Perpendicular Universe

I briskly walk back home from another fruitless day of education. The day dragged on like a flat tire without a spare in the trunk. I near my home’s door and quickly enter as a rug welcomes the traction of my dirty soles. I kick off my strolling partners without missing a beat of my quick pace. My socks become skates as I soar across the wood floors, always with the looming worry there may be a maverick dry patch that begins my decline to a near concussion. I decide it best to halt my progression across the smooth indoor wilderness in order to avoid the laughable fate. I venture upstairs always counting the steps one by one as I elevate further and further; a practice I had participated for years now. “Why should I count the steps so often if the number should never change,” I ask myself. Entering my room, which appears to be my refuge for the night, I, all of a sudden, wonder why I haven’t noticed my uncontrollable vice of gum chewing has led to my chomping of a piece of tasteless plant. I dispose of it in speedy fashion. Tonight looks to be a dull night; no possibilities of a friend encounter, no energy to work out, and never any motivation to study. This is the twenty-first century, what shall I partake in with so many hands on the clock to pass before I’ll ever be needed for anything?

With a flick of a switch, the darkness in my room becomes consumed with a brightness I’ll have to adapt to after such a lightless period preceding this one. Using a few quick steps, I bound onto my cotton and polyester sheets. Compared to the day past, these covers comforted as if they contained mind-numbing powers that were transferred upon contact. After settling in, I turn my head to the left and see my music player come into focus. The onyx black rectangle of tune fulfillment, not to mention, the ever-present glow of the Solitaire icon from the OLED display; but, no, I will not let myself become entrapped in a game of nearly predetermined success or failure. This time, I will simply lie my head back into my cloud and let the frequencies of treble and bass collide in my cerebral cortex, hopefully creating an internal explosion of Richter Scale-measurable magnitude. The physician will ask, “what could have caused this? The boy seems to have entered some inexplicable realm of euphoria and he doesn’t seem to remember anything that has occurred in the last twenty-four hours.” I honestly think a music-induced amnesia seems like the most healthy option in any case such as this.

I insert my bullet-like ear buds as close to my ear canal as possible; the ear buds were bullet-like in shape and also because of their use…metaphorically speaking, that is. My space-colored parallelogram being some six-shooter of anesthesia. I crank the hammer back by sorting through my vast collection of four-to-six-man groups which have provided me with hours and hours of therapy. The trigger being that sideways triangle that when depressed sends its ammunition along a thin cable, finishing its race at the speed of sound in my ear’s opening. Once the sound struck my ear drum, I was shot into a state of unawareness; a state of heightened appreciation, but also a state of lowered sensibility. I have entered my coma of crescendos, my octave oblivion, as I drift further and further through the weightless plains of this invincible atmosphere.

A girl appears. She has the smooth stroll of a gentle, fluid melody…in fact, she is a melody. She has an unfaltering gaze; a gaze in which has no direct attention, but a look that may just blow a brisk breeze through the hairs on your neck if you ever find yourself in its path. She approaches with the same easy pace, almost caressing the earth with her feet on every step. She has a voice that seeps endless amounts of passion from every syllable that dives out of her lips and chills your skin. She could be speaking loudly to the rest of the universe, but I’d still feel like she was calmly whispering into my ear and mine alone. Everything is so very personal between her and I. I’d never force her upon the rest of the world, but from time to time I’d politely remind any person willing to listen that there’s surely something out there that they’re missing. There’s something so divine going on out there that you have yet to realize. But as long as she is mine and mine only, I might as well enjoy it.

Her eyes were like treble clefs, which was fitting because her eyes reminded me of the beginning of a sweet serenade…in fact, they were a serenade. She made all my troubles go away, all my silly worries, every one of my useless anxieties; all were set aside when she was present. Her voice would rise in pitch and volume every time she got really into her words. I could never dream of interrupting such perfection. There would be times when we were rather quiet, she would always tap her foot in that same beat at which she walked; very fluid, almost instinctive. With every contact made with the pavement, I could feel my level of calmness rising steadily. She was a sigh of relief. I would accompany her cadence with a subtle rhythm I heard; a wonderful background that seemed to follow her around. With her consistently was this aura of surrounding harmony; it was like she had her own soundtrack. She was my soundtrack.

She spoke of her own life and her experiences; everything seemed to rhyme. Her life was a beautiful poem; a beautiful poem with an incredible composition tagging along right there with it. At times she would pause and the tune would lead its own way; the background became the foreground and seemed to illustrate the emotions she couldn’t describe with her voice. I would mimic the sounds with my fingers; each digit tagging just above my knee in flawless unison. Her soothing voice coming back as the background took on its previous role. There was a slow winding down I could detect in her tone. The ambience beside her fading at the same rate. My natural senses flowing back into me as I became more aware of myself and my true reality. I could feel my time with her coming to a close. I did not want to return to the place I had been prior. I wanted her words to blow a chill up my spine. I wanted her lyrical life to pour itself through my mind and cycle through it like a load of laundry, leaving my head cleaned of the dirt of the real world that continues on just a moment after this.

Drifting faster now, she seemed to have nothing left to say; her symphonic surroundings alone once again, this time to direct our departure. She silently slid the opposite direction of me, her trademark gaze photographing itself into my memory forever. If I were to never see her again, then she would know it was only because I had gone deaf; my sense of sound being her gateway into my imagination. Her soul thrives in my subconscious as I listen to the notes that bring her to life. She lives in a place without a smell or a taste. She lives in a tune that instruments create. She exhales sweet lyrics that repeat in my mind time and time again. She lives in a verse that warms my heart and becomes my friend. She never judges my actions or my thoughts. She opens herself up to me and unravels my stressful knots. She is a song…in fact, she is my favorite song.

The last chord vibrates all around my environment; a chord I could only dream of knowing how to create back on the real world. The echoes have now disappeared and there isn’t even a bit left of her in sight. I awake from my melodious meditation to my discordant drag. I remove the ear buds which are now silent. I raise my torso from my mattress and shift my tired legs off the edge of the bed-frame. My foot begins to tap a beat; a beat that I recall from a dream. My fingers begin to tag the spot just above my knee in familiar motions; motions I had made just moments before in cooperation with a girl’s own musical aura. The same girl’s gaze appearing in my head; an intangible Polaroid I will treasure forever. I will go through my days just as I have gone through this one; always returning to that place where my troubles evaporate and everything just makes sense. The sun sets calmly outside my bedroom window. That last chord sounds in my mind. I can only hope that I can create something just as beautiful on my own time.

Inanimate objects always have high-pitched voices

I wear each pair of daily contacts for TWO days in a row because it makes me feel reckless