The Gate—A Caucasian Lullaby
FALL 2008 DAVID SHERMAN ISSUE THREE
Cheryl bolted down the
tall deck stairs leading to
In one god-fearing flash, the beach. Jake caught
They followed the beat for about fifty C h e r y l ' s a n d J a k e ' s up with her and they
meters off the beach which led them to a nocturnal universe was lit skipped down step by
step.
up 360o.
dingy shanty.
T
he boisterous staff
greeted the guests as
they stepped off the
bus with a festive glass
of Welcome Punch. Jake had
been looking forward to this
diving vacation for two months
and was eager to get started.
He sipped the fruity drink
already dressed in shorts, tank
top and flip-flops having
changed from his winter
clothes at the island’s airport.
As the group was shown
around the grounds a mango
garnish stuck between his front
teeth. He became annoyed
unable to dislodge it rubbing
with his tongue. Stranded in
this Caribbean paradise of
white sand beach, balmy air,
and 80 feet sea visibility—and
me without dental floss.
He broke away from the
group and dropped into the
boutique to buy some floss and
get away from the midday sun.
The shelves were packed with
island mementos not unlike the
cheesy emporiums in TimesSquare that sell Manhattan
tchotchkes that only tourists
buy: checkered cab refrigerator
magnets or Statue of Liberty
paperweights. But it was the
tie-dyed T-shirts that caught
his eye swaying from the
rafters blown by a fan. Native
caricatures printed on the front
and back offered soothing
advice to the tourists:
“No problem in paradise,
mon;”
“We be jammin;”
“Positive vibrations;”
“Yes, mon we 'd got de
Cuban cigar.”
It was easy for Jake to
imagine wearing any one of
these island Tee’s while
chilling out here with a Red
Stripe under a coconut tree.
But back home such a shirt on
his back may not translate so
kindly on the lawn at
Sheepshead Bay in Central
Park.
He selected a baseball cap
with kiwi slices logo and a
yellow visor and also a
miniature palm tree with fauxcarved hanging fruit. The tree
looked hand-crafted until he
noticed a "Made in China"
under its trunk. The salesgirl
sauntered over to the register to
ring up his purchases. When
Jake reached into his pocket to
pay he realized, "Why pay
cash?" and headed back to the
bank station to retrieve his
credit cards.
When he returned to the
same spot ten minutes later, the
boutique was gone! Jake stared
in disbelief at the empty lot on
the beach. And as the
unsuspecting traveler paced
about, the fruity Welcome
Punch began to envelope his
body and nervous system
transporting him to a place not
mentioned on the resort’s
website—where random
observations took on heady
new meanings.
Jake awoke on the beach
laying on his beach towel with
hands clasped behind his head.
He was looking up at the sea
gulls soaring with outspread
wings. They would abruptly
dive from the sky, on the fly,
and in one very coordinated
continuous motion pluck fish
from the sea. He wondered: Do
they ever do that just for fun or
exercise? Or only when they're
hungry? And as he watched
them he tried to choreograph
their flight patterns with a head
fake or eyes-dart, but as it
turned out, concluded he held
no power whatsoever over their
flight.
Behind him in a grassy area
he saw a litter of puppies
trailing behind their mother by
more than a few lengths. Each
puppy was challenging his
boundaries before being
beckoned back by an
omnipotent gaze.
It struck Jake that these two
symbiotic relationships
between the sea gulls/fish and
puppy litter/mother were good
examples of Mother Nature at
her Personal Best, balanced,
and in control.
But then another version of
Mother Nature appeared on the
scene and showed her Personal
Best: It was the resort's own
hostess dolled-up in a red Santa
Claus bikini and white fur cap
prancing around the beach as
she took drink orders from the
guests. Jake cranked his neck
slowly as she passed by him
and wondered whether he held
any power over her.
In the meantime, the
Welcome Punch continued to
take hold. Doors of Perception,
of a less prurient kind, were
opening for Jake. And the most
surrealistic door of them all
opened later that evening at Le
Disco Coconuts...
As he entered the crowded
disco, the scent of international
fragrances greeted him and his
date Cheryl, who he’d met
earlier in the day waiting in line
for a beach towel. The scent
carried the entire length of the
30’ bar, beyond the seating
area, and all the way to the
dance floor in the back which
was packed with global bodies
jamming to the infectious
samba beat. An empty pocket
of air could not be found.
Suddenly, the dance floor
started spinning like Dorothy's
house in The Wizard of Oz. Jake
grabbed on to Cheryl's arm. But
she too was off-balance and
together they fell backwards
onto a stuffed disco couch. Still
holding her hand as they
landed, Cheryl pounced twice
on top of Jake. Their foreheads
bumped forcing Cheryl’s mouth
opened wide to catch a breath
showing rows of perfect teeth.
Jake looked up at her eye-toeye and joked:
“Our children would have
perfect molars.”
