inside and gazed at the other bodiless guests.
     "Johnny, Johnny," a matronly ghost exclaimed from the top of
a flight of stairs, and she floated down toward me.  "Come on in,
we've been waiting for you, honey."
     She snagged two glasses from the tray of a ghostly waiter,
who was going upstairs.  One glass had a red bubbly liquid in it. 
The other had milk.  She gulped the milk down and put the glass
back down on the tray.  I looked on the floor and saw the white
puddle beneath her.
     I smiled as she put her non-hand through my non-hair, and I
put the red bubbly glass she handed me down on a table by the
wall.
     "Aren't you going to give your Ma a kiss?" she giggled.
     "Ma...?" I stammered, about as sure that she wasn't my
mother as I was about anything else.
     "Honey, I thought you'd never get here," she bubbled,
squeezing my non-cheeks.  "Come on, your cousins have been dying
to see you..."
     She grabbed my ghostly hand and pulled me through a wall and
some chairs and a table and another wall, and then we were in a
room with children dancing in a circle singing, "Ring around the
Rosy..." and when they got to "All fall down," they crumbled into
ashes and slipped through the cracks in the floor into the base-

ment.
     "Children, your cousin Johnny's here," Ma called, putting
her non-mouth to the floor.
     She floated over and put her arm around me.  "Oh, Johnny, be
a doll and tell them we're almost ready to serve dinner.  Thanks
a lot, honey" she beamed, and then disappeared through a wall.
     I looked around the room at the trophies and the pictures
and waited for something to click in my head.  Some warm feeling
of nostalgia, maybe.  But nothing looked familiar.  I was sure I
had never been there before.  But, then again...
     "Uncle Johnny..." a little girl ghost whispered as she
floated in a wisp of smoke through the floor, reached out, and
pulled me down.
     I felt like I was tied to the back of a speeding car (and,
as you already know, I knew exactly what that felt like) as each
child held another's hand like a giant chain, and we sailed
through the walls and floors and ceilings, furniture and other
ghosts.  Every time I saw a wall coming I closed my eyes thinking
I was going to crash.  But I just went through it, and yet every
time I cringed.  It was going to take some time to get used to
being a ghost, I decided.
     "It's tiiimmmmmmmeee foooooorrrrrrr dinnnnnnnerrrrr...." I
moaned as they dragged me through the house.
     "FOOD!" their voices chimed.  "Yay!"  Then suddenly we were
in the dining room.  The kids dropped me at the children's table
and I plopped down into one of the chairs.
     If I had had a body, I would have been too big for the tiny
chair, but as I didn't, it didn't really matter.
     It may have been the children's table I was seated at, but
it was big.  I could not see the end in either direction.  The
adults' table next to us also stretched out forever in both
directions.  It suddenly occurred to me that everyone who had
ever been, or ever would be, must be sitting here.
     We ate one course and then the next and the next and the
next, and though the plates never had anything on them that I
could see, it all tasted delicious.  I wasn't exactly sure what
it tasted like, but "Life" was the only thing that came to mind.
     I listened to the tinkling glasses and the voices and the
laughter and I felt so far away, like I was hearing it all from a
dream.  And for the first time I felt like I was home, or at
least that I was remembering home in some hazy dream.
     Then, suddenly, Ma was crying, and everyone was staring at
me.
     "Oh, Johnny," she cried as she wiped invisible crumbs from
my non-existent beard.  "It's such a shame that you have to leave
so soon."
     Was I leaving?  I was just beginning to get used to the
place.
     "Honey, don't forget your bag," the motherly ghost sniffled,
and she handed me an oversized suitcase, just before the kids
opened the door and tossed me out.
     I crashed into my body, which had gotten up to greet me, and
rolled down the steps and out of the gate.  My suitcase bounced
up and hit me on the head with a thud.
     Behind me the gate slammed closed.  Another gate slid
across, and another one crashed down.  I heard the crunch of more
gates sliding into place, and the clink of locks clicking closed. 
By the time I knew what had happened there were so many bars I
couldn't even see the house at all through them.
     I decided to see if the gate was locked, anyway.  It was
electrified, and I jumped back from the shock.
     Just then a cab pulled up and the back door swung open.
     "Uh, hi," I shrugged, and tossed my suitcase on the back
seat a split second before I realized it was the driverless cab
that had brought me there in the first place.
     Before I could retrieve my bag, the door closed, and the
taxi drove away without me.
19.  LOSING YOUR LUGGAGE IS ANNOYING, BUT NOT HALF AS BAD AS
TRYING TO TRACK IT DOWN.  BUT EVEN THAT ISN'T AS BAD AS A CHAPTER
HEADING THAT HAS VERY LITTLE TO DO WITH WHAT'S IN THIS CHAPTER


     "My bag!" I gasped as I watched the taxi race away.  I
whistled, like in a movie, waiting for another cab to screech to
a stop.  And sticking my head in the window I'd yell, "Follow
that cab!" and then the cab would race off in pursuit without me. 
