Dylan, p.1
Dylan, page 1
DYLAN
D.L. Gardner
Dylan
D.L. Gardner
Copyright © 2018 by D.L. Gardner
Paperback ISBN 978-1980741596
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
D.L. Gardner
Port Orchard WA
http://gardnersart.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Some names and characters, places, and incidents are actual, some are created from the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people other than those the author has permission to use, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Dylan/ D.L. Gardner.—1st ed.
This book is dedicated to all the people of the world who struggle to find themselves.
May you realize the pearls within.
We all have hopes and fears. We all make mistakes. We all doubt ourselves. You’re no different.
-Liona
Contents
A Touch of the Uncommon
Annabella
Changing Tide
Far Horizons
The Crashing Surf
Liona
Served à la Fantasia
Crystal Shores
Summer Tide
Typhoon
Tim Lan
The Enchantment of Reef Hollow
Island of Paradise
Riding the Wake
Riptide
Stormy Day
Turmoil
Despair
Mud
Black magic
The Plea
Island
Torment
Refuge
Death of an Ancient
Renewal
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
A Touch of the Uncommon
Uncle Jim rolled his wheelchair all over Windy Point looking to buy a suit I could wear to graduation. I jogged behind him trying to keep up. What a sight we made! Two fellas shopping; one an old bearded Rumpelstiltskin-looking guy; long gray beard, curly hair sticking out from under his wool cap—while it was too warm to wear a wool cap—spinning his wheels like some sort of speed-demon at a special Olympics game. And me in my blue jeans tagging behind, my flannel shirt too short for my long arms, the cuffs flopping like beagle’s ears, my shirt tail flapping in the breeze. I followed because that’s what you do with Uncle Jim. You follow. Follow and listen cause he’s full of wisdom. He says things that touch you inside and make you think–and make you feel.
We came to the thrift shop at the corner of Maple and Oak. Uncle Jim stopped for a minute, giving me time to peer into the glass window. There was a grandfather clock with a clapper missing, a wooden high chair that looked like an antique, and a mannequin wearing a pleated skirt, a white blouse and a vest. Someone had draped a backpack over one of her shoulders and I think they meant for her to look like a schoolgirl. I chuckled a little because she was too old to wear those kinds of clothes. Just like I was too old to go to school anymore.
“Let’s go to Ame’s Hardware,” Uncle Jim said, without going into the store.
“But—” I thought to argue, but the words didn’t come right away.
“You’re starting a new life, now Dylan. You don’t need clothes people wore and left behind. It’s time someone bought you something new.”
The local hardware store carries everything. So much that you can’t even find the hardware. Candy, home décor, barbecues, sports items, shoes. The store carries clothes too, but not many, and no sizes for boys my height. I don’t fit into the men’s sizes because I’m too skinny.
“Guess your slacks we bought you last Christmas will do for pants. They still fit?” Uncle Jim made another turn around the T-shirt aisle, rustling through racks of sale items until he came up with a nice white dress shirt. “Try it on.”
I pulled my flannel off without unbuttoning it— my sweaty chest now bared—and slipped on the shirt, worried about the smell I might leave behind if we didn’t buy it. As soon as I buttoned the top button a grimace came over his wrinkled face.
“Sleeves are short,” he said.
“I can roll them up. See?” I folded the cuff of one sleeve over and over until it rolled neatly on my elbow.
Uncle Jim nodded, and his smile returned. “Works for me if it works for you,” he said. “Give it here.”
Later that night while driving back home from the school, Aunt Agnes let us know she didn’t like that I rolled my sleeves up for something as ritzy as a graduation. Said it wasn’t appropriate. I didn’t see the problem because I wore my gown over it anyway.
“Stop your bellyaching,” Uncle Jim told her. He was in the back of the van looking out the rear window. He could have sat on the seat next to me, but Aunt Agnes was always rough moving him, so instead of causing a fight, he just stayed in his wheel chair. “It’s the best we could do. He’s at that awkward age when nothing fits.”
“It’s his own fault he can’t find clothes to fit. Other tall boys have clothes that fit nicely.”
“He’s too skinny,” Uncle Jim argued.
“He should be working out, then. Getting into sports or something. He’s lazy.”
Aunt Agnes was never low on insults. It bothered Uncle Jim more than it bothered me.
“He doesn’t connect the dots right,” I heard Aunt Agnes complain to my cousin Shirley.
My cousin rode shotgun anytime we went anywhere together. She looked over her shoulder at me with eyes so blue you’d think they were going to jump out past those thick pasty eyelashes like a fish in a pond chasing a rooster tail. She scoffed while Aunt Agnes kept talking. “Did you hear him tonight stuttering and slobbering on his own spittle? He can’t carry on a civil conversation. An embarrassment, that boy. Twenty years old and he’s just now graduating. I doubt he can read past the third-grade level. Frankly, I’m surprised he graduated unless the school district just wanted to get rid of him.” She shook her head as she made a right-hand turn into our driveway. “Really! Now what?”
