Icehot

2: The Desolate Desert

As it turned out, his life could get worse; and quite a bit worse at that.

He could scarcely keep himself from swearing when the warning message came up on the screen of the iPhone he had taken with him: ALERT: Phone overheating. Will soon power off. Remove from heat as soon as possible to prevent further damage.

The screen turned black and Oliver threw it on the ground in frustration. I know it's overheating! he thought. I'm overheating too, because somehow I got teleported into the middle of some random desert!

He tried to wrap his mind around what had happened, but every time reality seemed to evade him. It was impossible for him to just have teleported.. but, he was in the middle of a massive desert. So... What happened?

He almost dropped onto the hot sand in frustration but realized that he would probably never get up. The sheer thought of it blew his mind. Earlier in the day, he had been off opening a presents and celebrating his birthday; now he was worrying about his own survival. What a great birthday present, he thought.

With nothing else to do he began to walk and he let his mind wander as he walked, the merciless sun glaring down on him like a disappointed parent, and before long the day his grandpa had disappeared came back to him, all too clearly, like he was watching a film.

* * * * *

He saw a little kid, about three or four years old-himself-giddy with excitement as a large van rumbled along the bumpy side road. The boy's mom and dad were talking quietly, but he wasn't listening to them. He was staring out the window, watching the rows of plants shoot by as they flew past Grandpa's vineyard. They were almost there.

The car screeched to a shaky stop on the slanted driveway, and Little Oliver swung out of the car and ran towards the door like a human slinky, zipping right past Grandpa's big, fluffy brown dog.

Little Oliver's mom and dad stepped out of the car, laced their fingers together, and began walking toward the door that Little Oliver had already pounded on. A morning frost had caked the front lawn and a brisk breeze billowed around them.

Little Oliver stared at the door, puzzled for a moment, and then bolted off towards his parents. A basketball lay against the side of the hose and the side gate was ajar. "Mommy!" he shouted. "Gwandpa is not here."

Puzzled, his mom walked up and knocked on the door. She peered into the house through the thick window and didn't see him. Reaching into her pocket to get out a phone to call him, she was stopped by her husband, who bent down and picked up a note that had fallen off of the front door.

In Grandpa's unmistakable curly handwriting (the kind that only Mom could ever read) it read, "Don't look for me. I am gone. Yes, Grace: forever. I love you all. I wish I could have said goodbye."

Little Oliver soon began to cry, although at the time he didn't know what for. He just knew that mom was crying, so he should too.

Mommy never cried.

Little Oliver got into the car. And they pulled out of the driveway and away from Grandpa; forever. Or at least, that was what he remembered.