A terrific storm is lashing a little town on the coast. Rain pounds down from the heavens, whipped into a fury by fell winds. In a house, in a neighborhood, the crashing cacophony of the squall is drowned out by the sounds of yelling from the next room over. The boy awakens from a nap, prematurely, not for the first time.
His parents always seem to be at each others’ throats lately, too busy yelling at each other to really care about anything else, it seems. Most of the time, he feels invisible to them as they drift around him and loom above him. And, on those occasions they can see him, he doesn’t feel visible, just exposed to whatever rage or sob story happens to be the subject of the day. It’s gotten to the point where invisibility has become a kind of sanctuary. He’s just a kid, and doesn’t get the deeper meanings and implications of having two parents who seem to hate each other, and they both seem to be to blame. All that mattered to him, lately, was that he wasn’t involved. We don’t know exactly what they are fighting about, and it really doesn’t matter. If he were present, one or both parents would rope him into the conflict, if not focus it on him entirely. It feels bleak, loveless, and though he doesn’t hate his parents, he sure hates being around them. He’s old enough to understand where it’s probably going to lead. He was a mouse in a house full of cats. And, at this moment, for whatever reason, he has had enough. He makes a big decision.
Their arguing rises to shouts. His angry, bellowing dad, for whom a good day is one spent quietly annoyed by seemingly everything. His mom, usually quiet and rarely raising her voice, for whom a good day is one spent away from here, at work. Blah blah blah.
Meanwhile, the storm outside begins to ease off. Just a little.
A painting hangs above the boy's bed, and it's always been his very favorite. We are somewhere out on the open sea, which is tossed with mean looking white caps. A storm, perhaps much like the one whipping up such a frenzy outside, churns up the entire scene with hues of violet and gray. A three-masted ship of war is caught up in the maelstrom, yet it carves through the waves with confidence and full sails. The boy drifts in and out of the scene in his imagination, thinking to himself that he could be like the intrepid sea dogs braving the waves on that sturdy ship, relying on his wits and courage, facing the unknown with anticipation, meeting danger with a wry smile and ready hands.
The power goes out as he makes his way downstairs. The boy takes it to be an omen, and he is gone a moment later.
He is immediately drenched, from head to toe, and thunder rumbles over and over. He doesn't mind. A sort of delirium has taken hold, and the rain cleanses him of his doubts. There is no such thing as a destination. All he can do is marvel as he looks down and sees his own soaked sneakers, carrying him onward. Surely, he couldn't be making them do that, could he? Surely, he could make them stop, if he wanted to, and make them reverse course. Surely, surely, he will find one of the very many sensible reasons he should.
Before long, he finds himself at the nearby shore, with no veto issued from within. It's night, and there's not much to see, except for the beacon at the top of a distant lighthouse, spinning gently around and around, its light spiking into the gloom. Nearby, he finds a sailboat moored to a dock, bobbing in waves which whispered his name, over and over. He raises the sails without a second thought.
The land recedes behind him, though he does not see it, because he is not looking back. The storm retreats, and the clouds peel back, revealing a stellar tapestry unlike anything he has ever seen. He had read that there were many billions of stars right here in the Milky Way, and now, he could see it was as they said it was. The best part about the view was that he had it all to himself.
A puff of breeze ruffles his hair. The big canvas sail drinks of the wind, and it is such a nice feeling, to be finally moving forward.
What the boy does not realize, is that a great eye has fixed upon him.
In a near instant, the entire world disappears.
Replacing it, is all the rain in the entire world, all at once, right there on top of his head. Puffs of breeze transform into ripping winds, shredding across skies strobed over and over by the most brilliant blasts of lightning. A vortex forms from a thousand directions at once, scouring absolutely everything above the waves. Which, for miles around, happened to be absolutely nothing, except a helpless kid and his boat. Neither are any match for such incredible forces.
The boat quivers beneath him, signaling pain. In one of these snapshot moments, he can see that the sail has torn loose. Now, it is a vengeful ghost, looming over him. He screams as it lets out a mournful cry, which he feels in his bones as loudly as in his ears. If not for that, the sound of the mast cracking might have been lost among the eruptions of thunder.
Then, for the second time tonight, he sees stars.
When next he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking right into the sun. It is a very short staring contest. The gentle sound of the waves, rolling up the beach and over his feet. He stands, soaked and battered, but still in one piece.
Wherever here was, here he was. And, there was no going back.
