The speaker was only about five minutes into his speech when it happened. As I looked past the speaker into the space behind him, there was a spot of green hovering in the air to his right. At first, I assumed that it was a trick of the light or a retinal burn from the sun’s rays. Leaning my head forward, I confirmed that the space was semi-transparent and shimmered before me.
Glancing around, I wondered if anyone else had taken notice. People stared at their shoes, their phones, their programs, everywhere but at me. That told me all that I needed to know: whatever this was, it was meant for me alone. As the green space increased in size, it was suddenly on the move and heading straight for me. It continued until it came to a stop right in front of me, almost at eye level. Looking around, I noticed a change. Everyone seemed frozen, unmoving. Even the light spring breeze that had touched my face only a second ago had stopped.
Exercising caution, I leaned toward the opening. There was music filtering through. The faint sound of pipe and drum got my attention. Inching forward, I brought my face close to the opening and looked inside. On the other side sat my grandmother’s house in the late-day sun.
My stomach dropped. Placing both hands on the base of the opening, I pulled. It gave like Saran Wrap. Tugging on it, I continued this motion until the opening was large enough to step into. Looking back to verify that nothing had changed, I stepped through the hole and onto the grass by Gran’s house in Ireland.
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