Chapter U, as in Under It All, You Can Still See

My eyes are open for at least a few minutes, really, before I settle in to the location at hand.  I’m laying with my back down, my face toward the sky, except the sky isn’t there.  It’s a ceiling.

I’m back in a room, and quickly (probably not quickly enough) it becomes apparent this is my ceiling.  But this revelation does not come to me before I get to my feet, quickly, make an advance for the door, grab the handle and twist and push until I’m going all the way forward, all the way in …

And once I’m in, I’m in.  There, I’m confronted with what I probably should have seen, or should have not seen.  I still haven’t decided.

(By the way, sometime around this time I look down at my watch.  5:30. Some things never change.)

Before I begin, I must add something, and that is I usually, as in never, come out of my room to witness much of anything, if indeed I am sure that there is life beyond those doors, which there most certainly is before the hour of nine and after the hour of five.  I must continue to add that coming at a half of an hour past the mark of five is not only unorthodox for myself as an individual, but highly unlikely and a sign of something, well, surely, amiss.

Then let me begin.  My eyes are sharpened for this very task, and the task is at hand: on one side of the room, one roommate of mine, sits.  On the other side of the room, my other roommate of mine, sites.  There is much space between them, and that’s not all, because in between them is a something, something that focuses my attention away from those who are familiar.

In the middle of the room, right on the floor in plain sight, and able to be engaged upon by anyone, including me, is an ear of corn.  I mean, I know what an ear of corn looks like, not just from the picture books but also from television and movies and my limited experience visualizing the many things in this world that I have never truly held and smelled.

Now, interestingly enough, both of my roommates remained entirely still as I entered the room (not that I expected them to greet me — certain things, I just don’t expect) and they continue to remain still as I now look at this ear, and then at each of them, and then back at the ear, which is obviously the focus of all attention at this point.  And being the center of attention, it will also become the center of action, I decide, and so I walk toward it, and kneel down.  Next to it. What I’m doing, I mean, I’m not entirely sure, but I am sure I won’t get a good idea of what I’m up against here if I just stand there without reacting.

It seems as if the entire room is frozen in time, really, if I wasn’t the one walking through that room.  I mean, I am in control of my movement, or at least it seems to be that way, for the moment.

I’m now in the center of the room, practically touching the ear, this inanimate ear that I’m entirely convinced will not move, flinch, grunt, shake, or do anything to otherwise prove that it is not a lifeless object, at least an ear that has been collected and that is recognizing that life, the one we all lead, is slipping away.  Or at least doing so as much as is possible considering the grand equation.

Now that I’m here, I feel obliged to take one last look up toward my roommates, to see what their reaction is.  Surely they have one, although at this point and at other points, it’s hard to tell what that reaction is.

Amazingly enough, or at least surprisingly, they are both looking away.  Now I have never been one for conversation, and have never been one to gather around a conversation piece and make idle conversation, but I would expect at a moment such as this — wait, it’s true, at THIS moment — that a conversation would be struck among all parties involved, of which I am one, at least about a benign subject that will eventually lead to an analysis of this subject, such as how or why things seem to happen in certain ways, and in the ways that have led all parties to be focused in one particular area, and we all know now what that area is.

Incidentally, I don’t know when these two individuals took the time to look away, as I was firmly concentrating on the subject at hand, and that subject, while SEEMING to be inanimate, could quite possibly have made a movement that would leave me to believe that its status as ‘inanimate’ might not be an accurate one, or at least accurate to anyone on the outside of this situation, such as me.

I know I was looking in a certain direction, in the direction where I was SURE that some action would occur, when the object now in front of me, the object of our attention, began to come to life.  It moved as if it were something else besides that which represents the label I’ve applied to it, a completely different object, one that shimmies and otherwise moves across the floor.  And makes music, albeit uncoventional music, as it goes. It may be singing.

It may be screeching, it may be rolling, only but certainly it is acting, and certainly it is holding my attention.  It then goes into trauma, as it moves across the floor in a not-so-linear fashion, seemingly affected by lighting or a sickness or a burst of energy (although where that energy came from, do not ask me these things because they are quite hard to decipher).  The energy continues as it drives the object into the air, and back down again, in such a way that it gradually sheds its skin, and in doing so produces noises that would otherwise be made by fire or a broken record (not sure about the latter).

In terms of an object with the visual and physical characteristics being displayed by the one before my very eyes, this corn was and is popping.  And it is doing quite a job of that.

I can’t take my eyes away from this object as it continues to shed everything on its outside, as it generates heat from this activity that in this case, in the case of this object, is an entirely natural process in its cycle, the cycle of birth, maturation, death (not to say anything about the world thereafter — I mean, I’m not saying if there is one or not, but only will recognize this issue).

And after a certain amount of time, it’s over.  Although I can’t say I’m ready for the pile of remains on the floor.  I lift my hand up from my side and reach forward to touch, only to not get quite all the way, maybe out of apathy.  I can’t really tell.

I do know I look up to the side and see nothing, and the other way, nothing.  I see nothing all around.  It makes me think quickly, as I stagger up, and look down, to the floor, where the action was, and see nothing.