Untitled

By Chris Gittelman

What I find most interesting about plummeting upwards
through the sky and through the tiny membrane that holds
our earth, into a soul shattering splash of cosmic polka dots,
is that I always think I’m going to be more nauseous than I
am. Well, maybe not most interesting, but I’m always quite surprised!

Despite my worries I feel rather weightless as I take it all
in, and of course I’ve done this before, so when I reach down to
curl my toes and feel the cold drops of early morning dew that
desperately cling to avoid their cruel fate to the sun, it is
with little surprise that remember that I’m still in my yard.
Spending the late hours of the night my parents think
me asleep out here, to be away from the screaming. It used
to bother me once, I admit. And I suppose it still may, as no
matter how tightly I lock my door nowadays the shrill cries of
my mother still get through. A heart wrenching cacophony that
receives an answer of a slammed door and the scream of rubber
as dad pulls out our driveway, no doubt to fall into the arms
of whatever poor mistress he is now with. An old fight this
one, and so even now, though I live alone, I see the lights of his
car as they head down the street and become lost in the opaque
black.

A wretched little world that is, and so I’d rather watch
the heavens, allow myself to escape into something bigger than
myself. Or at least I think bigger than myself. I was once
curious for answers about my “falling” and looked high and
low for a why. Though to be fair I couldn’t control it as well as
I do now. But I was told that, despite my surety, the academics
and doctors all, were sure the universe I saw was just in my
head. In a way I guess they’re right, I mean, it’s not like I can
bring people with me, it seems my view of the universe is for
me alone and I’m caught between feeling special and lonely.

In fact, I don’t think I really understand the difference between
the two anyway. Though as I open my eyes to see the red wood
easel propping up a canvas in front of me, I realize that this
universe being completely mine isn’t true. While it’s true that
I can’t bring people to the universe, I can bring parts of the
universe back to them. It isn’t until I started to place my brush
down that I realized the painting was staring. The seemingly
innocuous red dot beckons terribly, and before long I am
trapped in its gaze. And so up we go through the sky, piercing
the tiny membrane of our earth to land at this soul shattering
height I know as home. And it’s not quite peace I feel
either, but one can’t help but be in awe of its beauty. For so
long I would “fall” in here at the behest of the dots like now,
being pulled into the views of the stars who wanted me to share
their vision, and I was getting better, am getting better at being
able to choose, but moments like these remind me I still
have a ways to go. But I know as long as I’m here I better see
what the universe wants to show me, because I want to see, and
so I gingerly skip on the little paper cranes that suspend me over
the darkness as I make my way towards the light. I have tried
to bring pieces back with me before but the majesty of seeing
an endless web of brilliance such as this never fails to humble
me. As I begin to focus on the globe of fluorescent
purple that flew over my left shoulder, I realized I had arrived.
Stars lay thick in choirs lamenting above my head, constellations
woven together with the threads of emptiness between them,
waves pushed me up into the seat to best watch as the heavens
began to move in an indifferent divine dance. It isn’t until great
pressure pushes me forward and out of the wave that I plummet
into those voids below and feel bits grass partially uprooted
between my toes as they curled hard enough to see marks in
the ground. I turn around, for a second afraid mom caught me
painting when I should have been asleep but the hand which
rocks me is followed by the soft voice of a woman wearing a
nursing uniform, “Oh my, Ms. Kusama what are you doing out
here so late? Have you lost your way back to your room?”

Oh, that’s right, it’s dangerous for me to travel so long
without paying attention. “I’m sorry I just needed some
air, please just another few minutes and I’ll head back in.”

I see she has stepped away but remained within ear shot.
No matter, it’s not like I have anything to hide. Taking deep
breaths to calm down, I realize that my head is still swimming
around through the brightly shining possibilities. Upon focusing
on its fuzzy glow pressure, as if someone was pulling me in
and pushing me away at the same time. I feel my hands move
but barely, more of a subconscious reminder, than any act of deliberation
on my part. But I don’t let it distract me as now I stare
down the universe. Millions and billions of pieces flow past my
eyes, incongruent pieces of the grand puzzle, as I try to feel
what is happening. At last I exhale. Lightheaded, I sit down,
only to bump into a rather silent nurse staring intently. In front
of me is a net, a cheap copy of the heavens inside my brain, an
attempt at the puzzle or what have you. And to be honest I am
a bit surprised as well. Splashes of color and emptiness between,
I am pulled into feelings of my past when I contemplate the
image. My train of thought is broken by the nurse who up until
now has been doing an excellent job remaining near soundless.

“What is this?” The accuracy with which the sweet woman
mirrored my thoughts causes me to giggle, so instead of answering
I focus on the grass beneath my feet and allow its cool touch
to calm me down again. I hesitantly make my way back to my
residence, keeping an ear open in case the ghostly hauntings
of my past bring back the shrill screams that never leave, but I
suppose I’m just lucky, and my empty house is finally silent.

I bid goodbye to the nurse who follows me back and listens
to my murmuring thoughts. Someone really ought to do something
with my painting before it rains. I place my head against
my window where the sun shines on my face and fall asleep,
dreaming of universes inside my head.

Christopher Gitelman is an undergrad at UMD. He is pursuing a degree in English and is an avid reader and fan of writing.