I dream my movie

Vieques, Clubes Unete (HHHH)
Puerto Rico 
3 April 1997 

The rains have gone, but the winds have picked up, considerably, though they are from the north, and we are on the south side of the island. We heard today that the winds were strong enough to make the waters between Vieques and the main island so rough that all ferry and cargo-boat service was cancelled. Being on the leeward side, we experienced only very calm waters and occassional gusts from the shore. 

We had a long day at the ocean, including a five mile hike to our favorite beach, site of the filming of "Lord of the Flies", where the waves are often five feet tall. Because of the reverse winds, there were no waves, much to Lydia’s disappointment. There were no other people either, so she was disappointed again, when we had to walk the five miles back home. The hike and another enormous dinner have left us exhausted. I am in bed and deeply asleep by 9:15 pm.

 I begin to dream my movie. It is an action-adventure picture, a kind of science-fiction-war-drama. The Russians have invaded the US, only they are really from Mars. They have invented a highly advanced mag-lev railroad train, that doesn’t require rails. It is equiped with a death-ray, intelligent missles, force-field protection and tinted windshields. We have something similar in our arsenal, using a prototype of the most experimental AmTrak passenger-engine. 

The two killer-engines are on a death-hunt for each other. Lydia and I are in Topeka, Kansas waiting for them to appear. We have seen dust clouds on opposite horizons, so we know they are approaching fast. We are keeping close watch on the projection-tv in the bar of the motel where we are staying, watching each news report and making note of every detail.

 The Russians have threatened to destroy major cities in the US, beginning with Tulsa, Oklahoma. They can do so by firing and directing one of their intelligent missles at any target they choose. They can also change the course of the missle at any time during its flight, changing targets, or just re-routing the missle to confuse our defenses. The death-ray, reportedly, can destroy our counter-engine with one blow. Our strongest rays may prove ineffective against their protective sheild.

 The engines are now on the outskirts of Topeka, and so are we, waiting and watching. The Russian engine makes a close approach. It gleams with silver and titanium and is covered in spikey protrusions and multiple antennea, which spin as it moves along. The force-field gives off an irridescent glow. The Rus sian soldiers inside, sit close to the darkly tinted windows, so we can just make out their profiles. They are smiling and laughing at us.

 Our engine is not yet in sight. The Russian engine shudders as it shoots a deafening blast from the death-ray. The air is seared by the blast. We can barely breathe. We feel the heat on our eyelids, even though they are covered tightly by our hands. A cheer erupts from inside the Russian engine. What has happened to our AmTrak-destructor?

 The sound-track switches from ambient-noise to music. The songs are a mix of Herb Alpert, Sergio Mendez, Al Hirt, Bossa-Nova, Miles Davis, Lou Reed, the Ramones, and Lightning Hopkins, together and all-at-once. I am watching the action on the screen of a video-game station. I am looking at a long-shot of a highway, rising into the mountains at the edge of a desert. In the far distance is a McDonald’s sign, mounted high on a pole, making it visible from the inter-state roadway.

 A tree limb crashes against the side of our top-floor apartment. I bolt from my sleep. It is 12:12 am. The winds are howling. The dogs are yelping in unison. We are here because Bobby Getz and family have gone. A new family has moved into the cabin. They’re all awake. The lights in the cabin are blazing and music is blaring from the rooms. They are dancing and singing-along with the merengue songs. It sounds like Olga is with them. I look around the room. Lillian is not here. Maybe she has joined them as well. 

I get out of bed. Lydia is asleep, but she has kicked off all of her covers. I pull the sheets away from her to put them back over her. She mumbles something I cannot decipher. I cover her and look through the window vents to the veranda. I see Lillian, sitting, looking out over the ocean. 

We say, simultaneously, "What are YOU doing?"

 Next: Hawaii Five-0 

Copyright 1998

Jan Galligan
All Rights Reserved
Last modified Aug. 8, 1998