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khelinski · 2 years

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Summer of ‘93

To Amy Bowman and Paddrick O'Riley for being such a beautiful double rainbow in my life after a dark cloud continually appears in my peripheral vision. You both listen when very few would, and I will forever be in your debt to the kind words and support you have provided me in which guides me along every second of every day. Thank you, thank you, and thank you.

My memory was a little fuzzy after all these years, so I can’t say for sure if this actually happened in the exact order of the transpired events. But this all did happen, I think, as hard as it is to digest the believability of it. I am sure you may think I am crazy once we reach the end, friends. Maybe I am. All writers have a small case of crazy-itis in them. When it comes to this fantastical fairy tale I am about to share, I assure you that I haven’t been sure about anything else in my life.

Except that you cannot expect the unexpected if you are expecting something that is unexpected. But it is most certainly expected to unexpectedly expect the unexpected. I am no expert on the expected, except when the expected is accepted. I am, however, experienced in the non-exempt unacceptable unexpected…which pertains to this yarn.

It started out like any other day in the summer of ’93. The sun came out to play. The heatwave started to pick up. Lawnmowers added to the backdrop of the ‘burbs of Detroit, MI.

Around lunchtime, my dad took me to see Jurassic Park at the old Showcase theater. It was a movie everyone talked about for the last two weeks (and had talked about the entire summer, year, decade, century, and was now considered a classic). In the context of the summer of ’93, TV commercials kept advertising about the movie. McDonald’s sold collectible cups. There were toys and books and shirts, and so much buzz.

And it was right up my alley – live-action dinosaurs running amuck. Who doesn’t love some dinos?!?

I wasn’t expecting what I had experienced. And in the summer of ’93, watching Jurassic Park on the big screen for the first time was an experience like never before. Kids today can have their marvelous Marvel ‘verse or Jurassic Globe all they want. Nothing would ever top seeing the T-Rex stomp its way out of the electric fence for the first time with that gorgeous roar at the top of its’ gorgeous lungs. Of course, from an eight-year-old’s perspective (how old I was when I saw the film for the first time) – that was the most thrilling, exciting, and terrifying moment in one young lad’s life. I kept hiding into my dad’s arm. I didn’t want to look away, but it was all too real on the celluloid screen.

When I got out of the theater with my dad, I was a changed person. Jurassic Park not only transformed me into a Steven Spielberg fan-boy and movie buff overnight, but it also kindled the fire of creative writing. I was so impressionable with what you could do with the imagination, and all the wonders you could explore along the way.

When I got to the house and asked my parents if I could ride my bike for a bit. My mom glanced at the time on the clock in the kitchen. It was six after four P.M. She told me to be home by six for dinner. I walked through the house to the sunroom and approached my bike. I walked my black beat-up Huffy Striker 2000 I had received as a birthday gift a couple of years earlier and walked around the backyard to the front yard.

I straddled on my bike and raced as fast as I could on the sidewalk. I closed my eyes and pretended I was being chased by a pissed-off T-Rex. I could hear his thunderous stomping pounding footsteps in my head. Gorgeous ear-piercing roaring from the T-Rex’s gorgeous lungs filled my ears of imagination. I then imagined sly hungry raptors racing me to catch up. I could see them leap up toward me and cut right through, eating me head first.

As I was imagining gruesome deaths done by dinosaurs, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was peddling my bike off to. I had exited my neighborhood by making a sharp right at the end of New Bradford along 17-Mile Rd. I was approaching the small incline bridge over the Clinton River. I stopped peddling and leaned my bike against the ledge. I looked over the peaceful water underneath me. Though the stream was attached to the Clinton River, the stream under the bridge was more like a creek.

I stood there for quite some time. It wasn’t until a LOUD thunderclap woke me up from me zoning out. I looked above me and noticed a dark, black cloud with a silver outline from the sun rays above the cloud. More clouds followed the one I was staring at as if it was in a march of clouds. Lightning ignited the sky, followed by another LOUD thunderclap.

I was about to head home when it started raining very heavily. I had gotten off my bike and ran from the bridge, racing over to the grass hill past the bridge. My destination in mind: under the bridge for shelter. I was completely drenched.

