Behind The Gym
I was walking behind the gym when this first happened to me. I say “when this first happened” but that could be called misleading because actually it’s still happening now. I was walking behind the gym when this all started.
The rose bushes hedging the path behind the gym were past their prime. The flowers were no longer white or red, but all a similar brown color and very dry. When they’re dry like this, to the point of being brittle, you can flick at the dead flowers and they’ll either snap off in a tight bundle or explode into a mess of dried out petals. I had been flicking off old heads for nearly a whole minute when without explanation I left the earth. That is to say, I started rising from the earth without effort.
Thinking back on the event it seems a good deal more preposterous than it felt at the time. It happened fast but there are things I remember about it. I looked down and could see that my shadow was disconnected from my body. I felt my backpack slipping (it was only on one shoulder at the start) so I slid my left arm through the strap to secure it. I couldn’t feel any sort of gravity on me, so it felt like I was standing still and the ground was falling away. It was very quiet. In an airplane, or a helicopter if I’d ever been in one, it is a loud droning affair to take flight. It was not so in this case.
There was an awning that extending from the roof of the gym, and ten seconds after my ascent began I had to make the choice of whether I would reach out and take hold of it to halt my climbing, or let myself float past. I caught the warm edge of a protruding girder for a second, but chose the latter and let go.
Once above the gym’s roof, the sunlight no longer obscured, I had a sudden thrill accompanied by a lurch in my stomach and a momentary urge to call out to the people below. Why shouldn’t they look and see me soaring up from behind the gym? I probably looked impressive, and at least it would give them all something to talk about. My mouth was opened, the corners of my mouth smugly upturned, and the announcement practically begun when I thought the better of it and closed my jaws with a fierce snap of my teeth.
Why should they look and see me soaring up from behind the gym? It wasn’t as if they’d be able to stop me. If there was a chance of anyone joining me I didn’t want to run that risk. This was my adventure, not some cosmic field trip, and wouldn’t it be terrific fun to watch the people scurrying around down there unaware?
I tried to remain interested in activity below me, but shortly after not making my fading presence known my mind began to wander without restraint. I wondered what sort of trip I was taking, and whether there would be a return. Would I slowly descend to my starting position? Surely I wouldn’t be pulled up to a dizzying height and released to fall. This prospect made me nervous, and I wondered if I shouldn’t perhaps have held onto the girder and contented myself with life as a human balloon, floating but anchored.
I remembered that as a self-proclaimed intellectual person the observation of candid people en masse ought to be of interest to me and I focused again on the ground. I had risen too far. I could no longer see individual people, just the shapes of buildings. My dismay did not last, I was among clouds at this point and the view on my level pushed the dismal view below further down.
They were like magnificent icebergs in the sky, which was all my feeble mind could come up with at the time. It turned out to be a better description than I knew; I was only comprehending about ten percent at that time. I started thinking of all the things I’d left on the ground. I broke things off with my girlfriend a month ago: escape from that awkwardness. I’d had no idea what to do with a degree I probably wouldn’t have finished on time anyway: how long does a university wait before they close a student’s file permanently? Everyone was always telling me how funny I was: no more cheesy grins and repeated jokes to keep them interested in me. No more worrying about my parents making ends meet to get me through school. No more calculated conversations of strict meaninglessness with my brother. No more faking. No more demands.
I thought of my calendar, on which I wrote every assignment, date and appointment of my academic, professional and personal lives. The calendar existed so that I could strike the lines through with my quick black pen as soon as each was complete. I abhorred it. I would never see it again. My eyes watered and I looked upward. The clouds were mostly below me then and the atmosphere was becoming less blue. I wondered if I’d die without air to breath in space. Maybe I was already dead. I’d always heard that the air was cold up high. I hadn’t frozen, so my fears of needing oxygen in space subsided.
When I finally estimated that I was completely free of Earth’s protective sphere, I tried drawing a breath to see if death was imminent. Nothing. I tried holding my breath. Nothing. No pain in my chest, no urge to take a breath. It was nice. As soon as thoughts of breathing slipped my mind, my body resumed thereafter-meaningless breathing. Force of habit, I concluded later.
The planet was a sight to behold. When it finally fit within my field of vision I could do nothing but marvel. Unlike a skyscraper, or a mountain, or an elephant in the eyes of an infant, this colossus was unsupported on all sides. There was grace in it being so big and at such peaceful rest. My eyes felt wet again and not wanting to have this vision marred I dried them with my bare hand. The dust from dead rose petals is not much softer than other varieties of dust, and certainly not less irritating. I spent the next minute grinding my fist against my closed eye to satisfy the itch. I would call this a mistake, but it was worse; it was my final separation.
When the itch subsided and I looked at the planet again my connection to it was gone. It wasn’t the world I’d come from; it was the size of an orange and diminishing still. I couldn’t imagine myself having ever been on it, and I couldn’t make out the shape of the continents any longer. The colors muddled together until it was just blue, and mild at that.
The rose bushes hedging the path behind the gym were past their prime. The flowers were no longer white or red, but all a similar brown color and very dry. When they’re dry like this, to the point of being brittle, you can flick at the dead flowers and they’ll either snap off in a tight bundle or explode into a mess of dried out petals. I had been flicking off old heads for nearly a whole minute when without explanation I left the earth. That is to say, I started rising from the earth without effort.
Thinking back on the event it seems a good deal more preposterous than it felt at the time. It happened fast but there are things I remember about it. I looked down and could see that my shadow was disconnected from my body. I felt my backpack slipping (it was only on one shoulder at the start) so I slid my left arm through the strap to secure it. I couldn’t feel any sort of gravity on me, so it felt like I was standing still and the ground was falling away. It was very quiet. In an airplane, or a helicopter if I’d ever been in one, it is a loud droning affair to take flight. It was not so in this case.
