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Downhill Dreaming

Drew Marshall

    It’s twilight. I walk in the middle of the road, smothered in a transparent mist. There’s not a vehicle or soul in sight. I speed up to a more purposeful pace. I’m heading towards the Plaza Shopping Mall. The huge complex does not grow closer as I walk; it keeps receding into the distance until it disappears. I look around and realize the scenery has changed. I am lost.
    Suddenly I’m at the top level of the Malls’ enclosed garage, skyrocketing down the ramp on my ten speed bike. My breaks are shot. About a dozen seniors are going about their business. A few are in wheelchairs, some use walkers and canes. I’m weaving furiously around them trying to avoid crashing into anyone.
    As I make it to the next level the coast is clear. This level has a steeper incline. I’m soaring at lightning speed. The dock comes into view. Parts of the bicycle start breaking off and flying away. The handlebars are the first casualty. The pedals are next, followed by the rear and front wheels. The seat disappears. Only the frame remains. As I hit the pier, I go flying towards the water. I feel the force of the impact as I wake up in a panic. My heart is pounding like a piston, trying to escape my body.
    I had just turned fifty-nine and was recovering from a serious injury.
    The mall was built over a body of water connected to the bay. The grand opening of the mall forty four years ago was quite an event. Buildings like this may have already existed in the suburbs, but it was a first for me. I was a city kid closing in on fifteen. A one million square foot enclosed shopping center, housing a ten level parking garage.
    I lived less than two miles from this colossus. Prior to its construction it was a gated area housing garbage barges. On the weekends my friends and I rode on our bikes to get there. A quick climb over the fence, and then we could play on the barges for hours at a time.
    Roland and I were happily playing captain and crew on the top deck of a barge. Upon boarding this seaworthy vessel, we started shouting out various clichés we had heard hundreds of times on television and in movies.
    We started hearing howls and screams coming from the lower deck. These sounds increased in volume quickly. I thought there was some kind of wounded animal trapped below us.
    We were confronted by a bearded man in his fifties. The deranged raging bull raced toward us. He was swinging a huge meat cleaver determined to destroy any intruders.
    Roland and I looked at each other for a second and then took flight. The avenging madman followed several steps behind us. Instead of running straight towards the entrance and hopping over the fence, we sped up a two-story high flight of stairs.
    This led to a platform with a small booth at its center. The booth was padlocked from the outside. It controlled a conveyor belt over a mound of some mixture of pebbles and sand.
    The maniac stopped at the foot of the stairs. He never once relented from waving the gigantic cleaver and slicing up the air. He still had not uttered any humanlike, intelligible sounds. I realized we made a fatal error. We were trapped in the sky.
    The lunatic realized this as well and started charging up the stairs. I waited until he was about three quarters of the way up before jumping onto the conveyor belt. Roland followed on my heels. We had to grab on to the edges of the rubber belt, which was about six inches wide. We held on for dear life while franticly pushing ourselves downward. This was not a sliding pond and the stationary conveyor belt burned our britches.
    This left the butcher at a loss of what action to take next. He stood atop his kingdom, watching us hop over the fence. We unlocked the bikes and disappeared down the avenue. After a few blocks of pedaling past the speed of sound we stopped to catch our breath. We acknowledged the fact that we were almost chopped to bits, and had a few laughs about it.
    We cruised along at a leisurely pace. We still had the better part of a Saturday afternoon to kill.
    The following weekend provided the next life threatening thrill. We paid our usual monthly visit to the used car lot. The lot was home to about two dozen automobiles. It was closed on weekends. From our block we ran through backyards and front yards. These were homes of people we did not know. We thought nothing of it. This short cut allowed us to the climb over the lot fence. We would then play tag, running atop the autos.
    The thrilling danger was provided by two enormous wolf- like German Shepherds on patrol. These vicious attack guard dogs were out for our blood. We laughingly teased them as the animals chased us throughout the lot.
    About fifteen minutes into our little fun and games frolic, my left foot slipped and wedged into the driver side mirror. My eyes met the eyes of the larger of the two canines. He sensed victory and lunged towards me. I somehow managed to pry my foot loose, about a nano-second before the monster could have snapped off my leg.
    His snout and teeth seemed larger than a crocodiles. You could hear the snap of his jaws locking for miles. Without missing a beat, he again jumped up for another chance at my lean body parts.
    I hopped onto another car to my immediate right. The auto was in the first lane of cars next to the fence.
    The pack animals could not get next to these vehicles. My friends seemed to have been frozen in their tracks. l shouted out I was splitting, and hopped over the fence. I was quickly followed by my road crew.
    It was nearing lunchtime as we headed home. This incident was forgotten a few hours later, when we met up again to choose sides for punch ball.
    We returned to the lot the following weekend. The tops of the fences were now covered with barbed wired. We had enough sense not to tackle it.
    At that age we knew we were born indestructible. We would live forever. Life was in front of us then. It was yours for the taking. Youth has no fear.
    I had just turned fifty-nine, and was recovering from a serious injury.

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