I kicked the kickstand of my Huffy, so my bike was in place. I then was observing underneath the bridge. A couple of chairs, fishing poles, and a handful of empty beer bottles were near the edge of the water. I then looked up to the graffiti on the walls. There was a logo with the letters OV. Behind me, there was the word HELLPLEX in cursive. Under that was a faded phrase that read: ‘…there’s more joy at EYS.’ Next to that was ‘WASTIN’ AWAY AT KEY WEST 4 EVER.’ I walked further in and saw a quote I would later recognize in life from J.R.R. Tolkien about wanderers finding themselves without getting lost.

I could hear the hard rain hitting

[TAP

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the bridge above me.

The sound of the cars passing by on the road above my head was amplified underneath the bridge. For a while, I just stood there, listening to the soundtrack of cars, rain, and thunder (oh my!)

The heavy rain slowed down to short raindrops [drop-drop-drop-drop]

d

r

o

p

i n

g

above.

I then heard a loud THUMP, CRASH, and BOOM (oh, my!)

I kicked the kickstand of my bike back up and headed back from underneath the bridge to the real world. The dark black clouds in the sky had passed by. There was one white cloud above the bridge. A beginning to a rainbow appeared on the walkway. I had never seen a rainbow up close before. I don’t think anyone has.

The rainbow colors were vibrant. The red, orange, yellow, green, purple in the rainbow looked so bright in its shiny, pristine state; I had to do a double-take just to make sure what I was looking at was real.

I walked up to the rainbow on the bridge with my bike, listening to the wheels rotate. As I got closer to the rainbow, I noticed there was a man standing below the rainbow. He spotted me and blurted out:

“Holy diver! I’ve been waiting for you sir.”

“You have?” I hesitantly asked.

“Yes sir. Been waiting for you for approximately…”

The strange man looked at his watch.

“…2.2 seconds ago. You are late.”

I had a puzzled look on my face, which the strange man must’ve noticed, for he continued to say.

“Excuse me. Where are my manners, Keith…?”

“Wait, how do you know my name?” I interrupted him.

“We shall get to that later, sir. As for me…I am a wizard of sorts. But you can call me simply: the Man on the Silver Mountain.”

I was all kinds of confused at that moment. The strange Man on the Silver Mountain then asked me:

“Well, good sir, are you ready?”

“Ready?” I asked. I then thought for a second and added, “I am not even supposed to talk to strangers.”

The strange Man on the Silver Mountain smiled. He wasn’t that tall for a man, but slightly taller than an elf. He had a black jacket with a coattail, despite how warm it was outside. Underneath the coat, he wore a faded Carolina County Ball ’74-75 tour shirt. On top of his head was a magician hat.

While I was eye-balling the man’s appearance, a chairlift with a tiger face in front slid down the rainbow. It had then stopped where the Man on the Silver Mountain stood. The chairlift looked like it was attached from a ski lift. Inside the chairlift was two uncomfortable (but comfortable enough) lookin’ seats.

The strange man that called himself the Man on the Silver Mountain didn’t seem to notice. He still had a smile on his face. He then said:

“Under normal circumstances, you would be right, good sir. Don’t talk to strangers. But…I am no stranger, Keith. I know all about you, young sir.”

A door on the side of the chairlift opened by itself. The Man on the Silver Mountain pointed both his hands to the chairlift and said:

“Now, young sir…are you ready to catch the rainbow? It is hell, not heaven to ride the tiger on the rainbow in the dark. We need to get through the gates of Babylon before it is too late.”

“Rainbow in the Dark? Gates of Babylon?” I asked myself. They sound like names of songs from the ‘70s and ‘80s.

Against my better judgment (does eight-year-olds have developed judgment anyways?!?), I walked up to the chairlift and sat in the seat to the right (my left). The Man on the Silver Mountain followed me in the chairlift, sitting in the seat to the left (my right). The door closed on its own. At this point, I didn’t know if I was dreaming or if this was actually happening. But I went along with it – fantasy and surrealism and realism butting-heads together. The chairlift had begun to vibrate. I was getting nervous and started to think of excuses to back out. I was also thinking how dumb I was for getting into a chairlift with a tiger in the front, attached to a solid rainbow, accompanying a strange man that called himself the Man on the Silver Mountain.

The vibration continued to intensify to a synchronized drum solo. Later on in life, I would recognize the vibration as the drum intro to the song ‘Stargazer,’ by Rainbow.