Right?  But the cobblestone road was empty, and I turned back to
the gate. But of course I had already found out quite painfully
that you can never really ever go back home. 
     I sat down by the side of the road on the stump of a tree
and watched as the stones began to melt, and my feet were dipping
into icy water instead of rocks, and the log I sat upon was
floating on the water.
     I pulled a pair of glasses out of my pocket, wiped them
carefully, and put them on.  (I didn't know that I wore glasses,
but there they were.)  I scratched my sun-parched head and
wondered when I was going to wake up from this dream I was in.
     I put the glasses back in my pocket, assured that I was
seeing right -- the road had definitely turned to water.
     The water flowed into an ocean, and ships were sailing by. 
I listened to the chiming bells far off in some chapel where the
blind went to see, and I wondered what it would be like to have
something to believe in, or at least some place to go.
     I pulled my feet up out of the water and saw that a bottle
had gotten tangled in my shoelaces.  Of course, there was a note
sticking half out like a cork.
     I pulled it out and suddenly the water all around me swirled
and gurgled into the bottle, and I found I was standing back on
the cobblestone road, holding the half-empty bottle of water in
one hand, and the crumpled dripping paper in the other.
     I put the bottle down and opened the page carefully.  I knew
it had to be another note from my True Love.
     But all the ink had smeared and I couldn't read what it
said.  I took the glasses out of my pocket and wrapped them
around my ears, hoping this time they would shed some light on
the situation.
     Something burned inside me.  I mean, part of me knew I
wouldn't be able to see anything more with the glasses on.  The
ink was smeared, for Heaven's sake.  But somehow I felt I would
be able to read it because SHE wrote it.
     The sunlight must have been very bright because it shot
through my glasses like a magnifying glass, and set the page on
fire.  I stuffed it in the bottle and watched the burned shards
settle to the bottom like silt in a pond.
     A cab pulled up and the door swung open.  A woman with dark
glasses was panting.
     "Sorry I took so long," she smiled. "Quick, get in.  We'll
follow that cab!"
     "But it must be gone by now," I mumbled, not sure if I could
ever trust a taxi again.
     "You want your bag back, don't you?"
     I had to think about that one a moment.  I mean Ma had given
it to me.  But I was sure it wasn't mine.  And still...
     "The meter's running," she snapped as I stood there in
indecision.
     Now that was another story.  I jumped inside.
     "Excuse me," I stammered as the door closed behind me, and
she sped off down the road. "You're going the wrong way."
     "That's all right," she laughed.  "All roads lead the same
way, eventually."
     I figured she probably was right, and besides, I didn't
really need the bag, as far as I could tell.
     "Hey," she said after a while.  "You been on the road long?"
     "I don't know," I sighed.  "I kind of woke up on it one day,
and I've been walking ever since."
     "Yeah.  I know what you mean!"
     "I'm sure it's all a dream, you know," I continued, and I
stared out the open window.  But there wasn't anything out there.
     I rolled the window up because the breeze was starting to
make me cold, and through the closed window the view was
spectacular.  We were screeching through space, and I saw
billions of blazing stars.  And then I saw myself floating by. 
The other-me was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't hear
what he, I mean I, was saying.
     I squinted, trying to read my lips.  "Flowers...field..."
     I snapped my fingers.  "Hey," I laughed, leaning forward. 
"Forget about the bag. I know where you can take me.  I want to
go to this park.  Or maybe it was someplace in the country. 
There were fields and flowers..."
     "Flowers.  You want flowers?  Have I got flowers!" she
smiled from behind her glasses.
     She pulled a switch, and suddenly the back seat was filled
with flowers.  I pushed up a couple of daisies out of my face so
I could breathe.
     "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," I choked, and I
rolled the window down again.
     The flowers blew out.
     I couldn't see them until I rolled the window back up;
looking back, they were like fireworks lighting up the heavens
with color.
     "We'll be there soon," the driver was saying, and I smiled
and noticed a flower had fallen under her seat.
     I reached forward and was going to give it to her, but there
wasn't any floor in the bottom of the cab, and I fell through as
the taxi continued on without me.
     Cars were whizzing by like flies.  Luckily, however, I had
fallen down a manhole, and I waited patiently until the light
changed and the traffic stopped, before I stuck my head out to
see where I had landed.
     I climbed up, and then something came charging at me and
tackled me toward the sidewalk.  "Don't do it, I'll save you,"
the voice yelled as we flew through the air.
     I looked up and saw a helmeted football player.  He brushed
off his shirt, and I noticed it said "ANGELS."
     "I'm your left-guardian angel," he beamed.  "I saved you. 
It's an OK life, you know."
     "Isn't that supposed to be 'wonderful'?" I grumbled,
brushing off my own clothes.
     "That's a different story. Isn't it?" he whimpered.
     The football player looked confused, and pulled out a book
from under the padding.  He carefully thumbed through the pages.
     "Okay, here we are...Oops," he gasped, and dashed over to
the phone booth at the corner.
     I watched as he tore off his football uniform and emerged
with a jacket and tie, and a white collar.
     "The Lord hath saved you, and you must repent," he boomed.
