Dell's Journey

Chapter 17: Dozing On The Bus

If you have played board games like Candy-land or

Careers, then you will have an idea of the way the

wandering pavement looked in Dell's dream. It curved this

way and that. It meandered around perfect rolling hills

which were covered in lush, green turf. These little

mounds may be compared to two things:

1. A well-kempt golf course

2. A unique type of British visual art popular in the

1960's, captured perfectly by the cover of Yellow

Submarine, where everything is perfectly "clean" and

precise and everyone is wearing bell-bottoms. Whenever

stars are depicted in this type of art, they have

great big three-dimensional tails stretching out into

the distance.

The pavement was really like a concrete sidewalk, not

asphalt, being nearly white and laid out in squares with

joints every few feet. The sky was cloudy and grey but it

wasn't raining. There were only a very few trees. They

were short, young, and perfectly trimmed. Despite the

presence of plant-life, the whole scene felt strangely man

made. Something about this made Dell uneasy. There is

something disquieting about an artificial environment. It

is like watching a children's television show or a circus

as an adult. The saccharine music and the colorful puppets

can begin to appear grotesque and sinister. Dell had been

to Disneyland, right after taking a sociology course at

community college, and found the tea-cups particularly

disturbing. One may also get this feeling at the shopping

mall.

There was the distinct feeling that the sea was

nearby, just over the crest of the last little mountain

range a few miles off. Maybe it was the smell of the air

in the breeze that blew in this coastal notion, or perhaps

it was the shape of clouds hovering overhead. It reminded

him of a time, while on a day-trip to the beach, that he

had gotten a slight twinge of the sea-lust. The heaps of

clams, the salt stench, the moldy boardwalks and rusty

ships all combined into a moment of fierce desire to be at

sea. It was foolishness. He knew that.

In the dream he felt the urge to be in a little buggy

and cruise around the roadway. He felt as though this

would be the climax of every wish he had ever wished. And

it was suddenly so. The chilly air flew past his face,

throwing his hair back. He struggled to open his eyes

wide, stifling the blinking reflex, and stared out wildly.

For a fleeting moment he careened, he hugged the turns, he

floored the gas-pedal down the slopes. His mouth was open

and he realized he was screaming with exhilaration. But it

was already fading. He could feel the fantasy-world

slipping from his grasp. He was becoming self-aware again.

Yes, he was asleep and he knew it.

"I'm dreaming."

The joy of the moment was passing away.

And then he was back on the bus with a fine layer of

sweat on his face. The diesel engine droned on as they

passed Mexicali at 70 miles per hour. He had followed Rian

without any idea why, and then left her without a word.

Now he was following the early-morning bird on its southern

journey.