Before I could even process what occurred next, we skyrocketed up into the sky along the rainbow, leaving Sterling Heights behind. A few birds chirped loudly as they got out of our way. We approached and passed an airplane in a matter of a couple of milliseconds. We were going so fast and so high, I think this was the moment in my life in which I will forever be scared of massive sized roller coasters.

We slowed down a little near the curve of the rainbow. Right before my very eyes, there was a gate that had a sign on top that read: Babylon. The Man on the Silver Mountain was not lying. Beyond the gate was a castle that resembled a castle at a Magical Kingdom somewhere in Florida.

“Before the gate was in place – the Magica’s wanted to live for the king. It was a happier time on the rainbow. Dragons lived in harmony with the wolves. Now we must lock up the wolves, for they want to go on killing the dragon. Unfortunately, there is only one left, the last in line, the sacred heart.”

The Man on the Silver Mountain chuckled, and then continued to say while we were passing on through the gate on an incline and was riding along the rainbow on the surface of the archway:

“I am sure none of this makes much sense to you, young Keith. Just know that the Magica’s want nothing more than to kill the king. And along these parts – the mob rules. That’s why I wanted to get to the gate before it closes. It’s the end of the world once the gate closes, and the rainbow in the dark neverwhere.”

The Man on the Silver Mountain was right once again. None of what he was saying made much sense at all. To be perfectly honest, friends – I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying. He could’ve been rambling about how kick-butt Nickelodeon was and all its awesome shows and I still would be completely lost with what he was saying. My observation was attuned to everything around me. I was high up in the sky on a rainbow. I could see not only cities from Michigan; I could see states close by and far away.

“Perception is a lot different up a rainbow, young Keith.”

The Man on the Silver Mountain knew to answer anytime I had some puzzling question in my head. He then added:

“Please don’t fall off the edge of the world. I don’t wish for you to die young, sir Keith.”

The chairlift stopped about halfway up the center of the rainbow. The door opened by itself. The Man on the Silver Mountain got up and walked out of the chairlift. I followed him. He walked a few yards away from the chairlift and stopped.

I felt a breeze on top of the rainbow. I could hear a distant noise from the world below me.

The Man on the Silver Mountain reached into his coat pocket to the right and got out a bell with the initial JDH written on the side. He rang it. The noise coming from the world below had gone silent. He placed the bell back in his right coat pocket. He reached in his left coat pocket and got out a stick of some kind. Wasn’t until many years later, as I am writing out this story from memory, the stick was none other than a wand you could purchase at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios. He waved the wand at some clouds nearby the rainbow. The clouds magically disappeared. The Man on the Silver Mountain did say he was a wizard of sorts. Maybe he was.

He placed the wand back into his left pocket. He reached into his right inside coat pocket and held a pair of glasses. He put the glasses on his face. He reached into his left inside coat pocket and retrieved a beat-up old looking journal.

The front of the journal was lightly tanned, with a glued-on picture of the globe (North and South America) as the centerpiece.

“Now, young sir…” the Man on the Silver Mountain smiled, and continued, “…this here…” he waved the journal in his right hand, “…is your life.”

Once again, I was baffled, and it must have shown on my face as the Man on the Silver Mountain explained:

“Some time from now, you will receive a journal…just like this one,” he kept waving the journal around.

“…by a person you will fall madly in love with. It will not work out, unfortunately, as life often gets in the way of fairy tale love stories. The journal will sit in your possession for many years. You will use it as inspiration for a handful of stories you will write..”

“Me? Write?” I interrupted.

The Man on the Silver Mountain smile widens.

“Oh yes, young Keith. You are a writer. And you will write so many wonderful and not so wonderful pieces. Essays, movie reviews, short stories, and novels. It all started today when you went to see Jurassic Park with your dad. You will possess so many dreams from that moment in the darkened auditorium at Showcase Cinema. In fact, if you fast forward six years from now…you will work there young Keith.”

My eyes widened, knowing the strange day just got better and better. Not only will I be a writer. I will also work at a movie theater!

The Man on the Silver Mountain noticed how perked up I was all of a sudden. He then coughed a little and said:

“I am getting way ahead of myself. I don’t want to derail too much here with too much detail. You will dream big, and you will dream evil. You will want to be the next Steven Spielberg, or the next Roger Ebert, or the next Stephen King. I can’t persuade you from not dreamin’ evil. And you will. As a matter of fact, at the moment you get off this rainbow, you will forget all about this journey, and about me. That is until you pull out this here journal…”

He waved the journal once more.

