Apparently my life is not as dramatic as a Stephen King novel. I thought I was a gonner yesterday when I was plagued by a headache. But alas, it was cured by taking a small blue pill.
So here I am.
And I bought another ticket to celebrate. I could not procure any more monopoly money no matter how many black market properties I sold to the highest bidder. They were only using LIFE money. The exchange rate is steep and so it cost me a lot more to get another two way ticket into my brain. It will be worth it though because I go to visit the right side of my brain.
And so I shrink again. Through the eyes once more (they are a little bleary this time. I blame it on the tedious training I just went through).
And here I am in the lobby. This time, the live version of Hotel California by The Eagles is playing. I stand and listen for a bit.
"Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice and she said 'we are all just prisoners here of our own device.' And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast. They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast."
I remember that I have a limited time, and with the cost of these brain tickets going up I need to take advantage of all the time I have. So, ignoring the chrome door, I focus my sights on the one that is blue and wooden. Wasn't it green the other day? Oh well.
It looks worn. As if it has been used over and over again for years. If this part of my brain we a house I would guess by this door that it was a very old and lived in house. The handle is brass and tainted.
I grasp it and hardly have to turn and the door opens up to me.
Within is a small, dark room with a single TV and a squashy recliner in the middle. The recliner resembles the blue one currently in residence at my home.
I am, I must admit, a little disappointed.
I expected a lot more from my right brain. Maybe the creative side of me is exhausted.
Might as well see what's on the tube, though. Maybe there are some good channels into my mind.
I cross the short distance to the chair and sink comfortably into it. In the arm of the chair, the one that lifts up, contains a remote control. There is only one button.
It says On/Off.
I wish controlling creativity were really that easy.
With no hesitation, I pressed the button that said On/Off.
I am hit by a wave of confusion. And it's not even the TV that does this.
Suddenly the room is full of color and light. There are blurred objects whizzing by on the walls. At first I can't make out anything clearly and so I wrench my eyes from the chaos and direct my gaze to the small TV. Blazing from the screen is a familiar image.
It's a video of children plating London Bridge is falling down and other such games.
It's a birthday party. My birthday party. I can't be more than 5 years old. As I watch this video make it's progression (all the kids are laughing and smiling-it's a good time) the images swirling on the walls begin to slow and take shape.
I am at April Bliss's house. We have a play date and we are watching Sherri Lewis and Lamb Chop.
Next to this image I am on a pony at Two-Mile Prairie.
And over there, there I am being coaxed into a barn I have been told is haunted.
And right there I am sneaking candy from a house that is not mine.
These images scroll on the walls in a semi-jumbled manner. All the while that video of the birthday party plays on the TV.
As my eyes rove these memories, my thoughts flip to a different part of my childhood and soon the video on the TV has changed to one of me racing up and down the streets of Parks Edge Place. There is a rope tied to the handlebars of the bike and I am holding the rope pretending they are the reins on a horse. Along the expansive walls are images and memories all pertaining to that location. Butler getting attacked by that neighbors husky. The friends I had there. Most especially the hodges and playing My Little Pony with Sapphire. Trying to "sell" my drawings to people off the sidewalk. They were horrible.
The onslaught of all these memories are a lot to take in. Each time my thoughts stray to another topic, the TV shows another clip of my life. And then the walls are reeling with all other thoughts tied to that memory.
The images on the walls aren't always videos. Sometimes they are still photos. Sometimes smells are associated with a memory. The room will be suddenly filled with the scent of baking bread or damp forest. Chlorine. Dust and dirt. The ocean.
There is never anything tangible when it comes to these streams of memory. Only sights, sounds, smells...
I watch the TV and the walls for what feels like hours as the room sifts through my lifetime of events. Some make me laugh. Great billows of laughter that fill the room and cause my sides to ache.
Other times that ache becomes the one associated with the deepest sorrow. Those times I find my eyes wet. In these moments there is bitterness, guilt, grief, and longing.
As time passes I begin to feel a crick in my neck. I've been watching TV for too long. I tear my eyes from screen (it's now showing the time that I fell into a marsh in Rhode Island and Corey just stood there and laughed) and try to ignore the walls (they are showing other incidents like falling into the marsh in New Hampshire, tripping up stairs, getting my hand stuck in a tampon machine, etc. ). I give the room one last look to see if that's really all there is to it.
It's then that I see a crack of light near the floor about 12 feet away in the ever changing luminosity of the room.
I walk to the light and see that it's another door. Why didn't I see it before?
Should I go in?
Tune in next time and see.
(hopefully the next entry into my brain will be sooner coming than this one was)
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