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"It wasn't what I expected."
"Oh? And in what way?" There is a beeping noise coming from a room in the back right, which I assume is the kitchen. James disappears into that room. "Wow. This is...incredible," I say, as I enter the front room. A red tablecloth sits on a small circular table in the center of the room, a vase of flowers on the top, two wooden chairs at opposite sides. On one wall is a painting of some fruit; on the other, a filled bookcase. Across from me a glass door slides out onto a balcony, while doorways to the left and right indicate rooms on the each side. The couch to my right reflects a dullish green, its back against the wall behind me. "I know, isn't it?" James sticks his head out the kitchen doorway. "I do hope pasta is all right." I'm famished. At this point, the stuff in the cafeteria sounds appealing. James brings out a pot of noodles and sets it on the table. "Do you need me to help with anything?" I ask as he goes back into the kitchen. "Oh no, I've got it all under control." He comes back carrying two plates and two glasses. "Actually, would you mind getting the bread out of the oven?" I go into the kitchen. It's not very big, but it does have a stove, on which sits a pan with meat sauce in it, a sink, a refrigerator, and an oven. I open the oven door and see half a loaf of almost-blackened bread. "Do you have any oven mitts?" I call out. "Should be on the counter," I hear. James comes back in with a plate full of noodles. "I should have thought this out better. Is this enough for you or is it too much?" he asks as I close the door and look at the plate. It is a lot of noodles, but I'm really hungry. "That's fine." "Sauce?" "Oh, please," I reply, as I locate the oven mitt and get the bread out of the oven. "You nearly burned it," I playfully tease him. "Oops. I completely forgot the oven was on. I was just leaving it in there to keep it warm." After finally sitting down to eat, I decide it's about time to start resuming the conversation we were having. "You see, I was expecting it to tell me something about my existence, or why I'm here, or about imaginary numbers or something." "And it wasn't about any of that?" "No. It was the story of some nineteen-year-olds vacationing in a beach house owned by the Gold Cheer Beaches Company, but their vacation is dimmed by a huge rainstorm." "And then what?" "Well, they can't go outside on the beach, so one group starts to make up a story about themselves in some fantasy land. They're all tired, though, so they barely get anywhere before falling asleep. In the middle of the night, however, the house gets hit by a flash of lightning, and somehow they're transported into the story they were making up. When they wake up, they realize that the house is the same, and the beach is the same, but they're somewhere completely different." "Hmm. Sounds like an interesting book. Anything exciting in it?" "Well, in Chapter 3 Brian discovers a journal that has the story to that point written, and in Chapter 4 he discovers that it's writing itself. There's also an exciting battle with some giant frog-like creatures called Nommids and a puzzle that ends up requiring them to build a sand castle that then grows to full size! There's also all sorts of problems with recursion, appearances by a French-speaking Jabberwock and the most evil computer since HAL, and one chapter that makes just as much sense if you read the sentences in reverse order, a technique employed by Christine in the middle of the chapter to get them out of a predicament." "Maybe it's trying to teach you the things that you were looking for, but not tell you directly. You might have to dig deeper than the surface of the plot." "Hmm. Good idea." I suddenly think of something else to ask him. "Why do you live in a hotel, if you live in Tumbolia?" James laughs. "It's not a hotel. Or, it used to be, several years ago. Then a guy named Mr. Cantor bought it, and figured out how to pack an infinite number of people into it. The problem is that people started getting mad when they were asked to move down a room three or four times a night to make room for someone new. Eventually people started checking out, and the hotel started losing Tumbos (that's our currency here). Cantor figured he couldn't make Tumbos anymore, so he decided he would convert the hotel into an apartment complex. Thing was, everyone who had ever stayed here when it was still a hotel found a strange compulsion to move back once it was remodeled, a voice inside our heads saying 'you can check out, but you can never leave.' Like many of the others, I've been here since it reopened two years ago." Time passes. Pasta and bread are eaten. Dishes are washed, dried, and put away in kitchen cupboards. James asks me, "Do you want to go out on the balcony? There's a spectacular view, especially when the clouds are away and the stars can shine through." I pick up my bag and accept his offer, sliding the glass door open and stepping out onto the balcony. Despite being only three floors up, the view is wonderful. I look ahead and to my right and I can see the city in all of its nighttime glory, streetlights paving the way to the horizon. To my left, a forest stretches as far as the eye can see. And if I strain my ears, I can almost hear...the ocean? I walk over to the left edge of the balcony and look ahead, trying to make out the waves beyond the thick forest, and for a second I think I can see it, though it might only be in my head. I turn around. James is looking at me. "It really is magnificent," I say, awestruck. "I feel I could stay out here forever."
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2/28/2005 12:46:56 AM
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1693518 episodes viewed since 11/21/2004 7:16:57 PM.