     Just then a chorus bellowed, "Hallelujah," above me.  As I
looked up I saw a dozen cheerleaders with their pom-poms waving
out of the windows above.  "Hallelujah, Hallelujah..." they sang
again. Then turning somewhere past me, they all started waving,
"HI MOM!"
     They popped back inside, and I turned to the Reverend who
was busy thumbing through his book.
     "I thought you saved me," I sighed finally.
     "Yeah.  I did, didn't I...Hmm.  They must have given me the
wrong lines," he sniffled, and he started to cry.
     As he cried he began to melt, until there was a mouse
standing in a suit and tie, squeaking that they must have given
him the wrong book.
     "CUT! CUT! CUT!" the Director yelled, and his cart lowered
down onto the sidewalk on a crane.  The cameras pulled in for a
close-up of the mouse.
     "Billy, Billy," the Director sighed, and he scooped up the
mouse.  He turned and sneered at me.  "You again!"  He slapped
his head, rolled his eyes, and realized Billy was now stuck to
his forehead.
     He peeled the mouse off, and called for makeup.  "Billy,
you've got to stop thinking so small," the Director urged, and
some pretty stagehands wheeled out a tire inflator and started
inflating his ego.
     The whole group headed down the block, trying to help Billy
to get back to his old self, and I turned to the cameraman,
trying to find out what was going on.
     "LUNCH BREAK!" a voice boomed, and faces flashed all around
me as the street and cars and buildings were carted away, and I
was left all alone sitting in a spider web in the corner of an
empty set.
     I pulled the glasses out of my pocket to get a better view
of where my dream had now taken me.  But the lenses were broken
and they fell out towards the ground.  I put the lensless glasses
on anyway, and looking down I noticed that not only had the set
disappeared, but the floor was gone as well.  I watched the
lenses fall and fall and fall until they had picked up so much
acceleration that they just burst into flames.
     The fire was pretty far down, but it wouldn't go out, and
although it was far enough down that I knew the flames couldn't
reach me, I started to feel pretty hot.  The sweat was dripping
off my forehead, and the saltiness stung my eyes.
     I tried to climb up the web a little, and then I noticed a
spider.
     The hairy thing was crawling toward me, and it licked its
lips and smiled as it nimbly crept forward.  I held my breath as
it opened its fanged mouth, about to gobble me up, and looking
down at the fire below, I let go of the thread and fell into the
abyss.
20.  IF LIFE IS LIKE A TV SET WITH ALL THE CHARACTERS OF YOUR
FAVORITE SHOWS TRAPPED INSIDE, WHERE DO THEY GO WHEN YOU TURN THE
TV OFF?  (THE FALLACY OF THIS QUESTION IS, OF COURSE, THAT LIFE
ISN'T A TV SET, BUT YOU'D NEVER KNOW THAT IF YOU VISITED MOST
HOMES ANY NIGHT OF THE WEEK)


     I fell through the fire and burned.
     But then I passed through the fire and landed on a treadmill
that seemed to stretch out forever behind me.  I had to walk very
fast just to keep from falling.  Every time I tried to slow down,
I fell face first onto the gritty belt and was pulled further and
further back.  Tiredly, I struggled to my feet and kept walking.
     Puffing and panting, I noticed there was a TV set off to the
right, presumably to distract me from the intense boredom I faced
as I walked along, going nowhere.
     I also noticed a remote floating nearby, so I grabbed it and
flicked the set on.
     I walked along and watched the show about a boy named Davey. 
In the fist episode Davey was born, and I watched as he grew into
a young boy.  Your typical comedy-drama, I concluded, when the
next episode came on.  It was a rerun from the next season, and
Davey was having teenage dilemmas.
     I watched episode after episode as I walked on, and in each
one Davey was older.  I laughed and I cried during the episode
about Davey and his son, and cried again in the episode when
Davey was old and gray, sharing his wisdom with his grandson.
     The credits rolled past and I turned the channel.  This time
there was a show about a girl named Carol, and I watched as she
cooed as a baby, danced as a girl, laughed as a woman and smiled
as an old lady.  I rubbed the tears on my cheeks as the last
episode concluded, and was about to switch the channel again when
the treadmill came to an abrupt halt.
     I somersaulted forward over the edge of the treadmill and
fell through the TV screen with a burst of color and noise.
     Familiar faces flashed all around me.  They were the faces
of the TV characters I had grown to love.
     Davey turned to me with a smile.
     "Hi Davey," I laughed, and I held out my hand to the young
child.
     Davey reached up to touch me, and as he stretched out his
hand, his face grew older and older and suddenly he was an old
man with deep wrinkles, and still he grew older until he crumbled
to dust just as I shook his hand.
     They greeted me, one by one, the major characters and the
minor ones, and each aged before my eyes and withered to dust
before I could touch them.
     Needless to say, I wanted to get out of there fast.  I
looked back out through the TV screen and saw my own reflection
looking in.  I watched as the lines in my reflected face deep-

ened, and the hair grew whiter, and as my own reflection began to
crumble, someone turned the TV off and there was only darkness.
