Johnny-in-a-Box

Chapter One: The Black

 

            It isn't disgust from my tongue's near death experience with its arch enemy melted ice cream.  It isn't my braces playing hide n' seek with pain.  Or the sense of utter defeat I felt every time he looked in the mirror.  It isn't anxiety about my upcoming debut as the scrawny shouldered last-to-be-picked goalie. It isn't even the trampoline flip flops my heart make every time I stare starry-eyed at Angela from Algebra whose teeth were even whiter than the board the teacher scribbled gibberish on.

            No. This is entirely different than any of those. I can define those. Those feelings fit into neat little  packages suitable for delivery to the correct address in my brain.  This feeling has no address.

            I open my eyes.  At least I think I do. But it's all black, just as if I'd never opened my eyelids. Strange thoughts invade my mind. It isn't disgust from my tongue's near death experience with its arch enemy melted ice cream.  

            It isn't my braces playing hide n' seek with pain.  

            Or the sense of utter defeat I feellt every time Ihe looked in the mirror.  

            It isn't anxiety about my upcoming debut as the scrawny shouldered last-to-be-picked goalie. 

            It isn't even the trampoline flip flops my heart makes every time I stare starry-eyed at Angela from Algebra whose teeth are even whiter than the board the teacher scribbles gibberish on.

            No. This is entirely different than any of those. I can define those. Those feelings fit into neat little  packages suitable for delivery to the correct address in my brain.  This feeling has no address. 

            I open my eyes.

            At least I think I do.

            It's all black. 

 

            Strange thoughts invade my mind.

            Strange Thought #1: Maybe I haven't actually opened my eyes.  I close my eyelids again and with conscious effort, reopen them. 

            Is this back-of-my-eyelids black or complete-darkness black?

            I poke my eyeballs. 

            OUCH! 

            Yes. My eyes are definitely wide open... and probably turning red.

            Strange Thought #2: Maybe I've gone blind overnight. Oh, that would be terrifying. I love to read... the old fashioned way. No Kindle. No audiobooks. I love turning actual pages.   I love watching my progress as my right hand gathers pages and my left hand releases them. I like knowing exactly where I am.

            In relationships. 

            In books. 

            In life.

            And this new feeling today is anything but familiar. 

            I close one sore eye and put my hand a couple inches from the other one. Then I remember. Duh!  When it's truly pitch black you can't even see your own finger or hand even if it's in front of you. I'd proven that to  myself when I went spelunking with my little sister. KellyEvelyn's face had happily disappeared even though she was standing on my toes. I had punched the air. Embarrassing, but at least no one saw me.

            This is exactly like that cave experience. No photons of light visited that place.     

            And it looks like they don't have a hall pass here either. I tuck that thought away for further examination. 

            Strange Thought #3: I've died. But from all the stories of near death or death experiences, just the opposite usually happens. People report seeing a bright light. Not complete darkness.  I can’t be dead.

            Can I?

            My eye wouldn't still be throbbing if I was dead.

            Can't be that.

            Strange Thought #4: The game already happened. I sucked. They scored on me right away and just as I dove for the next one, someone's cleat collided with my head and I blacked out - mid game. Or maybe I blanked out just thinking about the game. I caved under the pressure of being a seventh grader in such a crucial win-or-lose the game position. 

            Highly unlikely. 

            My head isn't sore. 

            Just the eye I poked. 

            I throw off my blankets and sheets and carefully get out of bed. My toes touch the floor.   Good. I'm not off floating in space somewhere. I've never noticed that the souls of my feet and my floor had the close relationship they do. 

            I have a gut feeling I'll be noticing lots of "firsts" today.

            My hands and arms haves no such relationship to their environment. They needed to resort to groping until they can find a relationship of their own. I raised my hands like a  Zombie. (I despise Zombie movies, but I have no other options.) I don't want to bump into things... even though I have memorized my small piece of real estate and can easily navigate it with my eyes closed. 

