Time
is unconvincing. It doesn't convince me it's real. Time is the blood of life as
space is its bones. All mean nothing to me. All don't convince me they're real.
---
It's
been weeks since I opened the drapes. I
just stare at them, hopelessly, endlessly. I’m so tired, so bone-achingly
tired. The drapes are heavy eyelids that sink heavily into their sockets. I can feel the eye underneath the lid moving,
searching with quench and hunger. I don’t know what it’s searching for. I don’t
know what it wants.
When I
was small, my grandpa read me the story of Alice in Wonderland. He was so
animated, my grandpa, so alive and real. He told me excitingly about Alice's
adventures, about her falling into a rabbit hole and finding a whole new world
that she, bravely enough, seeks to discover. Adventures are always easy as a
child, so open and wonderful, he used to say. My grandpa read of Alice’s journey
through madness his eyes would twinkle as if he himself was seeing this new
world.
I
can't look outside my window. I can't look across the other building and see
everything that I wish I could be; everything I lost and everything that was
meant to be happen. I can't look across the window because I can't fathom
understanding why I can't be her.
Who is
she, anyway?
The
apartment was dark a few days ago. Empty. It looked almost haunted to an
imaginative mind but to me it was just a dirty empty room. Until it wasn't.
Until
I started unpacking and moved in.
I was
smiling, so enchanted with happiness and joy and I've never seen myself so
excited. I unpacked and I unraveled all these boxes and the apartment brightened,
content to be polished and loved. Every
day, I'd watch myself across the building, unpacking more and more, and every
day I'd see a new person come and visit. I'd see men and women and children and
families. One day, though, I saw a man sneaking behind me; I saw him surprising
me. I dropped this vase I was holding, this vase I got from one of my
birthdays, and I squealed as I was startled. When I noticed who he was, the
flabbergasted look on my face disappeared and I jumped with glee as I hugged
this strange man. I looked at this man. I didn’t know him myself, but she did.
I could see on his face every bit of memory she had with him. I could see why
she wanted him, why she lusted for him, why she was angry and sad and happy at
him and I could feel why I loved him.
Every day,
I'd watch myself through this window. I'd watch myself read, and pet this cat,
and eventually I watched as the man I loved moved in with me. I watched as we
stayed young and in love. I watched as we decided to have children and I
watched as we painted the new nursing room.
We
never aged.
I
didn't open my drapes for a while.
Weeks
past as I continued my life. I drank coffee, I worked. I'd come home and stare
at those drapes.One evening, I couldn't stop myself and opened them again.
There
was nothing.
There
was a bulb light and the shadows of cobwebs and dirt lingering and the
wallpapers scratched and gone yellow with age.
I
closed the drapes.
Months
passed, and I never opened those drapes again. I came home only when I had to,
and avoided it as much as possible. I didn't wonder about how there was
suddenly a lightbulb or why the apartment was vacant. I didn't wonder at all.
When I
did wonder, though, I wondered if maybe I saw my future. I wonder if maybe I
saw a parallel universe which I happened to glimpse on a happy coincidence. I
wondered if I was insane.
One
night, I opened those drapes, and I saw my own eyes. I saw myself smile and wave, and I thought,
I'm wearing my favorite white sweater; it's made out of soft wool and I love
the way it falls gently on my shoulder and the way it covers most of hands like
a pair of gloves. I watched myself wave
and I watched as I turned around to pick up a knife. I watched as the man I
loved went through the front door, I watched as I smiled and kissed him and I
watched as his eyeballs fell from his head. I watched myself carve my own name
on his forehead and I watched as I emptied his skin; his blood flowing like
fine wine, his organs spilled from his body in waves. My white sweater was red.
That would be difficult to get off, I thought. Or I thought. I blinked at her,
I blinked and blinked and hoped to heaven that I was dreaming. Except I watched
as my fingers closed around the eyeballs of the man I loved, and I looked as I
brought those eyes to the window and as I smiled at myself. His eyeballs were
actually quite light in my hand, and I brought them towards the window so I can
see. His eyes were blue, angel blue. I grinned.
It
never ended;never stopped. I would stare each day as I became her, as I moved
in, happy and young, as I fell in love, as I had my children, as I killed him
and showed his eyeballs to myself.
This
is hell, I thought. This is hell.