“…and handwrite this story you had experienced and everything I am telling you now.”

I tried to digest all of this, but I was ever so confused…by…you know…E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G-!

The Man on the Silver Mountain took a pause to reflect what he was saying and then pointed to the sky.

By now, the sky had a shade of dark pink mixed with light purple. The sun was setting. I was pretty sure I was late for dinner, but none of that phased me any. I took in the beautiful sight before me. When you took in a breathtaking sky from a distance, you sensed the awe-inspiring sight, but you never quite felt it in your very soul. Seeing it surround your every which way was a completely different experience.

I was in a trance. The Man on a Silver Mountain woke me up from that trance by stating nonchalantly:

“You are a wizard, young Keith. Just like me.”

I was flabbergasted. “Huh?” I thought. I then said with hesitation in my voice:

“Me? Wizard? I am no…”

“I am going to interrupt you right there. We are not going to reenact The Philosopher’s Stone.”

Once more, I was utterly confused. The Man on the Silver Mountain chuckled, and then continued to say:

“That’s right. We are still in the early ‘90s. My timing has always been a little off. She hasn’t published it yet. In fact, at this moment in time – she is still mapping out the series in her head. Her Horcrux is her mind. And once she frees, it will be…”

The Man in the Silver Mountain struggled to search for the right words, and finally settled with:

“…magical beyond imagination. She too is a wizardess. Isn’t it great that so much from the imagination is often locked in a wizard’s head? And yes, young Keith, you are a wizard. Anyone gifted (or cursed) with a creative mind is a sorcerer clothed with immense power. All wizards in the creative arts have the sheer will, guts, brains, and magical wits to tap into the eye of this here rainbow, forging all of its beauty into an idea, and convey that idea into poetic prose, or a drawing, or a song. Rainbows are nothing more than infested dreams coming to life before your very eyes. With each nightmare, the bad storm that wreaks havoc, the glimmer of hope shines mighty and bright from the sky above to the ground below.”

The Man on the Silver Mountain stopped talking for a moment. He glanced at the sky. The dark pink dissolved into a dark deep purple. I looked down and noticed the rainbow colors turned to a shade of silver. The outline of the silver rainbow looked like a silver mountain. The strange man that referred to himself as a wizard truly was a man on a silver mountain.

He thumbed through the pages of the journal. I tried to steal a peek. The only thing I got a chance to spot real quick was a drawing of a beautiful lady with a green dress on. She winked at me through her oversized sunglasses on her beautiful face. A voice in the back of my mind all of a sudden whispered the words, “the wanderer keeps wandering …now write, hon…”

Alice in Wonderland was always curiouser and curiouser. Well – on top of the rainbow, I was confused(er) and confused(er)!

The Man on the Silver Mountain closed the journal and sighed. He suddenly looked at me with grave concern.

“This is your life. Your then, there, that, those, the. Your why, when, how, where, what. Your past, present, and future. Your now. You will dream big and, sadly, dream evil. You will inspire and feel inspired. You will gain some friends, and lose lots of friends. You will cheat and be cheated. You will break a lot of hearts, and have your heart broken a million times. Wizards of all kinds of trades feel feelings the most, sense their emotions harder, and sometimes – it will be unbearable. Your feelings will ignite raw emotions, creativity, bitterness, anger, and love. Oh, yes, you will love hard time and time again. Each time, stronger than the last time. Crushes, unrequited love, and disturbing obsessions will creep up time and time again. I wish I could instruct you: ignore it. But nobody will be able to snap you out of stupid dumb love. Not to say, love is dumb. Far from it.”

I listened attentively.

“Love feeds into creative art. So does hate. And you will write your heart out, for your heart beats differently for each experience you will go through. You will get married, and it will be beautiful. You will divorce, and it will rip open an emotion that will cut you off guard and fill your brain (and heart) with a lot of darkness. That darkness will motivate you to pick up everything and leave your world that you know all too well behind. You will make mistakes along the way. And you will love again and again. You will make a fool out of yourself, more than once. You will feel pain more than once. You will suffer and be spoiled. You will feel rejected and reject others in the process. The be-all, end-all love is right around the corner, but you have to wait for her. Even when you feel that you are ready for her – you are not. Even when you finally have the courage to write out this story, you aren’t ready for her yet, for she is not ready for you either. But when you two meet, it will be the love of legends. She too is a wizard. A powerful one. Her smile will ignite a new emotion in you altogether. You both will feed each other’s imagination – and inspire many others’ years to come. You must remember young Keith. Even if you inspire just one soul – you inspired enough to inspire the world. That influence is a powerful spell no evil could ever counteract with.”