            But my eyes aren't closed, I remind myself.  They are wide open. So, a lifetime of blindness is still on the table. 

            My lower radar, my overly large junior high feet (which my parents assure I'll grow into)  tap the floor before each step so I can avoid the Nikes I left next to the bed. 

            Nope. No Nikes. I must have kicked them off somewhere else last night.

            Not only can I not smell my stinky socks or the faint smell of my baseball mitt, I can't smell anything at all. It's as if that valve has completely been switched to the "off" position. 

            My hearing valve must be shut off as well. I can't hear KellyEvelyn's whimper as my mom pulls her hair into her usual pigtails. Or the tink tink tink of my dad stirring coffee downstairs.          No swallows chirping. No low hum of the heater or gentle whoosh from occasional cars passing by. 

            The air feels sharp and cool, not like the usual soft, warm comfort that surrounds me as I get out of bed each morning. 

            Hands still outstretched, I come to what should be my uncomfortable wooden chair, but my hands swoop the air. 

            Nothing. 

            That's strange, I think. Where have I moved it? 

            I continue on, upper radar in full "Detection" mode. I bat the air. Nothing. My desk has disappeared... along with my chair and Nikes.

            Strange Thought #4: Maybe I'm going crazy. I mean this was my room just a few hours ago. Rooms don't just lose all their furniture overnight ...unless there's a midnight garage sale I wasn't invited to. 

            Nope. 

            I woke up in a bed... and it wasn't a psychiatric hospital bed. At least I don't think so. I've read lots of stories about people throughout the centuries who had lost their minds. 

            More minds lost this century than in all the other centuries combined, I think to myself. And we're barely a quarter of the way through. If I have "lost it," at least I'll have lots of company. 

            No. I am NOT going to stroll down Crazy Lane. I have a long way to go until I get to that street.

            So I take another couple steps forward to what I hope will be a world that will make sense soon. I touch a wall. 

            Aha! Finally something concrete! 

            Well, not concrete. 

            More like drywall. 

            I flatten my palms against the surface like a street mime. It's smooth, not all bumpy like most walls are.  And it is cool to the touch. My mime hands lead me down the wall to where my door should be.

            No door. 

            Just more wall. 

            Strange Thought #5: Maybe I'm in hell.  Nausea,Nausea drops of sweat and rising pulse form a hideous, out of tune symphony as my hands frantically follow the wall.  My picture of hell has changed. 

            Especially since I moved to California.

            Maybe hell isn't about fire and brimstone and meeting all the worst people from history. Maybe it's having the worst people from history living down the block from you. 

            Or worse.

            Maybe it is being in complete darkness, following an endless wall, always hoping that the wall will finally end and then realizing that the wall goes on forever.

            No escape. 

            Will This black wall of hopelessness never end?

            Will I be groping in the darkness forever?

            Clunk! My foot answers the question. It bumps against a perpendicular wall - a new journey for my hands. This wall is just as smooth and just as cool to the touch

            My mime hands press and release until they reach another corner. I follow my hands until they come to my bed.

            At least to where my bed should be. 

            Where is my bed? 

            How did it just disappear like that?

            My hands now shake as they pat against the wall. 

            At last they encounter another wall.

            With increasing anxiety my hands travel until they reach the original wall where my desk is supposed to be. 

            The room is the same size as my own.

            But it's empty. 

            Unknown. 

            Terrifying. 

            My hands slide along the wall until they come to where my door got hijacked.

            "Mom?! Mom, can you hear me?!"

            No answer.

            "DAD?! DAD. GET ME OUTA HERE! DAAAAAD! "

            Again no answer.  Last resort -

            "KELLYYYYY!!!"

            I pound and scream, panic filling every crevice of my body.  I finally stop. My hands pulsate with pain. I try one last scream. 

            But no sound comes out. 

            Along with my furniture and my calm, I've also lost my voice. 

            I crumble with despair into a corner. 

                  Even my new neighborhood, bad as it is, is better than this.