There was an awning that extending from the roof of the gym, and ten seconds after my ascent began I had to make the choice of whether I would reach out and take hold of it to halt my climbing, or let myself float past. I caught the warm edge of a protruding girder for a second, but chose the latter and let go.
Once above the gym’s roof, the sunlight no longer obscured, I had a sudden thrill accompanied by a lurch in my stomach and a momentary urge to call out to the people below. Why shouldn’t they look and see me soaring up from behind the gym? I probably looked impressive, and at least it would give them all something to talk about. My mouth was opened, the corners of my mouth smugly upturned, and the announcement practically begun when I thought the better of it and closed my jaws with a fierce snap of my teeth.
Why should they look and see me soaring up from behind the gym? It wasn’t as if they’d be able to stop me. If there was a chance of anyone joining me I didn’t want to run that risk. This was my adventure, not some cosmic field trip, and wouldn’t it be terrific fun to watch the people scurrying around down there unaware?
I tried to remain interested in activity below me, but shortly after not making my fading presence known my mind began to wander without restraint. I wondered what sort of trip I was taking, and whether there would be a return. Would I slowly descend to my starting position? Surely I wouldn’t be pulled up to a dizzying height and released to fall. This prospect made me nervous, and I wondered if I shouldn’t perhaps have held onto the girder and contented myself with life as a human balloon, floating but anchored.
I remembered that as a self-proclaimed intellectual person the observation of candid people en masse ought to be of interest to me and I focused again on the ground. I had risen too far. I could no longer see individual people, just the shapes of buildings. My dismay did not last, I was among clouds at this point and the view on my level pushed the dismal view below further down.
They were like magnificent icebergs in the sky, which was all my feeble mind could come up with at the time. It turned out to be a better description than I knew; I was only comprehending about ten percent at that time. I started thinking of all the things I’d left on the ground. I broke things off with my girlfriend a month ago: escape from that awkwardness. I’d had no idea what to do with a degree I probably wouldn’t have finished on time anyway: how long does a university wait before they close a student’s file permanently? Everyone was always telling me how funny I was: no more cheesy grins and repeated jokes to keep them interested in me. No more worrying about my parents making ends meet to get me through school. No more calculated conversations of strict meaninglessness with my brother. No more faking. No more demands.
I thought of my calendar, on which I wrote every assignment, date and appointment of my academic, professional and personal lives. The calendar existed so that I could strike the lines through with my quick black pen as soon as each was complete. I abhorred it. I would never see it again. My eyes watered and I looked upward. The clouds were mostly below me then and the atmosphere was becoming less blue. I wondered if I’d die without air to breath in space. Maybe I was already dead. I’d always heard that the air was cold up high. I hadn’t frozen, so my fears of needing oxygen in space subsided.
When I finally estimated that I was completely free of Earth’s protective sphere, I tried drawing a breath to see if death was imminent. Nothing. I tried holding my breath. Nothing. No pain in my chest, no urge to take a breath. It was nice. As soon as thoughts of breathing slipped my mind, my body resumed thereafter-meaningless breathing. Force of habit, I concluded later.
The planet was a sight to behold. When it finally fit within my field of vision I could do nothing but marvel. Unlike a skyscraper, or a mountain, or an elephant in the eyes of an infant, this colossus was unsupported on all sides. There was grace in it being so big and at such peaceful rest. My eyes felt wet again and not wanting to have this vision marred I dried them with my bare hand. The dust from dead rose petals is not much softer than other varieties of dust, and certainly not less irritating. I spent the next minute grinding my fist against my closed eye to satisfy the itch. I would call this a mistake, but it was worse; it was my final separation.
When the itch subsided and I looked at the planet again my connection to it was gone. It wasn’t the world I’d come from; it was the size of an orange and diminishing still. I couldn’t imagine myself having ever been on it, and I couldn’t make out the shape of the continents any longer. The colors muddled together until it was just blue, and mild at that.
It isn’t like the movies out here. In some movies where space travel is involved the characters move among the stars like they were walking through a swarm of fireflies. This is heartbreakingly not the case. It’s big black and empty. I can see stars a long way from me, but I’d be exaggerating to make some romantic claim about “being among them” and if there’s one thing I won’t have it’s my slow descent into misery being sullied by romance.
Like I said, this is all still happening now. I don’t think I’ve slowed, nor have I sped up. How would I know, right? Before I was flicking the dried roses, before I took that path behind the gym even, I was in my dorm room and I decided that I’d go ahead and leave my English literature anthology on my shelf because I probably wouldn’t need it in class today (Or was it yesterday? Last week?). I’m a moron. The contents of my backpack comprised three black pens of differing brands, flashcards for a test long since passed, and a thoroughly mediocre journal which is now on its own frictionless slide through vacuum. The pack itself was made up of numerous pieces of fabric, padding, elastic strips and zippers. Disassembly was easy, and like my clothes I left the scraps as bread crumbs to follow home.
I’ll be going home soon, I’m sure. I saved my best pen of the three, the quick one. It’s so quick you wouldn’t believe it, and the line it leaves is wicked thin. My calendar isn’t going to cross itself off you know. I’ll write in a few things I’ve already done, so I can cross them off directly. I know that’s kind of like cheating but it makes the proportions look so good, and really it’s alright to balance these things out. It’s not such a bad calendar after all, I mean, it’s no space flight or anything. But it’s a nice sort of calendar and I know where it’s going.
posted by Joel at 3:40 AM
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