Radical Dreamer
by: Robert Zimmerman

I was going about my ho-hum daily routine when - Wham! - absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happened. Of course, being a small child of eight, I could not let this stand and took it upon myself to go raise hell in any way possible. Not knowing what this would entail and, in fact, not really knowing what "entail" meant, I stumbled down the poorly lit and shoddily carpeted hallway of my home into the kitchen.

There, with her huge, lazy hazel eyes, sat our black labrador, staring out of the lightly fogged-over window or, perhaps, pondering her own reflection. On a whim, I decided to lay down with her to partake in the discovery of these great truths to life - or maybe I was just cold (as the window was frosted at midday) - these minor details evade me, now. At any rate, I realized that nothing was happening, quickly lost interest, and stumbled upon what I knew to be the source of this dilemma. Our darling Lady Bear's water bowl waited on the ground, taunting me with all its fido-fied glory.

I took a few sips of the water, smacking my lips after each swallow to see if the magical draught left an aftertaste. Preferably an orange or lime one. Oh, did I love lime. But no special taste came to me, and seemingly no sooner than I started did my mother come into the kitchen and refuse me the remainder of Bear's elixir of truth.
I suddenly realized its wonderful texture and sweet aroma. "Moooooom," I whined shrilly, "that's mine!"�

My mother raised her finger and opened her mouth as if to speak, but only seemed able to manage a small squeak. A shocked expression came over her face and she and I simply eyed each other and the bowl for quite some time. After a fashion, I remember my knees began to ache and a dull throb had started panging in the back of my head, the point just below my eyes. Instantly aware that the concoction had worked I scrambled back to the window. Lady Bear turned her head quickly, ears flapping like propellers, at the sound of my movement and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother shake her head, lightly tap it, and take the bowl away.

So I sat behind Bear, cross-legged, looking into the misty, mirror-like window. Time seemed to slow and, on more than one occasion, I looked at the wavy, backwards clock only to see that it had been playing tricks on me and kept turning itself back. But I was on to its scheme and it couldn't fool me. I shifted slightly, laying down sideways at just the right height to see over our mammoth's back and still see the individual hairs if I squinted. It was then that everything became clear.

I saw my own eyes reflected, two shining spheres of slate, as a cloud passed in front of the sun. Unconsciously, I recoiled a little but soon bent back in to see them. They, lit with the just barely hidden truths of life, teased me as the clouds passed one by one overhead, leaving me devoid of all thought when the light shone.

A deep darkness crept into the sky, filtering out the distracting sun and the rain fell slowly, coming down in heavy drops that rippled outward on contact with the ground. My eyes, too, rippled with the drops and my arms went slack, making a dull thud on Bear's chest as I reached my revelation. She, once again, turned her huge head, slowly and meaningfully, and contemplated me for a time.

I slowly rested my unnaturally heavy limbs on her torso and stretched out, watching the hundreds of reflections of my eyes drop pulse the window pane, tumble down smoothly, and rest, quietly... rest on the bottom of the sill.