I rolled my eyes. But Uncle Jim growled, and then went into a coughing fit. He didn’t say anything though. Once we came to a stop, Aunt Agnes lowered the lift, and Uncle Jim steam-rolled into the house. I followed him inside with Aunt Agnes at my heels. Uncle Jim threw his baseball cap on the couch, and grumbled something fierce, maneuvering his chair through the litter in our living room. I could see a fight coming. Aunt Agnes and Uncle Jim fought a lot. Usually about me. I appreciated his support, but I didn’t like him yelling. I didn’t like seeing him upset because he’d always go into a coughing fit or run up a fever. Besides, the shrill screaming Aunt Agnes did reminded me of my mother when she used to hit me with a belt. I dodged into my room and waited for Aunt Agnes to leave, holding my hands over my ears until the front door slammed.
After a few moments of silence, the TV came on and I peeked out of my room.
“News is on,” Uncle Jim said.
I joined him on the couch next to his wheel chair and watched the news with him, but I mostly watched him. His face lost some of the redness he had when he was arguing with Aunt Agnes, but there were tears in his eyes. He patted me on the knee.
“It’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.”
There was nothing I wouldn’t do for Uncle Jim. He was always there for me. If he hadn’t been, I’d be in a foster home with strangers somewhere. Uncle Jim fought for custody. Said that I was family and family needed to stick together.
“You’ll get that grant for culinary school that you wanted,” he whispered to me during the commercials. “You’ll get in and you’ll be a famous chef. I just know it!”
I smiled at the thought of being a famous chef. I loved to cook, and I was good at it. I cooked all of Uncle Jim’s meals.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Got some forms to fill out. When I get home from the hospital. Okay?” He turned to me and smiled through his tears. I nodded.
Even after the excitement died down, I still didn’t feel very good. I crawled in my bed with my clothes on and buried myself under the covers like I usually do when I get that sick feeling inside, like something’s wrong. We’d had a long day; sleep came quickly.
The morning was grey and foggy so only a little light passed through my window, but enough to wake me up. We didn’t use the heat this time of year, so I put on my hoody. I heard Uncle Jim in the bathroom. I yawned, stretched, then trooped into the kitchen and filled the tea kettle for coffee. Uncle Jim didn’t say anything when he rolled into the living room and turned on the TV. I figured he still mulled over the words he and Aung Agnes had exchanged.
Once his coffee was done, I took it out to him. “Is Aunt Agnes coming for you again this morning?” I asked. The less I saw of Aunt Agnes the better.
“Yes. I have an early appointment.”
“Then I’m going for a walk.”
I didn’t want to leave. I’d rather spend the morning with him. We used to watch the news together and talk about what was going on in the world. Since his kidneys st arted acting up we didn’t have those times anymore.
“I understand,” Uncle Jim said. “We’ll spend time together this evening.”
“I’d like that.” I gave him a smile, hoping it would cheer him up. “I’ll do some beach combing. I’ll bring some oysters back for tonight’s stew.” I grabbed my pail from the porch steps. I could make a dinner out of thin air, but I liked using real ingredients too. I usually mixed and matched, collecting fresh food off the beach and then mixing in some magic.
“You be careful and don’t bust your knuckles shucking them oysters,” Uncle Jim shouted as he rolled his wheelchair to the front door.
“I’ll try,” I called back to him and waved. Little chance I wouldn’t bust my knuckles, or bruise my fingers, or scrape my knees, but no sense worrying Uncle Jim. I walked briskly to the beach, which was pretty much our backyard. Uncle Jim didn’t want a fence. Not having a fence gave the appearance that we had a lot more property than Uncle Jim paid for. I could walk past the sand dunes in our yard and keep going until I reached the sea.
My magic came from the ocean. I didn’t even have to be there to get empowerment. All I had to do was close my eyes and imagine the foamy surf splashing over the oyster beds, and visualize the water gliding gracefully down the beach, leaving imprints of its ripples in the sand. If I meditated long enough, the power flowed into me and tingled the left side of my body. If I wanted to use the energy, I had to use my left hand, or left foot, or whatever was on the left side of me to wield it.
Sometimes the magic came on its own and wasn’t as pleasant. When that happened, my body felt as if I stuck a butter knife in a toaster. I would freeze up as if I were electrocuted, even if I had no desire to wield any magic. I had no control over what I did with all the extra power. Such events happened twice in my childhood and both times were in the presence of my mother when she was angry with me.
I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about the past. The sun beat down on my back, and a flock of seagulls called.
Anyway, Uncle Jim didn’t like me dwelling on the dark days. He told me to keep control of my thoughts.
So, I trudged on through the sand, hoping I’d run into my friend Tim Lan. Tim Lan used to live in Vietnam and spoke with a funny accent that kept me on my toes trying to understand. He was a little guy. Skinny like me. His skin was darker than mine though, kind of like what my coffee looks like when I put cream in it. He smiled a lot. I mean a lot! And his grin was almost too big for his face, but he had white teeth and sparkling eyes. I learned all my oyster picking skills from watching Tim Lan shuck. He’d flop open oysters faster than me, and he never seemed to scrape his knuckles like I did.