Cheryl slapped his shoulder
playfully but with moderate
force. He blinked anticipating
the blow, freezing her oval face
in the flashing lights. Her curly
ringlets undulated like coral in
the sea. Jake reached out to
pinch a few strands to get his
bearings. But Cheryl shrieked
at his touch and the sound
reverberated a hundred times in
his ear canals sending him
flying onto the dance floor
where he skidded to a stop.
The rest of the crowd had
vanished. And as he stood there
alone on the checkerboard
floor, he realized his
relationship with this woman
was on a course all its own. He
extended his arm toward Cheryl
to join him on the dance floor
and on the downbeat swept her
up from the couch. The two
danced as if they’d been
partners for years traversing
the squares of the black and
white floor with long skipping
steps without breaking stride.
As the music blared he spun
her from the waist with the
poise of Fred Astaire but
Cheryl continued to spin
without loss of speed. The
force lifted them both straight
up off the floor dancing in air,
defying gravity.
"I hate it when this
happens," Jake cupped his
hands and hollered over the
music in Cheryl’s direction. As
her mid-air twirl slowed he
could see she was smiling as
they both touched down.
“You dance very well,” she
was visibly pleased. “It's no
ordinary person who can do
this.”
“It takes an extraordinary
one to know,” Jake responded
without taking his eyes off her.
“And an extraordinary one
to find one,” Cheryl topped his
gallantry by one.
Their repartee flowed back
and forth seamlessly. It
reminded Jake of Eva Marie
Saint and Cary Grant’s first
meeting in the dining car scene
in Hitchcock's North by
Northwest coyly sparing about
their secret identities. The
movie stars' charisma spiked
an already entertaining script.
But Jake realized it would
require his full attention to
sustain such witty banter with
Cheryl. He knew he had his
hands full.
They danced effortlessly as
if in a frictionless plane and
laughed as the lead changed
hands being sure to hold on so
as not to drift apart.
Jake took a few steps back
to admire Cheryl’s flair and
good looks and sensed that she
felt the same about him. Her
angular body draped in a
sleeveless shift, didn't belie her
trim figure. Her long sinuous
arms added height to her
stature. Their eyes met often
and at ease. Their mental
rhythm was in synch. Their
hands gripped well. They took
the same size steps. They
danced the samba and didn't
even know how. They looked
good together, thin and tanned.
If the maȋtre d had still been
around, he'd surely have
awarded them the best table.
As the evening grew late,
they sought fresh air and exited
through Le Disco Coconuts
double doors and into the
night. On the high landing at
the top of the stairs
overlooking the beach they
stood touching shoulders sideby-side.
It was a glorious star-filled
night. The full moon shone
brightly even as it sat oddly
low in the equatorial sky.
Improbably, it lit the entire
beach and surf for miles.
Lanky palm fronds swayed
deeply in the breeze creating
huge shadows that flickered on
the sand. The balmy air tossed
their hair and cooled their skin.
Night-time critters sang back
and forth in rhyme. There was
a heightened sense of life all
around. But Jake was
captivated and saw only
Cheryl.
“Jake, have you ever seen
a full moon like this sitting so
low in the sky?” She halfturned toward him and spoke
first.
Jake lost his breath at the
sound of his own name as if
he'd been hiking in thin air at
Machu Pichuu. He grasped
Cheryl's arm to break the spell.
“I've never felt an arm like
this!” He blurted.
Cheryl bolted down the
stairs leading to the beach.
Jake caught up to her and they
skipped down together step by
step. Then two at a time. Sand
crunched under their feet. They
skimmed the hand rails as they
picked up speed, kicked off
their flip-flops and finally,
sensing the bottom, on a whim,
leaped blindly into the
shadows.
They fell forward onto
their hands and knees, turned
towards each other and roared
with laughter that they had
survived. They linked wrists to
ankles and somersaulted
towards the shore. At the top of
each tumble, they paused to
feel the heat of each other's
breath. Cheryl's weaker arms
gave way first and she
collapsed on Jake. Their
mouths brushed once then met
again harder. Their lips found
center, then pressed together
like magnets. Jake's heart
pounded as he ran his tongue
up and over Cheryl's wall of
teeth curling each tooth like a
pianist fingers race during
arpeggio. Still embraced, the
maestro opened one eye to
check Cheryl’s reaction. Her
eyes were glowing like
Michael Jackson’s Thriller
video. Jake looked away to
gather his wits, then stood up
and helped Cheryl to her feet.
But unexpectedly, she pulled
him back down with a kiss and
drew his tongue back to the
gateway of her mouth. Their
teeth collided in a wild and
exciting way.
It was a mode of mutual
desire that bonded their second
kiss, as they embraced, leaving
lesser emotions in the wind.
The setting could not have
been more idyllic: the moonlit
beach, the bare feet on cool
sand, the drama of the crashing
surf, the in-your face breeze.
Yet, Jake was oblivious to it
all. He was captivated by
Cheryl—and it was not just an
hormonal escapade. Her lofty
aura orbited in a realm lightyears away from tempting
visions like the bikini hostess
prancing earlier in the day—A
lifetime ago.
