https://youtu.be/EEV8vSgN7Ys
The sound of a bird loudly chirping woke Gary Trent Jr. from his sleep. He turned himself over in his bed, snuggled into the pillow, and tried to recapture the slumber that had been robbed of him, but it was a futile effort. He found himself annoyed at the raucous avian life fluttering outside the window; normally, no birds disturbed him in his high-rise Tampa apartment, having no place to perch and no trees nearby, so being awoken by one seemed distinctly unfair.
He opened his eyes to look at his clock, and that’s when he realized that something was wrong.
His apartment, which he had just started getting used to after being traded to the temporarily Florida-based Raptors, was not there. In its place was a rustic-looking bedroom. Late-afternoon sunlight poured in through an open window, a window which also provided a breeze made fragrant by the fruit trees which grew upon a nearby hillside. As he looked around, he noted that the stucco-walled room was sparsely furnished, with just a bed and a wooden wardrobe. There was nothing electric of any sort.
Gary wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. Certainly, the place had a serene, dreamlike quality to it. Stepping out of the bed, he walked to the wardrobe, feeling the need to cover his naked body. Inside the wardrobe was a cream-colored tunic with red fringe on the sleeves. He put it on, relishing its extreme softness, then stepped into the hallway, eager to figure out where he was and what was going on.
In the corridor, the golden sunlight was replaced by the slightly different hue of firelight coming from the sconces on the walls. Gary walked, feeling the smooth tiles beneath his feet and noting the colorful mosaics on the walls. Wherever he was, it seemed very Mediterranean in character. And it seemed like he was totally alone. He peeked into several rooms, all of which were furnished for human occupation, but none of which were occupied by actual humans. Occasionally, a glimpse out a window would reveal a pastoral scene or a look into an inner courtyard.
Gary soon lost all sense of orientation within the complex structure. Over time, he began to notice spatial impossibilities with its layout. He would walk through a foyer with a fountain in the center, then ascend some stairs, then walk through the same foyer. He would walk down a hallway, then walk down it again a short time later, despite not having made enough right-angle turns to achieve such a thing. He wondered if he was trapped inside some sort of mental construction, a manifestation of his mind designed to give solidity to the anxieties that his psyche was grappling with. He thought that if he made it through this metaphorical labyrinth, true peace of mind might be waiting for him at the end. As he pondered this, he realized that such peace of mind had already settled over his thoughts like a warm blanket. While a bit strange in terms of layout, the overall feeling of the place he was exploring was one of pervasive calm.
In time, Gary came to a door that opened onto a long courtyard with a reflecting pool running down its center. He happily sat down one one of the benches by the pool, shaded from the sun by a small stand of olive trees. He wasn’t especially thirsty, but the cobalt-blue tiles which lined the bottom of the pool made the water look very refreshing indeed. Leaning forward on one knee, he cupped some water in his hands and drank.
When he returned to the bench, there was another person sitting there.
“Hello, Gary,” said the man, who was uncommonly tall and smiling a friendly smile.
“This your place?” Gary asked.
“You could say that. My name is Linas Kleiza, and I’m the Appointed Guardian of the Countryside Villa of the Forty Point Scorers.”
Gary didn’t know anybody named Linas Kleiza. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asked, thinking that, even in a dream, his mind would not be able to come up with a name like Linas Kleiza, or the concept of a place where players who scored forty points in an NBA game would be granted access to.
“Correct, my friend. The Villa is real. Unlike mortal life, the Villa is infinite and everlasting. In fact, it is fair to say that it is your mortal life that is the dream.”
This perplexing philosophical statement didn’t offer much in the way of clarification. “How do I get back?”
Linas chuckled. “Back? To real life? Why ever would you wish for such a thing?” He chuckled some more at the absurdity of this suggestion before a buzzing from within the pocket of his tunic interrupted him. Furrowing his eyebrows, Linas pulled out his phone, which really seemed to be a small hunk of masonry with a fresco painted on it. “Oh, it’s from Carlos, I should take this,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone now. The purpose of the Villa, of course, is for solitudinous contemplation, not for these unproductive lines of inquiry.”
Then, Gary was alone again on the bench, and soon, the feeling of relaxation washed over him again. Linas was right. Real life could wait.