Another Dimension

George pushed the accelerator almost to the floor of his jeep, feeling his tires slipping on the muddy mountain road and the car lurching to the right and left of the road as it slipped. He had not really decided on his own to come visit his cabin at this time of year when it was normally rainy and snowy and the dirt road always a muddy mess, but his boss had commented on his fatigue and lack of focus at work and so he decided to take a couple of weeks off. "What better place to rest, relax and 'rehab'", George thought to himself, than in the remote mountain log cabin he and his dad had built as a hunting lodge.

After reaching the cabin and ready to jump out, George sat quietly for a few moments letting his heater keep him warm and cozy as he stared out the window at the torrential rain pouring down and felt the wind buffeting his car. "Got to get out eventually," George thought, not really wanting to leave the comfort of his jeep. George turned around and lifted his green army knapsack off the back seat to take into the house. Then he opened the Jeep's door, rain and wind hitting him in the face, and dashed through the mud to the safety of the front porch. He pulled the keys out of his front pocket, cradling the blue lucky rabbit's food key chain in his hand, then opened the door. As he opened the door, and he had to hold the handle so the wind would not slam the door all the way open, a flurry of leaves flew in and covered his living room floor. He shut the door, brought down the heavy iron latch to lock it, and then turned on the lights.

George set his knapsack on the floor and walked over to the fireplace, opened the damper, feeling a rush of cold air come down the chimney, stacked a pile of wood kindling, then lit the fire. Fueled by the oxygenated breeze blowing down the chimney, the kindling immediately began to burn, and George added two of three logs to make a larger fire, to warm the room and his chilled bones. Still a little wet from running into the house through the torrential downpour, George stood in front of the fire to dry off and warm up.

In a cabinet next to the fireplace with a shelf above filled with books, George pulled down a bottle of scotch and poured himself a large drink, sat down in the stuffed leather chair just opposite the fireplace and chilled out.

George sat in the chair for about an hour, thinking about the food and snacks he had brought in his knapsack and ready to munch on some. As he sat, he looked up at the framed photograph on the mantle of George and his father. He stared at it for a few minutes remembering the day he and his dad shot the photo. As he stared, he noticed something odd about the picture. He remembers that when the photo was taken--and he had placed his camera on a tree stump and placed the shutter on automatic--there was a lake behind he and his dad. Now there was no lake and no trees, even though George remembers shooting the picture in the very forest that surrounded the cabin. The very forest that he and his father had cut down trees in to build their log cabin.

But this photo was different. There was nothing behind he and his father except what appeared to be a hot desert flora. He thought it was hot because off in the distance, behind where he and his father were standing, there was a shimmering mirage. There was something odd in the mirage almost like a house or something, although it was so distorted he could not tell what it was. He also noticed in this photo that both he and his father had sweat on their brows. Sweat streaming down their faces as if they had been running and then had stopped for this photo to be taken.

George was perplexed. He did not remember any time he and his father had traveled to a desert and had taken a photo of the two of them. Yes, there was a desert in the state where he lived, but it was hundreds of miles away from their cabin and this lush green forest. George had no cell phone coverage and so he could not call his father and ask about the strange photograph. No, he would have to wait until the end of his weeklong getaway, then he would take the photograph with him and share it with his father.

Feeling sleepy and a little drunk after his second scotch, George covered himself with the woolen blanket lying on the back of the leather chair drifted off to sleep. As he did, the shimmering mirage in the photograph began to change. Like an image seen far away in the lens of a pair of binoculars, the shimmering image in the desert clarified and turned into a picture of the cabin George was sleeping in, with the lush green forest surrounding the cabin and the placid lake off in the distance. George in the desert, sweating from the heat and the hard run and leaving his father standing alone, walked on the hot scrabble ground of the desert toward the image of the cabin, now clear and distinct in the distance. In the image of the cabin, it was raining hard, and winds were buffeting the trees and bushes. Outside the cabin, George from the desert was enjoying the cool air and the cold rain cooled his hot and sweaty body. He walked into the door of the cabin, holding on to the metal latch so that the door would not fly open, and then walked over to the comfortable leather chair, now empty and sat down. George brushed off the sand and dust from his jacket, poured himself a scotch and relaxed quietly in the chair. George from the forested cabin, walked out of the shimmering mirage in the desert and joined his father standing in the hot desert sun, and already sweating from the intense heat.