The right mindset hadn’t kicked in to protest over anything or anyone. My body and mind were on autopilot: wake up, shower, get dressed, and be dragged into a portal because it was normal. A portal, I shook my head over uncle who popped out-of-nowhere and tapped the coffee table with the weirdest cane I’ve ever seen, not even Gandalf the grey had a walking stick which could have been carved by bone, and shaped into a thin-bludgeon-umbrella weapon to God knows where.

Note to self: don’t make an enemy out of your Uncle, the thing he gripped, he handled it Jet Li style. We’d been walking for a long time and I hadn’t the nerve to ask if we were there yet—it would make me look childish and this wasn’t me. Instead, I took the liberty to browse and peruse through this like a dream because it was better to think I’m dreaming and not hallucinating as usual. Too bad I had left my wonderful magic pills, it would have been my saving grace moment. Then again, I wouldn’t be able to marvel at the many things on my way.

The entire journey to wherever these people needed to go and I along with them, became implausible and normal. How it worked, well, we startled down these white stairs which stretched into walls of water cascading over glass; it reminded me of the old-family pizza restaurant, a ten-minute walk from my house; they used to have this old stone wall by the entrance, filled with goldfish, and a waterfall cascading on the stones; I admired it from up close, my tiny grabby hands played with the water, not caring for the germs or disturbing the little fish; when things were bigger, life been younger, even playful and forever ignorant.

I took a particular interest in the image of a fruit seller on a sidewalk, hollering out in Spanish “Platanos! ¡Una resma por seis dólares!” A bundle of plantains for six dollars, what a good special. I knew this street, I’d walked it, ran on it; even ate the fresh mangoes from the same seller, but I never got to know his name. We were particular of the people who sold things to us, we’d drive in our cars, never bothered to ask these people who work day in and day out their name. An assassin or hitman sent out to kill someone in a photo, delivered by a non-returnable address with a note, apart from the coordinates, it read: don’t ask questions, just do the kill. In this case, we asked questions on the quality of goods, bought or drove away, and continued our daily life, never once did the question of their name nailed itself into our heads. This seller blessed every passing car including those who didn’t purchase after asking about how much this costs, his energy didn’t drain under the rain, even I could only think Dad would kill for this special; give him a call, whenever the chance presented itself to me.

I tore my eyes away and went over to Gio's side. There was a group of children, sitting on makeshift chairs. I furrowed and pursed—the conditions were worse for wear and the chalkboard tipped to the side, falling apart even with the wooden grips and twine rope. The kids raised their hands, enjoying the teacher’s antics in a language I couldn’t quite place. Going by their number of pigmentation in their skin, this might be someplace in Africa, maybe Nigeria. A friend of mine from work was Nigerian—she had gotten registered and held her green card up for me to see—her face cracked, victoriously waving to the cheering customers at her side. These children’s faces didn’t lack for anything. I forget how people who never lacked for anything don’t know what it was like to need more. While those who did lack something had needs or knew it was best to save their pennies' worth of envy and be happy with what you got in life. Most people wanted not needed.

My chest wore down and I gazed at yet another aching picture. A little girl laid on a hospital bed, scarf wrapped around her head. She typed with her bony fingers on a foldable desk, mask, and tubes over her mouth and nostrils. Her lips didn’t pull down and her soft huffs couldn’t cover her bright chuckle. On the other side of her laptop, a boy holding a turtle sung birthday wishes to little Ally in Italian, “tanti auguri a te, tanti auguri a te, Ally!” The boy’s soft voice scratched through the song—signs of growth in his vocal cords—trying hard to hide the bitterness of it all. It’s only when these things were in your face, you realize these details.

“What is this place?” I asked, swallowing image after image of more moving pictures, the good and the bad.

The group didn’t falter in their steps. Gio leaned down beside my ear and whispered, “It’s called the Lifeline,” his breath tickled, making me shiver, “these are places across the world where these cascades reflect within time and space.”

He pulled my hand over to the cascades. I blinked wondering what he was going to do. The water glowed, changing into an aurora of colors. I beamed and darted, gaping at Gio and back at the water. A question had been forming in my head, even more, when I saw Sid leaning over us and finding out interaction particularly interesting. He imitated me and put his beady little fingers under the cascades. Then he pushed inside the cascades and disappeared. I gasped, moving my head to find him. My uncle and the rest didn’t jolt or go mad over where he might have gone.

“Where did he… How? Did…you see this? We have to find—”

“Boo!”

I gasped and shouted and cursed under my breath. My body had moved to hold onto something. I ended up grabbing him, well, more like glued myself to Gio. He hummed and winked playfully down at me. I inhaled deeply, my neck itched so much. Why? Sid put his hands on my shoulders. His rosy face beamed, giggling at my stoned figure, even the two medieval-dressed men turned away and snorted. I narrowed and they straightened themselves out rather quickly, I might add. Was it the time to be joking around?

“He went through a timeline,” Uncle Rotchird brought me back and had stopped beside me.

He eyed Sid who didn’t tire himself from going in and out of the cascades and continuing his playful attempts of catching me off guard. Little twirp, I swore. In his excitement, his tails wagged and curled; his furry ears popped and flicked. My fingers itched and I stopped myself before I tugged his tails and enjoyed his relenting whines. He noticed me wavering and settled on holding my leg, preferring to enchant me with his cute purrs, and puffed cheeks. Gio fondly scratched the kid’s ears. I was resolute to do the same, so soft.