I had my quota of oysters before my wristwatch read ten o’clock. I didn’t feel like going home right away as Uncle Jim never came back from his appointments before three. So, I figured I had time to do my magic. I performed this simple trick a lot in secret when I was a younger. I considered it just a silly pastime, but I had to hide from mother because I never knew what would set her off. If she saw me use magic and got mad, then I’d have to stop, and playing with magic was one of the few enjoyments I ever had. Not so with Uncle Jim. He even watched me once and thought it was cool.
I set an opened oyster shell in front of me and with my left hand, flicked my fingers to get the magic moving. Once the energy tingled and made even my fingernails twitch, I made a tiny circle in the air about a quarter of an inch above the shell. Repeatedly I’d spin, drumming up more and more power inside of me and directing it into my hands. Soon the pretty colors in the oyster shells adhered to my rotating finger so that they looked like lasers. I twirled and twisted and rolled those colors into little balls. There were enough colors in one large shell to make three or four of these marbles. There were seven shells on the beach in front of me, so I would have twenty some marbles when I finished. So, entranced with the magic swirling before my eyes, I failed to notice a man watching me until his shadow darken the sand. I looked over my shoulder and there was Tim Lan wide-eyed with his usual friendly grin. He didn’t say anything, he just stood there looking at the shells, the twirling colors, and the marbles.
“What?” I asked. His staring made me uncomfortable.
“Watching.” he mumbled and pointed to my venture.
At first, I was self-conscious and considered stopping, but he encouraged me by nodding. “Go, go ahead, Em.” he said. He liked to call me “Em”. Means ‘friend’ in Vietnamese.
Once I started up again I decided I liked his audience, so I took my time and demonstrated to Tim Lan how I made the oyster marbles. I knew he wouldn’t be able to spin shells into little balls like I do, because Uncle Jim told me my magic was one-of-a-kind. I wasn’t supposed to show anyone my tricks, but I had talked to Tim Lan before and he was a nice guy who taught me what he knew about sea life. I figured I owed him something. His grin grew wide and he stooped down next to me and picked one of the marbles up, revolving the iridescent ball in between his fingers as though he held a precious jewel. I nodded and smiled, proud of myself for making him happy.
“Where’d you learn?” he asked, his accent thick.
“Oh, nowhere really. I just do it.”
“Hmm,” he grunted. “Make the marble shine.”
“Shine?”
He rolled up the sleeves to his thick denim jacket, pushing the cuffs to just below his elbows. His breath smelled like raw oysters, so I knew he’d been shucking and eating them. Sand speckled his coarse black hair like dandruff. His pants hugged to his muscular calves, showing off his sandals he told me once were hand made from hemp. The scent of ocean clung to him. A fragrance that adhered to me, too.
“Watch me,” he said, and began rotating the marble in his hands. “Watch the pearl,” Faster and faster he rubbed and soon the marble let out a faint light. “You see? Anything like this can shine. Good job!”
He held the glowing ball out for me to inspect. The pearl was cool, not warm like I thought something glowing like that should be. Amazed, I nodded. “How did you do that?”
“Magic. Like you.” Wrinkles lined his eyes when he smiled, but age had not taken him captive. I would guess him to be a year or so older than Uncle Jim. “I can take one? Show my wife?”
“Sure,” I said. “You can have them all.” I plucked all the other marbles from their shells and put them in the palm of his calloused hand. I could make more anyway, so giving them away didn’t much matter to me. He quickly shoved the marbles in his pocket and patted me on the back, nodding a thank you.
The mist had turned to rain, so I stood and brushed the wet sand off my pants. “I need to go home now and make coffee for Uncle Jim for when he gets home.”
Tim Lan nodded, and as he did his whole body shook with happiness, which made me laugh. “Very good, I will see you again!” he said. “Maybe you’ll make more? Maybe we can trade?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I watched him traipse across the oyster beds towards the woods beyond. He told me once he had a shanty on the beach near Reef Cove, but I’d never seen his house. Reef Cove was an all-day walk from our beach, but I guess Tim Lan didn’t have much else to do except walk the shoreline. He turned and waved at me, his teeth glowing like the moon. I waved back and then headed toward our cul-de-sac and the small house Uncle Jim and I called home.
Right then the van pulled up. Aunt Agnes opened the back and lowered the platform for Uncle Jim’s wheelchair. From where I was, he looked like Dr. Bones McCoy emerging out of the Starship Enterprise at the space station Yorktown, or somewhere like that. He took no time at all scooting off the ramp and up to the house. I hoped he’d be alone, but after Aunt Agnes folded the van up with her device and headed into the house too. I entered the house through the back door to the kitchen, so she wouldn’t see me.
Chapter 2
Annabella
“He can’t stay here by himself for that long.” I cringed at the sound of Aunt Agnes’ voice. Why can’t she just go away?
“Why not? He’s an adult. He can keep watch over things.” Uncle Jim contested.
“You think he’s capable of keeping this place intact?”
“I’m coming home every night!” Uncle Jim’s patient voice had already left him.