The Man on the Silver Mountain stopped talking for a second, catching his breath, and then added:

“Through it all, I encourage you to write. I encourage you to write with truth. I encourage you to live your truth. I encourage you to rip open your soul that you had buried all of your feelings and pour everything out.”

By now, the sky darkened, the moon was starting to take shape, and the stars synchronized their twinkling.

Exhaustion had hit me full force. A yawn appeared on my face. The Man on the Silver Mountain glanced at his watch, placed the journal in his inside left coat pocket.

“Yes, sir Keith, it is getting late. And as I said before…as soon as you drop down off this rainbow, you will forget this whole experience until many years later when you dust off the special journal from that special someone and start writing. The words will flow from your head to the paper as you move the pencil like a wizard’s wand. This story will take shape, and you will remember the day you saw Jurassic Park. That was also the day you met me and caught the rainbow in the summer of ’93. Of course, the summer is not over yet. But this moment was the forgotten highlight you will remember many years from now. Everyone has their moment in which their life is forever changed. You seeing Jurassic Park at the very moment and location you saw it, designed a path you will take.”

I nodded my head, catching every word he threw at me like a sponge.

“You will forget this conversation, young Keith. You will forget it until you will remember it. But I will leave you with one important summary in a nutshell. This is the gist to why I summoned you up the rainbow. Life is like a carousel. You MUST ride the wheel, no matter where it spins you or how fast you go. Keep ridin’, keep writing’, and keep creatin’ magic sir wizard Keith.”

The chairlift’s door opened up. The Man on the Silver Mountain tipped his hat to me and bided me farewell. I walked into the chairlift and sat. The door closed.

The Man on the Silver Mountain got out the bell. He rang it once. The echoing world below slowly entered into my ears. I could also hear a faint wind. But it didn’t sound like the type of wind I heard before. Later on in life, I would recognize the wind sounding identical to the keyboard intro to Rainbow ‘Tarot Woman.’

The Man on the Silver Mountain put away the bell and got out his wand. He waved it to the silvery rainbow. It magically changed to a bright, vibrant rainbow of vivid colors that blinded my eyelids.

And just like that, I shot down from the sky on the rainbow, zooming and falling faster and faster below. Before I could feel all of my senses, I was back at the very spot my bike was residing at on the bridge above Clinton River that was more like a creek. I could smell the rain off the asphalt on the ground. The potent musky scent of wet grass filled my nostrils.

I looked up, and a slight resemblance of a rainbow with faded colors disappeared in the sky. I don’t remember why I was standing in the current position I was in. I got on my bike and peddled my way back home. I approached my street: ‘the Shire,’ (short for Warwickshire).

A double rainbow magically appeared over the horizon around my house down the street.

“I’m coming home, I’m coming home!” I shouted to the world before me.

Many years later, I would piece together this tall tale, only to forget it entirely soon after.

The Man on the Silver Mountain, whoever or whatever he was, was right about everything in my life, including receiving the journal exactly ten years ago as a birthday gift from someone special. The inspiration came in all shapes and sizes, including a journal meant to/for writing. Instead, I was preserving it like an artifact in a museum. I had written about it in previous stories, used it as a plot device and Macguffin. I never thought or considered writing in it…until on my 34th birthday.

As the Man on the Silver Mountain said to me in the summer of ’93 in exact detail what I would be doing at some point in my life; I had dusted off the journal, opened the pages, held my pencil down on the blank page, and uncovered a long-distant memory. But did it really happen precisely the same way I had written it out?

I don’t know.

I don’t even know if I believe it myself. But I will say this, friends…

Anytime I watch Jurassic Park

[over and over and over and over]

over the years.

Anytime I spot a beautiful rainbow

[and have the urge to catch it]

in the sky.

Anytime I hear Ronnie James Dio singing an

[Elf, Rainbow, Black Sabbath, Dio, Heaven & Hell]

song…

�� My mind wanders back to the time when it was decided in the summer of ’93: I was going to be a writer…