     I stood there.
     There was no sound.
     No light.
     Nothing.
     I couldn't feel my hands.
     I couldn't feel my face.
     I tried desperately to feel anything.
     But I couldn't.
     Soon my desperation began to fade, and I no longer felt
anything inside anymore.
     I was a total and complete blank.
     An eternity later, a match lit up the darkness, blinding me
with its brilliance.  Someone blew smoke in my face. "Need a
light?" a gruff voice inquired.
     Whoever it was stuck four cigars in my mouth and lit them.
     I tried to yank them out, but they were stuck between my
teeth.  I gasped for breath, inhaled more smoke, and gasped
again.
     I started to get dizzy as the smoke circled around my head,
and I felt numb and puffy, like a circus balloon.
     Through the smoke I could see my hands waving aimlessly in
the air, and they were puffed up in bulging bubbles; with every
breath my hands got larger.
     As I looked down, I saw that my whole body was inflated like
a Santa Claus float at a Thanksgiving Day parade.  And, much to
my dismay, I wasn't on the ground anymore.  Clouds whipped at my
feet, and it occurred to me that I was floating up to Heaven.
     Then I noticed there was a string attached around my waist
that stretched down to the Earth below.  Every once in a while I
felt a slight tug.
     "Duck season starts in ten minutes," one of two mallards
quacked as they flew by.
     "And you're going the wrong way," the other pointed out.
     I tried to turn myself around, but I got all caught up in
the string.
     "Help!" I tried to scream, but the cigars, which were now
smoldering butts, were still stuck between my teeth.
     Suddenly bullets were flying all around me, and one of them
whizzed between my teeth, dislodging the cigar butts.  They fell
one by one, and exploded with thunder as they hit the ground.
     "Run for it, boys!" I heard one of the hunters below yell,
and then the gunfire stopped, leaving me floating alone up in the
sky.
     The wind rushed through my hair, and the blue, blue sky was
so crisp and clear it calmed my mind, and I started to really
enjoy floating up so high.  For the first time I really felt
free.
     Then I felt something tugging on the string around my
bloated body, and I started a downward climb to Earth.
     Far below I could see a small boy was holding the strings to
a dozen kites, and, I realized, the string that was reeling me
back to the ground.
     We all came sailing in from a dozen and one different
directions as the boy pulled on the strings, wrapping them around
a tree stump as he reeled them in.
     "I'm superman!"  The kid smiled, and his tiny muscles
bulged.
     Giant flapping felt wings fluttered in my face as one of the
kites converged with me a couple hundred feet up.
     I couldn't see anything through the kite wings until I hit
the tree.
     The boy tugged and tried to squeeze me through the thick-
leaved branches, but I wouldn't fit.
     "Eh, that one's not worth it anyway," the kid sneered, and
he walked off, dragging his kites on the ground behind him.
     A branch had poked its way through my shirt, and I felt the
air slowly hissing out, then gushing faster and faster, until I
was thin enough to fall through the branches straight to the
ground.
     I landed in some flowers beneath an apple tree, and two
apples fell on my head.
     After rubbing the spots where they hit, I reached over to
eat one of the injurious culprits; but after a bite or two, I
discovered it was plastic.
21.  LIFE AND DEATH, BEING AND NOTHINGNESS -- PHILOSOPHICAL
MUMBO-JUMBO  -- THAT'S ALL THAT LAST CHAPTER WAS, YOU SNEER.
     BRACE YOURSELF.  HERE COMES ANOTHER ONE (AND IT'S EVEN
WORSE).
     THINKING ABOUT THESE PONDEROUS QUESTIONS CAN BE STIMULATING
AND INTRIGUING FOR THOSE FEW WHO WANT TO BE PHILOSOPHICALLY
STIMULATED.  BUT FOR THE REST OF US THEY CAN BE TIRESOME, BORING,
AND UTTERLY OFFENSIVE.  BESIDES, NO ONE CAN EVER REALLY KNOW THE
ANSWERS TO METAPHYSICAL QUESTIONS, SO WHY BOTHER WASTING LIFE
THINKING ABOUT THEM!
     THESE PHILOSOPHICAL MUSINGS ARE ALSO A GOOD REASON TO SKIP A
CHAPTER.
     IF YOU AGREE, PLEASE GO DIRECTLY TO CHAPTER 22.  BUT DO NOT
PASS GO, AND DO NOT COLLECT YOUR $200.  YOU CAN, HOWEVER, TREAT
YOURSELF TO A LOLLIPOP AND A SMILEY FACE/HAVE A NICE DAY STICKER.


     That was the last straw.  Plastic apples!
     "I HAD ENOUGH!" I yelled.
     If this was a dream then maybe I could start things
happening the way I wanted them to.  "I'm going to close my
eyes," I muttered. "And when I open them, I'll be out of this
crazy dream." But when I opened my eyes, everything was still the
same.
     "Maybe this is just a movie I'm stuck in," I decided. "I'm
on Candid Camera, right!  Yeah, that's what it is.  All right. 
