Where Dreams All Gather

Outside his grandfather's bungalow in the quaint Floridian retirement community of "Whispering Willows", the boy was shredding on his skateboard, attempting the tricks that he had seen on extreme ESPN. All that he produced was the disappointing clacking of wood crashing on pavement, a loud annoying sound evident by the whinces on the wrinkled faces of those who gathered for pop's birthday party. Knowing the seniors distaste by their long faces and furrowed brows, the kid forced louder crashes, and even pretended to be angry, slamming the frayed end of his board on the sidewalk, muttering
"Bloody hell! Damn janky skateboard..." When his back was turned he half grinned at the self satisfaction he felt at the old folks rising blood pressures.

One silver haired old bitty even pointed towards the beach and instructed him to find the park where the other "miscreants" were loitering, she told him with a slight quiver on her thin lips smeared with too bright a red lipstick. He would have to remind himself to ask his dad what that word meant, in the meantime he just smiled and apologized with a smart retort.

"Why thanks a bunch old miss, but I'm only nine, and I have to stay in view or else the pedofiles in this neighborhood might nab me. Thanks anyhow for your concern," all of his mocking under his thick British accent, speaking in that apologetic tone, made him out to be a sweet boy. But he misjudged her. She was not as feeble minded or slow as he had presumed the old farts to be, and she squinted at him tilting her head in a warning, as if saying "I'm on to you smart a*s."

Trying to avoid eye contact, he abandoned his board and ran to the rear of the bungalow, where a tire swing with a single thick rope hung unoccupied, although surrounded by a many senior citizens and his curly haired dad barbecuing. At least during these grown up events he knew he could maneuver with a sort of invisibility, passing the growing crowd that smelled oddly of old spice, roses, and baby powder. He was targeting his grandfather's supply shed, where he heard rumors of a hidden artillery.

He mingled briefly with his dad at the grill, nodding and being served a wiener and some soggy chips on a paper plate. Somewhere inside the low ceiling home, someone turned on his pop's stereo, and so typical a cliche of a song was playing. And he noticed how the hunched aching geriatrics began to jirate and how they knew the chorus of "Margaritaville." The boy was familiar with the tune, it was his pop's favorite James whatever his last name was song. The hotdog and fries was difficult to swallow, and he silently told himself it was the torturous melody that made this experience dry, even with 65% humidity in The Keys, it just was in poor taste (to a boy like himself).

"Emergency!" He gulped down the bland offerings from the grill, and rushed to the fridge where the Fanta was stored. "Dying of thirst here! Maybe even old age, if I can get through!" The loud gaffaw that rose above the white noise of fiesta minded, Hawaiian shirts, and sun bonnets, made it clear to the kid that they had heard, and his powers of invisibility did nothing to silence his quick wit and mouth.

"Be glad your still a baby..." He heard some say.
"Yeah..." He recognized the low timbre of his grandfather's voice, and felt his big hands grab his waist to carry him up and away from the stork legged wheezers. "Be glad, boy, I am. And I'm 70 or was it 80? Today." He couldn't help but smile, and wrap his boyish arms around his bear of a grandpa.

"Believe me when I say, I am very very glad and even more relieved to still be a kid," he told Pop's, quickly followed by a wave of cackling laughter.

"He's a smart one, my grandson, the things that come out of his mouth." He carried him to the fridgadair and lowered him back to plant his Nikes to the earthly reality of an overcrowded room, and a liter of Orange Fanta to drown away his alienation and loneliness. Before he could ask his grandfather for permission, the birthday bear had gone, dancing in the midst of a living room full of tanned old ladies. . .

"Sun dried tomatoes" he remembered the joke his father had said on the way through the retirement community, how most of the younger old women looked. As his father obeyed the speed limit of twenty five miles per hour, the boy considered what his dad had said, observing the female natives of Whispering Willows, comparing them to their counterparts. The men seem to age better and appeared much more active and younger in appearance, although both were exposed to the same heat of the equatorial sunshine. Most of the sun dried tomatoes were all overly tanned for his liking, but the men less so. To the boy it felt like entering an alien world that mimicked the houses and streets, but was populated by strange wrinkled skeleton like creatures.

"Remember Declan to be on your best behavior," his father told him as their suv approached grandfather's bungalow.
"I know Dah, but why not just pick him up when his party is over?"
Every year the men in Declan's family, which were himself and the two generations before him, always took a holiday together. It was a tradition his father and grandfather began when his great grandfather had disowned his last living son, who was a b*****d from another woman, but could not be denied his inheritance after the fact of having no living heirs left. They were now the sole inheritors of the island which they had holiday visits every summer, and owning an island was a big deal.
"Why can't we just go already?" The boy whined.
"Cuz I told him I'd man the grill and help out, he has lots of acquaintances and fellow retiree friends attending..." His voice broke as he took a short breath at viewing the party and its multitude of guests.
"You weren't kidding Dah, pops does have lots of friends. Wow." His awe would later turn into boredom. He chuckled under his breath as his father paled and his jaw dropped. Classic reaction from his intellectual nerd of a dad, which would be uncool to have been witnessed by anybody else, but to Declan alone it was worthy of a snicker.
The boy rushed out as their vehicle was parked, "stay out of trouble you hear me Declan?!" He called after him, as the boy vanished through a crowd standing on the front lawn. "What the hell were you thinking pops?" He whispered behind the thud of the car door.

.......