Jake sensed he was not in
control of his own destiny.
“Let's take a walk along
the beach,” he motioned
spastically with an arm that
had sprung free. But Jake
didn't want to take a walk
along the beach. As it tuned
out, his lame suggestion passed
ignored by both sides. The
maestro wanted to stay put and
play another arpeggio and find
out what lies on the other side
of the wall.
“I climbed your wall of
truth!” he
gushed before
realizing what he had said. He
froze like a sprinter coiled in
the starting block waiting for
her to answer.
“My wall of truth?” Cheryl
echoed her voice rising on the
last word.
Jake meant to say he
climbed her “wall of teeth” but
the two words got jumbled. In
fact, “wall of truth” better
described his feeling of
triumph when he scaled her
wall with his tongue. It was his
moment of liberation from the
albatross of self-doubt—his
own Bastille Day in the
Caribbean where, on a diving
vacation, his insecurity
vanished and he discovered his
way to courage and freedom
and love.
“Did you feel a closeness
when we kissed?” He was
concerned his jumbled words
had spoiled the mood.
“Yes Jake, I did feel a
closeness,” Cheryl answered
without hesitation. “And it was
a nice moment. One for the
record books for best first
kiss.”
Jake laughed but needed to
know more. He pulled her
closer by her glistening belt
buckle mimicking a move he’d
seen in a Brad Pitt movie.
“And could this closeness
reach farther?” He gazed into
her eyes, “To our souls?” He
followed-up not meaning to
sound demented or too
neurotic.
But he couldn't wait for her
to answer. Anyway, he'd
forgotten the question. He
knew what he wanted to do
which was kiss her again and
cut the chatter. Cheryl seemed
to agree and with more
intensity than before.
The kiss was torrid. Jake
was on fire. As their lips
pressed and locked, he
exhaled slowly to conserve air
in his lungs. He inhaled
through his nose to extend the
oral gymnastics for as long as
Cheryl wanted. His aerobic
workouts had finally paid off!
Waves of loopy joy burst
through his nerves in a giddy
swell. He felt both elated and
calm, assured and uncertain all
at once. He envisioned himself
bloated with joy looking like
the Pillsbury Doughboy.
Amidst all this turmoil,
near the
essence of
his soul,
Jake felt
w ide-open
ALIVE.
He vowed
to preserve
the integrity
of
this
moment
forever.
Actually lecturing guidance to
himself as if he was a student
in Walter White’s chemistry
class:
• This is the land of no
time-outs.
• No referees.
• No second opinions, no
second chances.
• No agents in the middle.
• No operators standing by.
• T h e re i s n o t h i n g t o
improve upon!
• This is Nature at her
Personal Best!
Jake’s thoughts leaped
back and forth between two
opposing mindsets. His first
instinct was to simply enjoy
the moment. His second
instinct was a need to
understand it—distracting his
attention away from Cheryl
which was the last thing he
wanted to do.
He broke the kiss without
knowing why. Cheryl looked
to him for a sign. He took her
hand and they strolled along
the beach with a steady breeze
at their backs towards the
colony of lights in the distance.
The mortal travelers could
not have prepared themselves
for what happened next. A
monstrous bolt of lightning
split the heavens in two
without even a warning of
thunder preceding it. In one
god-fearing flash, Cheryl's and
Jake's nocturnal universe was
lit up 360o. The flash spanned
from straight up above their
heads in the star-lit sky and
met Earth at the ocean's
horizon—all in eerie silence.
A more spectacular sight, Jake
could not recall.
It was clear to see during
the flash that the distance to
the colony of lights was at
least an hour away. As it
started to rain harder, they
nervously picked up their pace
but grew increasingly fearful
about their safety on the beach.
They pooled their knowledge
of Meteorology together and
figured they'd better get off the
unprotected beach—and fast!
Jake detected a bass reggae
beat under his feet that
carried in the sand. They
followed it off the beach for
about fifty yards which led
them to a dingy shanty that
reminded Jake of Jed
Clampett's cabin from The
Beverly Hillbillies. “I Can See
Clearly Now.” was playing
from inside the cabin.
When Jake knocked the
door swung open to reveal
friends of his seated all
around apparently waiting.
They were friends of his from
high school, college and post
college that he had not seen for
years.
Standing at the
entrance, he eyed them one at
a time and realized none of
them had aged from when he
knew them and the one thing
they had in common was him
—each knew him from
different periods in his life, but
apparently did not know each
other.
Cheryl broke the impasse
by clapping and dancing to the
music. The group of ten stood
up and joined in.
As Jake walked in the scene
blurred rendering the crowd
indistinguishable. He
approached closer but was
unable to refocus. He shut his
eyes slowly and when they
reopened he was back on the
beach laying on his towel
looking up at the sea gulls
wondering if he had any
control whatsoever over their
movement.