Come on out."
     Nothing.
     "Oh...CUT! CUT!" I yelled.  "I'm not going to let them push
me around anymore!" I puffed.  "I'm going to speak to the
director and get some changes made here."  I looked around and
took a deep breath.
     "I WANT TO SEE THE DIRECTOR!" I screamed. 
     Nothing happened.  The fields around me were silent and
still.
     "I'M NOT GOING ON WITH THIS ANYMORE!"
     I threw a plastic apple into the air.
     "I'm waiting," I mumbled, and ducked as the apple
boomeranged back to me.
     Silence. 
     "Aw, nuts!" I moaned.  "I thought maybe just this once I
could get some answers!"
     I got up and started to walk off down the hill.
     "Oh, all right.  What do you want?" a voice asked.
     I stopped and my heart jumped.  I looked around, but I
didn't see anyone.
     "Who are you...?" I began.  "Where are you?" I added.
     "I'm the sound of the wind in the trees," the voice
whispered. "But I will be whoever you want to believe I am."
     "Are you God?"
     "God!" the voice laughed.  "No.  But then if you want to
talk to God, I'm the one to go through."
     "Well, OK.  Yeah.  I'd like that very much.  There are a
couple of questions I'd like some answers to, and I'm sure He can
tell me."  Then something occurred to me, and I suddenly felt
elated.
     "So there is a God after all!" I gasped.
     "Now, did I say there was?  I certainly did not.  But I
didn't say there wasn't, either.  Don't get me wrong. I just
said, if you believe there is, you can talk to Him through me."
     I sat down in the grass and thought a moment.  "But if I
believed in Him, couldn't I talk to Him directly?"
     "Of course you can talk to Him. You can talk all you want."
     "But will he answer me?"
     "If you believe He will, He will."
     "So I'll hear His voice?"
     "Did I say that?"
     "Well, no.  But how will I know?"
     "If there is a God, and you believe in Him, you'll take some
sign to be His answer.  You know, like some coincidence that
happens out of the blue.   Or you might hear voices, like this
one, which are only the whispering wind in the trees, as I've
said, and think they're God. Which of course they aren't.  But
that doesn't mean that God wouldn't exist anyway. For if there
were a God, those voices could be Him speaking through some
natural phenomenon like the wind rustling through the trees,
making you think He was talking to you."
     "Uh, huh," I mumbled, waiting for everything the voice had
just said to make sense.  "But you're not God?" I asked when
nothing clicked.
     "I told you that already."
     "Yeah, but...Well what about when we die?  Do we get to talk
to Him then?"
     "I told you, you can talk to Him now."
     "Look, you know what I mean.  Do we see Him then?"
     "Well, it could be.  But then again, if you can't see Him
when you have eyes, do you think you'll be able to see or hear
Him without a body?"
     "But then I'd be a spirit.  So I wouldn't need eyes or ears
to communicate with God."
     "Well, you do have a point.  But, if there were a God, which
I'm not saying there is or isn't, doesn't it make sense that He
would only make Himself as known to you dead as He did when you
were alive?  That is, if you even exist in any form -- spirit or
otherwise -- when you're dead, which I didn't say you do, by the
way."
     "So we just die when we're dead.  I mean there's no spirit?"
     "You're not listening.  I didn't say that."
     "No.  But there has to be more than just life.  I mean we
have consciousness.  Something goes on inside of us that's not
physical or part of this world."  There was no answer, so I
continued on.
     "I mean we dream, and imagine things, and vicariously
experience other lives through books and movies -- and they feel
real sometimes -- like this crazy dream I'm in." I was on a roll.
     "So maybe God isn't a being, you know, that Old guy with a
beard they tell you when you're a kid.  Maybe he's this
consciousness, see.  You know, like he's everything that ever
existed in the Universe, and everything that ever will exist, and
we're all a part of it, all of us who ever lived and ever will
live.  And that Everythingness, well, it can't experience itself;
there's no way it can observe itself from the outside, right. 
Because there is no outside -- it's everything.  So our purpose,
the reason we're alive -- is to be able to look at part of that
Everythingness and experience it with our consciousness; we're
like God's sensory organs."
     I don't know where any of this came from, you understand.
But I sure felt awful proud of myself.  Like I had unlocked the
secrets to eternal questions that people had searched for, for
ages.  I was a philosopher extraordinare.  "Well, what do you
think?" I prodded after a rather long silence.
     "Sounds like a lot of crap to me," the voice sneered. "But
then, it might very well be true," it added noncommittally.
     "In other words, you're not saying anything," I grumbled. 
This was getting quite annoying.
     "I told you.  I'm just the sound of the wind in the trees.
How could I possibly say anything?"
     "Look," I grunted between clenched teeth. "This is all a
dream, right?"
     "Could be. But then again, what is dreaming, and what is
reality.  You're experiencing this right now.  But if it is a
dream, and you wake up later, you'll say this was a dream."
     The voice waited, and I waved my hands.  "Yeah, so," I
conceded.
