Darting off across the yard, kicking up water, grass, and mud onto the backs of my calves I sprinted as fast as I could make my short legs move.
The short iron fence around the property stopped at the line of bushes that defined the back yard. The natural foliage acting as its own kind of fence. I ran directly for a small tunnel like opening in the bushes, barley slowing down as I ducked down into it, maneuvering through like I’d done it a thousand times before. Leaves and thorns both licked and stung my elbows, pulling at my hair as I passed through, but I continued on until I emerged on the other side of the path onto a small beach.
The clouds took turns slowly passing over the moon; the light reflected off the still water looked as if someone were playing with a dimmer on a light switch. I followed the shoreline, the cool water lapping over my feet, the mushy sand pushed up between my toes with each step.
When I came across overgrown mangroves in my path that were growing from the ‘fence’ of the backyard out across the water several feet, I didn’t give what I was about to do a second thought. I turned and waded into the dark water. It had felt only mildly cool on my feet when I was walking but as the water inched up higher and higher on my legs, it was downright cold.
When the water rose over my waist, I shivered.
I pushed through water, sinking into the soft earth, sending little waves crashing against the base of the trees. Something darted out into the water in front of me. At first I thought it was a snake, the way it slithered from side to side making an S shape in the water. I waded out further to avoid it, but when it slithered right by me, I realized that it wasn’t a snake at all, but a large lizard. It hissed as it passed, like an angry driver giving me the finger.
Once I cleared the trees I sloshed back up to the shore on the other side. My shorts hung heavily off of my hips, clinging to my thighs.
I found myself in a small alcove with an old weathered dock that connected to an even older and more weathered pier. Tethered to the pier was a dilapidated houseboat that was decades over its expiration date. The tethering was entirely unnecessary as the boat was mostly on the beach, resting at an angle that told me it had probably been that way for a long time. As I approached the strong odor of mildew, mixed with the salt air, grew stronger and stronger. Much to my surprise I inhaled deeply and unlike the extreme sense of panic I’d experienced in the house, an eerie sense of calm washed over me.
I smiled. I knew this place. I loved this place.
I didn’t know or understand the how’s and why’s, I just needed to be closer to it.
I stepped up onto the dock and it protested my intrusion, creaking and hissing as I made my way down the pier. As I got closer, I realized the boat was a good five feet away from the pier. I spotted a long piece of plywood and picked it up off of the dock, sending ants scurrying all around it. I quickly set it down across the gap, creating a makeshift bridge.
I carefully crossed over it, hopping down onto the cracked wooden deck of the boathouse which was large but for the most part empty for the exception of three rusted folding chairs set in front of the sliding glass doors under the little overhang. A rusted can of Dr. Pepper sat in each of the cup holders. A pink flashlight with a My Little Pony sticker was propped up on one of the chairs. I picked it up and tried to click on the switch. Nothing. I gave it a vigorous shake and banged one end against the palm of my hand. Surprisingly enough it came to life, shining directly into my eye, temporarily blinding me. I blinked waited for my eyes to readjust. With my working flashlight to help light the way I found the handle on the door and attempted to slide it open. It took quite a bit of force to get it to budge, as debris and mud caked the threshold.
Much like the deck, the cabin was empty, except for a few cabinets lining the far wall. Most of the doors were hanging off the hinges. All the shelves were missing. Three faded sleeping bags sat up against another wall. One purple, one pink, and one blue. All three were covered with mildew and frayed at the seems.
Every single inch of wall and ceiling space was covered with magazine pages and clippings. And when I looked closer, through the layer of grime that had coated the pictures over time, I could still make out the different teenage stars from boy bands or TV shows.
Teen magazines. Wall-to-wall teen magazines.
I closed my eyes again and inhaled, hoping to catch another hint of what triggered my recognition. This was a place I’d spent a lot of time. I was positive that one of those sleeping bags was mine and I was even more sure that I’d at least helped wallpaper the place with the magazine pages, because as I walked around I found myself humming one of the tunes from one of the boy bands. That particular band seemed to have their own section of wall space dedicated completely to them.