I Close My Eyes to See

ONE

> I close my eyes…

  The deep purple sky gives way, concedes to spills of orange and red. The sun creeps over the trees and lights the field on fire, glittering off the morning dew. An ocean of green and gold—breathing, sighing with the low winds. I take in the crisp Spring air and hug the blanket tighter. She leans in closer and rests her head on my shoulder, her hair on my cheek and neck, cool and soft. She holds on to me tightly, as if this valley wind will sweep us away.

  I am at peace. The stillness, the rising ambient noise of forest life waking up from a long sleep, the warm body next to mine. I breathe deep, fill my lungs with the life force all around us. A flock of birds take flight overhead, flapping wildly to gain height, chirping and singing brightly.

  I peel my gaze from the brilliant sunrise to look down at her. Steam rises from her mouth and nose with each breath. I push a chunk of hair off her face and behind an ear. She looks up at me, searching my eyes, seeing into me. The moment burns bittersweet and my heart aches knowing how this has to end. How it always ends.

 

> I open my eyes…

  Grey morning light meanders in through dirty windows lighting the tangled carpet and empty bottles with an ugly glow. I unhook my NeuralNet head-jack and sit up in my stained bed. My apartment is small, cheap, shitty. A crust seems to cover everything in here. The filth of neglect and apathy turned corporeal. The only thing worth a damn in here is my NeuralNet machine. It’s the only way I can sleep at all these days and the only thing I have to look forward to each night.

  Almost everyone uses the NeuralNet to sleep. It lets you jack in to a VR simulated reality of your choosing so you can escape this twisted world and go to one that makes sense. With just the touch of a few buttons you can be anywhere in the world, or even an alien landscape if you want. You can be alone or surrounded by people. You can do anything, be anyone.

  But at some point, you have to come crashing back to this “real” world. You have to pay the bills, eat, sleep, shit, and go to work. I lurch to the shower as it automatically loads up my profile and starts its sequence. I wash just enough so no one will say anything and dry myself quickly. I go to the food storage unit and grab a breakfast bag, eating it on my way out the door. I flag a taxi and give the driver-bot the address to my work. The taxi navigates the street ways slowly, so slowly.

  The people on the street smear, morph, blur together and then separate blindly like bacteria on a Petri dish. Sliding past each other, all staring at their phones or using their headsets. A grey mass of writhing flesh, crammed so close together that they’re touching physically, but really nowhere near each other. Each person an island, adrift in the digital world. I don’t blame them; I’m the same. I’m just as empty, just as desperate for something more than… this.

  At my desk I mindlessly shuffle through papers, readying them to be digitized and uploaded. Papers from decades ago about people long since dead and gone. Papers yellowed with age, covered with ancient grime just like everything else. Papers scheduled to be changed and transformed, to ascend from the murk of the physical to the pure, clean, mathematical beauty of the digital.

  I slog through endless soiled papers until I can leave, until I can go home. Home to my own soiled apartment, yes, but really home to my NeuralNet machine and the endless worlds possible within.

 

TWO

> I close my eyes…

  I take her hand in mine and we run—run and jump and fly and laugh into the face of this world. We laugh against the oppressive forces of time and aging. We laugh because we will be young and full of life forever. Because getting old and grey is for other people, not for us. Never for us. The heavy Summer midday rain beats down as we run.

  We make our way to a lone tree in this field of gold wheat. The tree stands in the center of the field like a huge umbrella, sheltering us from the rain and the high sun. There’s no where to go, nowhere to be but right here. Standing under the eave of the branches, I bring her close to me. We’re both breathing heavily, exhausted and vigorous.

  I hold her as the sky falls away in hexagonal panels and as the field closes in, consumed by an infinite blackness, shrinking until nothing exists but us. We stand in a small beam of light on a broken stage in an endless abyss. And then… darkness.

 

> I open my eyes…

  I shiver, grasp at my blankets, blindly searching with my arms, but she’s gone. I am alone again. The suddenness of the loss, the finality of it shocks my system, leaves me dizzy and disoriented. After what feels like an eternity, I drag myself out of bed once again.