     "If this is reality, then you'll never wake up out of it.
But even so, all realities pass; tomorrow it will have been your
yesterday, and you won't be living this moment anymore.  So, for
all intents and purposes, it might just as well have been a
dream.  Know what I mean?"
     "Look.  I woke up.  Don't ask me when.  It's been like one
long day, but it could have been forever ago.  I don't know who I
am, where I've been, or where I'm going."
     "So?  Does anyone really know?  Then again, when it's all
over, did it really matter?"
     "This is really depressing. I'm not taking any more of this
dumb dream.  And I'm really tired of you."
     "I'm afraid we never really have a choice in the matter. 
You'll have to keep dreaming this dream until you wake up, or if
it isn't a dream, well, until it's over.
     "And as for being tired of me, I'm afraid I've got some bad
news for you.  I'm just your own thoughts, so you're stuck with
me, and you'll be stuck with me, kind of forever."
     "My thoughts?  But I don't always hear you talking like
this."
     "You hear what you want to hear.  But then,  maybe you
don't.  And then again, I could just be pulling your leg about
the whole thing.  Actually, I'm sitting here cozy by a fire,
drinking a cup of cocoa, thinking out loud.  This cocoa is good,
too."
     "I thought you said you were my thoughts."
     "So.  I didn't say I was your current thoughts."
     "No, you didn't.  But what is that supposed to mean!"
     "You might have thought this yesterday. You may have dreamed
it. Or you might not have thought it yet."
     "What are you talking about?"
     "You'll find out soon enough.  But then, maybe not.  You
might have to wait for the sequel.  Anyway, good luck
with...well...whatever this is you're in.  Later Dude."












FOOTNOTE:

     If you feel this story would have been better off without
the past 2 chapters of philosophical mutterings, call 1-900-
ERASE-IT and the chapters will be erased from your brain free of
charge.  (There will be a small handling charge of two previous
lifetimes for those who don't believe in reincarnation, and one
full glass of beer-intoxicated brain cells for those of you who
do.) 
     If you are not completely satisfied with the results of the
erasing procedure, sorry, all sales are final.

22.  LOVE IS THE CURE FOR A SAD AND WEARY HEART, A LIGHT OF HOPE
IN THE DARK OF NIGHT, AND JUST THE TRICK FOR A STORY THAT ISN'T
GOING ANYWHERE


     I sat there feeling sorry for myself, when I noticed a snail
creeping along a rock in the sun.  He turned for a second to face
me, and I saw he was wearing a thick-rimmed pair of glasses. His
antennae waved at me, and he smiled and turned back to what he
was doing.
     Which was even more bizarre than the fact that a snail was
wearing glasses.  He reached back and pulled a page from out of
his shell and read it quickly, clicking his tongue.
     "Not enough action," he muttered, making red notations with
one of his antennae, and he flung the page into the breeze. 
Reaching back, he pulled another one out.
     "Nope, nope.  This still isn't going anywhere."  A new page. 
"Much too depressing!  You know what you need," the snail
exclaimed, suddenly stopping, and he stared straight at me.  "You
need a love interest to liven this up a bit."
     "Liven what up?" I stammered.
     "Your life, of course."  The snail waved his antennae around
as if he were whispering something to himself. "Oh, yeah. 
Sorry," the snail chuckled, and he took a seat in a crevice in
the rock.  "I guess I haven't introduced myself.  I'm your
editor."
     "Editor?  Of what?"
     "Of this story, silly.  The story of your life."
     I rubbed my eyes.  But the snail was still there.  Editor of
my life.  "You mean my life is planned out like a story?"
     "It's all in the book," the snail assured me, and pulled out
a tattered book, waving it in front of me.  "Of course, it still
needs a lot of editing."
     He quickly stashed the book back in his shell when he saw me
instinctively reach for it.
     This is my dream, I thought.  So, how come everyone seems to
be carrying around scripts and books and notes, and I don't have
anything?
     I hadn't said a word, but the snail smiled.  He knew
everything I was thinking, of course.  It was all in his book.
     "You had part of your story, once," he pointed out.
     I remembered the script I had read when I thought my name
was Billy.
     "Well, yeah," I admitted.  "But it didn't seem to match
anyone else's script."  I left out that it had matched Lucy's for
a while.  I was still trying to block out that "chapter" of my
life.
     "That's why you only get an occasional glimpse.  It wouldn't
help anyway, because people only get more confused when they
think they know what's going on."
     I sat there like a lump in the grass. I couldn't help
wishing that I'd been given a different story for my life,
instead of this one I seemed to be stuck with.
     "Oh, my, my.  I do wish you would stop all that
philosophical thinking you've been doing. It won't get you
anywhere, you know.  Except sad and depressed.  And what good is
that!  It certainly won't sell tickets at the box office, I can
assure you."
     I sighed in agreement.  If I never had a "deep" thought
again, it would be much too soon!
     "You definitely need a love interest.  And fast!"  The snail
pulled out some pages and began writing copious notes with the
red-tipped antennae.  Then he disappeared into the grass.
