It’s been a while, though I never really left. And I guess you’ve been here too, as much as you’re capable of being. I think I’ll use this time to talk about this thing that’s been bothering me, if you don’t mind. Since you don’t really speak at all, I guess I can take it as a sign to keep going. You can tell me to stop whenever you’re tired, though I think I know better. Let’s see, how do I start?
So, I woke up one morning, and I’ll tell you now, it already felt off from the very start. Something off with my head. I kept scrunching my nose like I had phantom glasses on, like they were slipping down from how greasy they get or whatever. Honest to God, I haven’t worn glasses like that in years and years.
Maybe it makes sense, I feel like I’ve been reverting more and more to how I was back then. I don’t necessarily mean that in a bad way, but who knows I guess.
But truly, I haven’t felt that specific sensation for so long, which was why that experience really threw me. It was my day off, so I thought, surely, changing my bedsheets would make me feel better.
That’s right, and I’ll clean my kitchen next. I’ll finally fold my laundry, I’ll sweep the floors, and clean the bathroom. I’ll water my plants and declutter my couch. I’ll open my curtains and let the light in. Let it wash all over my living room. Then I’ll open my windows and let the air in too, but it’s still cold, so only for a little while. What’s left? I’ll have a look in the attic, see what I can find. So I’ll go up to the attic, but something will be off there too, I’m getting to that.
So, I climb up there, and all of the sudden, I get struck out of my body. I’m stuck in the doorway. I always get caught there, hit my head and shit, I never learn. So now I’m looking down at myself, right?
He’s walking, stumbling, ahead of me. Stars circling his head, bent over with his hands on his knees, out of breath and that.
You won’t believe it, but what do you know, out of nowhere, there is a complete shed in the attic. A little domicile, for Chrissake. That’s not normal, not at all. I’d go as far as to say that’s highly unusual. Its white paint already coming off like it’s been there a minute, in all kinds of weather. Like the attic had been built around it later or something.
Am I hallucinating?
But it’s all too real.
Now I’m thinking, don’t go anywhere near there. Don’t even think about going over there. Best to pretend you never saw it. Go back to your apartment, pretend you’ve got a nosebleed to tend to. You know what I mean.
But he doesn’t hear me, just breathe heavy and act stupid. He kind of looks at it from the side, like he’ll see more that way. He catches on it’s no use. Saunters over, like he’s not sussed at all. Just has some business on that side, for some inexplicable reason. Now he paces in front, sizing it up, think he look hard or something. Probably working up the courage, rehearsing his lines.
Anybody home?
He don’t want no pressure. He only follow his nature, like law. He only does what he can’t help. Doesn’t know any better. He knocks on the door. There’s no reply, there’s only the sound of the draft, drawing air under the door. He spies through the window, cups his hands between his eyes and the pane.
God, this can’t be real.
It’s as real as your soul.
Behind the glass a young couple is homesteading. A bit over thirty, around that time to have kids, I guess. For those who do that sort of thing. The woman has on a white summer dress, and the man a crisp white shirt with black slacks. They’re mopping the floor and wringing out their rags. They’re getting the shed ready for the little one. It’s like a silent movie, like looking into an alternate reality.
Maybe it’s Heaven.
He knocks again, but there’s no change in the scene. It’s like the sound doesn’t carry over, despite the walls being so shoddy you can almost see through.
It’s not looking so scary anymore, but it’s not making any sense either, you know?
He would stand there and watch them for some time. I eventually got tired of it and kind of just ended up sitting there waiting, still in the doorway. Waiting for him to come back through. I was kind of far removed from the action to begin with, I guess.
But, by the way, that highly anticipated moment, it never came.
He’s still there, glued to the window. Guy’s got a problem. A real one. Or really, I’m the one with the problem. I almost don’t exist now and I’ve come to realise it. I’ve become his shadow. I just wish he’d snap out of it and let me back in. Let me be a human being again.
But you don’t want me anymore, do you? I guess you haven’t really been listening anyway. I still have a couple things I can try, before I give up for good. You know, it’s been real, but don’t you think now it’s time to finally close this loop?
Hey.
“God is the dread in me of what was, of what is, of what will be so horrible that I must deny at all costs and with all my strength cry my denial that that was, that that is, or that that will be, but I shall be lying.”