Where I completely rewrite Stephen King’s latest book
The idea of a vacation is a splendid one . . . get away, let the mind reset, let the body rest. In a perfect world, a vacation means turning the stress dial from 11 to 0, and then allowing yourself to enjoy that sensation while you heal. In my mind, I can say that my first day of vacation would be little more than me, sitting around, doing nothing. Then, slowly, I’d add activities to my day . . . things I enjoy, but things that can’t be broken, don’t need to be watched after, and have no deadlines. I’d write, I’d compose, I’d run (I’d drink, too, but, well, that’s me). Sure, there’s some stress involved with each & every of those, but it’s stress I enjoy, and, heck, it’s stress I long for.
The thing is, a vacation can’t ever deliver all of that. Sure, I can get away from work1, but work is only one of the things in my life. And, well, sometimes you need a vacation from life, itself. I love my kids — but they require near constant supervision, lest they find a way to pick up knives, or matches, or (as scary as this might sound) Jane Austen novels. And, did you know you had to feed children? Rarely do they actually want to eat whatever you make for yourself2. Beyond the kids, there’s the lawn that always needs to have something done to it, that damn cabinet door that just will not stay fixed, and bills never stop coming in. In other words, there’s always something. Escape is far out of the realm of possibility.
Well, fine, escape is possible – but only for very, very limited amounts of time. Which is why I’m completely lost in the world of Stephen King’s 11-22-63. Here, the owner of a diner discovers what he calls a “rabbit hole.” If he walks just the right way, he ends up in a small town in Maine in 1958. From there, he lives, in 1958. When he heads back up the “rabbit hole,” it’s two minutes later than when he left. His body has aged for however long he stayed there . . . but, in the world left behind, time has advanced only two minutes.
Of course, in the book, the main character heads back in time to stop the Kennedy assassination, and I’m trying to take the most selfish route imaginable: chartering a flight to Havana for a month-long vacation on the beach. But, seriously, isn’t the concept of a vacation from your current life tempting?
I’m thinking, if you give me a day’s worth of “real time,” I’d come back as a virtuoso pianist, have written several novels, have the body I’ve always wanted, and I wouldn’t worry about having to fake a smile for quite some time.
What would be on your agenda? If you could choose a time to escape to, if only temporarily, when would you travel to?