     "Bye," I muttered.
     But before he disappeared, and right after he spoke, the
breezes started singing,  "Love... Love..."
     My face was flushed, and I started to break out in hives.
     The flowers swayed, whispering, "Love... Love..."
     I felt like I was going to pass out.
     And then an arrow whizzed past my ear and I suddenly jumped
to attention.  There's nothing like a shot of adrenalin to get
you out of depression.
     Another arrow rocketed by and I dashed to the left.  Arrows
were flying everywhere.  I dove to the right and spun,
somersaulting in the grass.
     "Would you hold still already!" a gruff voice grunted from
somewhere up in a tree.
     I lay still behind a rock, and peered out, cautiously.
     "Oh, brother.  It's going to be another one of those days,"
the voice grumbled, and a rather plump, very short bald man with
wings, completely naked, except for a...a diaper and a bow and
arrow in his hands and a cigar in his mouth, jumped down onto the
grass.
     "Look, bub, how am I supposed to get you if you keep
moving?" the winged-short-round-bald guy sighed, and he pulled
the cigar out with his free hand.  He flicked ashes onto some
flowers, which started coughing and angrily waved their petals.
     Just then a tiny distant squeak whispered in the distance. 
We both heard it and turned.  "Uhhhh....uhhhhh...uhhhhh..." It
echoed like a Tarzan-call, only speeded up in a chipmunk voice.
     A tiny round-faced cherub was swinging through the trees,
and he crashed into the branches above the squat-bald guy wearing
a diaper.
     "Oh.  Hi Cupid," the tiny cherub squeaked as he dangled from
the branches, his bow wrapped around his tiny wings.
     The other took a puff of his cigar and blew a cloud of smoke
at the cherub.  "Hey pal.  This is my territory, see.  Now,
scram."
     "Sorry," the chipmunk-voice piped.  "But I seem to be stuck. 
Would you be so kind?"
     "Why certainly," the diapered man chuckled.  He reached up,
pulled back the cherub's bow and let it "boing."
     The cherub rocketed through the branches, sailing up into
the clouds.  "Thaaaankkkk...yoooouuuu...." he chirped as he
disappeared out of sight.
     I turned to the cigar-toting frown with the giant belly
hanging over a soiled diaper.
     "Did he say Cupid?" I gasped.
     "At your service," he mumbled, confirming my worst fears. 
"Well are you coming out, or ain't you?" Cupid snapped, while he
puffed away on the cigar.
     "Only if you promise to put that bow away," I argued safely
from behind my rock.
     "Whatever you say," Cupid snorted, and threw it in the
bushes, but not so far away that he couldn't get it rather
quickly if he wanted to.
     I stepped out from behind the rock, and he lunged forward,
grabbed my hand, and shook me up and down in the air.
     His hand was cold as ice, and when he stopped shaking me, I
shivered.
     "I understand you're looking for love," he chortled.
     "Well, that's what the snail, er, my editor, said.  And you
know," I mused, looking around at the fields and flowers and
trees, "I think he's right.  Why this looks like the place where
we met. I mean the girl of my dreams.  You see, she sent me this
note.  I was supposed to meet her at 11:00.  But then I've been
here a while, and I haven't see her yet.  You wouldn't happen to
know if it's 11 yet, would you?"
     While I gushed out what was on my mind, Cupid had fallen
asleep on his feet.
     "Hello," I called, waving my hands in front of his face. 
"You said you were going to help me find my True Love?"
     Cupid woke up.  "Love...Huh...Oh yeah.  I'm your man," he
agreed, remembering where he was.
     He scratched the stubble on his face, reached into the
diaper, and pulled out a book.  He thumbed to the appropriate
page, and picked his teeth with his tongue while he read.
     "Yep.  Here we are.  Chapter 22.  You're supposed to meet
the girl of your dreams. Says it right here."  He closed the
book, and was about to stick it back in his diaper, when he
thought again, and used the corner of the cover to pick his
teeth.  He looked back at the excitement in my eyes.
     "I AM?" I gasped.
     "Sure thing.  In the next chapter," Cupid assured me as he
flapped his wings and dust went flying everywhere.  He had to
flap pretty hard before he rose off the ground.
     But then he was looking down at me, and he put his chilly
arm around my shoulder.  His breath smelled like garlic and
tabasco sauce.
     He pulled out a tape measure, and began scribbling
measurements down on a little pad as he measured me from head to
toe, and inside-out.
     Cupid shook his head disapprovingly and squinted his nose. 
"This is not going to be that easy," he muttered.  "All right,
stick out your heart," he demanded, and gave me the fakest smile
I had ever seen.
     I opened my mouth instinctively, thinking he had asked to
see my tongue, then jumped away as the thought flashed through my
mind that he was asking to see something a lot more private.
     But he wasn't staring where I thought he was.  As it turns
out, he was looking quite a bit lower, at my shoe, and I
remembered that's where I was keeping my heart these days.
     I didn't really want to show it to him.  Hearts are pretty
private too.  But then, if he could help me find my True
Love...well, I'd do whatever I had to do.
