The other night I awoke to the strangest happening. In what must have been less than a minute, three years’ time flashed through me. The most disorienting part was that in the space between start and finish of this pithy slideshow, I didn’t know where this roller coaster of my past was headed. A condensed serum of emotions folded over, closed in on me like an accordion. Parsing out the spectrum of coalescing sparks of my past seems impossible; akin to translating the essence of eggplant by means of music. The viscous spiral thrummed with a dose of hope packed dizzy with adrenaline. In my primitive hazy ghost-state traversing here and all of the theres I condemn to the fringes, I hovered. Then, as if falling from my high-rise, SPLAT! The crinkles of the memory stretched fully over my consciousness. Yes, it happened. All of it.
Terror like a bacterium spidered through me. Ignoring the familiar path my now mostly oriented mind took me down, I inhaled mentally, ebbing the terror, the pulverizing discord of my organs going belly up like shimmering fish within me.
My socked toes touch the floor, craving stability. Chin downward, I note how the white background of my floral sheet glows ominously in the dark. Daisies, tulips, lilies have no idea how good they have it. To exist in the cotton thread of petals beneath me, I think, would be delectable. Apparently, sleeping atop soft imagery is an ill-fated freeway to flowery dreams. Finger poised on the light switch, I debate sneaking a reassuring glance in the bathroom mirror, just to make sure all of my pieces are still there. I leave the room cloaked in shadow. The pieces are not all there, I know, no matter what my reflection may convey.
Art by Jordan Landerman