     He looked at my broken heart as I carefully unwrapped it,
and made little clicking sounds.  He pulled out his cigar and
waved it in the air in little circles.  "I think I better start
with the PG-selection for you."
     Cupid reached into the diaper and pulled out a billfold with
a 'PG' stamped on the cover.
     He held the billfold in the air, and let it unfold down to
the ground.  On each card there was a picture of a woman.  He
motioned me closer, but even from where I stood I could see that
none of them were clothed.
     "Which one you want?" Cupid asked, puffing away as he gazed
lustfully at the pictures, one by one.
     I pulled away, choking on the cigar smoke.
     "Now, see here," I retorted.  "You said I'm supposed to find
love..."
     "And what's not to love about these babes?  Granted they
ain't as built as some of the better rated mamas.  But I figured
this is about all you can handle."
     "But I'm not looking for...Well, I'm looking for the girl of
my dreams."
     "I must admit," Cupid whispered, cupping his hand to the
side of his mouth.  "A couple of these chicks have been in my
dreams."  Cupid drooled.  "Hey, but if you don't like these,
don't worry.  I've got plenty more PGs to choose from."
     "I'm not going to just pick out some girl from a deck of
cards, like a piece of meat.  That's not love.  Love takes time. 
It's something that grows out of fondness and respect. It's..."
     "Hey.  Now look here. Are you trying to tell me about love?
I'm Cupid, remember.  Love is my business.  I'll tell you about
love.  Love is a set of circumstances.  Two people in the same
place at the right time.  A simple need that you've got to fill.
That's all there is to it."
     I hated this guy.  He was lying.  I knew he was.  "There's
got to be more to love than that!" I demanded.  "And besides,
I've already seen my True Love."
     Cupid turned with a start.  "You have?"
     "Yeah.  I saw her in a sort of dream once."
     "Great.  That'll save me some trouble.  I'm sure I've got
her here, somewhere."
     "I doubt it.  She's not like that."
     Cupid sighed. "Sure bud.  Now what does she look like?"
     "Well," I started. I tried to think, but that glass wall had
been so hazy, and I didn't really get to see her all that
clearly.
     "A blond, a brunette...a redhead?  Blue eyes, brown
eyes...?"
     "I'm not exactly sure," I admitted.  "But it doesn't matter.
It's the person inside that I'm in love with.
     Cupid was getting bored.  "Look, I understand you.  You're
looking for a personality.  Hey, I've got tapes.  Plenty of
tapes.  They've got girls full of personality. Why some of them
dolls just reek with the stuff."
     He flew over to the tree and yanked down a screen.  Then he
whipped a video tape out of his diaper and slid it into a slot in
the tree.
     I closed my eyes. I had a feeling I knew what kind of tapes
he was going to show me.
     "Look, I don't want to see any more of your smut..." I
shouted.  "Just go away!!!"
     Cupid was laughing, and I opened my eyes.
     "Hey, don't worry, pal.  I ain't gonna waste those on you. 
I'm saving them for me, for later."
     But I wasn't listening.  I was staring at the girl on the
screen.  Her face was so familiar.  I knew that face.  But I
couldn't place it. I watched, and listened to her voice, which
seemed to be talking to something inside of me.  And then my eyes
lit up.  "That's Cassandra!" I blurted. "She's the one I saw
through the glass wall!"
     "Huh?" Cupid mumbled.  He had pulled out, and was carefully
examining, a magazine with pages that folded out to life-size.
     I pointed at the screen.  "That girl up there," I laughed,
"that's Cassandra, right?"
     He finally tore his eyes from the magazine and looked up at
the screen.
     "Don't know her name, but I like your taste, boy.  You're
not so bad, after all.  A little skimpy up top, but not too
shabby...for a first love."
     Somehow his sentiments made the wonderful feelings that were
gurgling up inside of me start to choke.
     It made me sick to think of dealing with him in any way. 
But if he knew how I could find Cassandra...Well at that point I
decided I'd sell my soul to find her.  As that thought crossed my
mind, I hoped he hadn't heard it.  This Cupid seemed just the
type to exact that kind of payment.
     Fortunately, he was busy looking at his magazine.
     "So, how do I meet her?" I sighed.
     "Huh?  Oh, yeah.  Just go behind that tree.  Close your
eyes, and count to 50."
     "And...?"
     "And what?  That's it.  Now, if you don't mind, my work is
done here, and I have much more important matters to attend to."
     The diapered angel pulled out his tape, rolled up the
screen, retrieved his bow, and waved his cigar at me. 
"ARRIVEDERCI, bub!"
     Cupid took a big puff, and when the smoke cleared he was
gone.
     I looked at the tree.  This was ridiculous.  Did he expect
me to believe that all I had to do was play hide and seek, and
I'd find the girl I'd been searching for, for all my life!
     "Stranger things have been happening lately," I mumbled to
myself, and ran for the tree as fast as I could.  I closed my
eyes, and started counting.
     "...49...50!" I shouted, spun around, and opened my eyes.