  Days blur together like the people on the street, indistinguishable from one another: wake up, force myself out of bed and into work, shuffle through papers while counting down the seconds until I can leave, slog my way back home and finally… finally plug myself back in to my real life.

  Today at work Brandon startles me. I was lost in a daydream. Even my subconscious is trying to escape this monotony. His voice like expanding echos finally cuts through the mental fog and I turn to face him. He’s standing next to someone I’ve never seen before. A girl.

  “This is Elizabeth, she’s new here. She’s over in Financing,” he says.

  “Call me Beth,” she says, and extends a hand. I shake it, consciously trying to apply the correct grip pressure and hoping my hand is steady and dry enough.

  After a long moment, Brandon breaks the awkward silence, filling in the correct advancement of normal social interaction. “… and this is Casey.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  And then she’s gone. Off to meet the rest of the department. I watch as she and Brandon weave through the maze of desks, the jungle of wires and papers.

  Later, at lunch, I’m in my usual spot, far away from everyone. For the most part nobody comes by this tiny corner of the office—I can spend my lunch time mercifully alone. But, out of the corner of my eye I see someone cautiously approaching.

  “Hi again!” Beth says. “You’re… Casey, right?”

  Heart pounding. “Yeah.”

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  I motion for her to sit, telling myself to make sure to smile. It feels like I’m underwater, everything is moving in slow motion but playing back at full speed in the very next instant. The objects at the edges of my vision breathe in and out with my heartbeat.

  “How are you liking it here so far?” I ask. It’s the first thing that pops into my head.

  “Oh, it’s great. Everyone is nice and really helpful.”

  The conversation continues throughout the lunch period but I don’t remember most of it. It all feels like a series of small lightening strikes, thudding in my head while I try to maintain some thin facade of decorum.

  “Same time tomorrow?” She asks as we part. She flashes a smile that stops me dead. What we were talking about, what did she just say? Think. Say something.

  “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah sure! See you then,” I awkwardly blurt out, desperate to get back to my desk, to decompress, to return to something normal, something routine. Back to my papers.

 

THREE

> I close my eyes…

  Red and yellow leaves crunch underfoot as we make our way through the rows of pumpkins and hay bales. The wind sweeps up gusts of leaves and stirs them through the air; they dance around us like birds taking off while we hold each other against the oncoming chill of dusk. I wrap a scarf around her, spin her in my arms. She playfully pushes me away then quickly comes to me like she can’t bear this new distance between us. The smile on her face shines through the twilight.

  We walk on through a plastic graveyard now. Rubber bats hang from barren trees, swaying in the breeze. Cotton cobwebs are strung up everywhere, threatening to stick you if you get too close. Tombstones made out of packing foam mark freshly dug graves with cartoon skeleton arms poking up at ghoulish angles.

  I pause, look around. Something is off. I can’t stop thinking about Beth, about that lunch. I try to put it out of my mind and focus, but I can’t. I feel like those skeletons. Halfway between worlds—stuck in one but reaching, grasping desperately, for another.

 

> I open my eyes…

  I fumble my way through the rest of the week talking with Beth during lunch breaks. By the time Friday rolls around we have a decent rapport. I somehow work up the courage to ask her if she has any plans over the weekend. She does, and she invites me to join her.

  I meet her at the corner and we make our way to the show. We pass through the concourse of people, all talking to each other, holding hands, hugging, smiling. Their life force fills and permeates the air—I take it in and feel a dizzy energy fill my lungs. I look over at Beth walking beside me. She talks about her family, her old friends, about the things she’s seen and done. She’s been all over and done so much in her life.

  I can’t contribute much to the conversation, but I’m more than happy to listen and sip my drink. I could listen to her talk all day. So I do. Hours pass and before I know it the day is over. I hug her and she hugs me back warmly. As she turns to leave she looks back over her shoulder, her hair shifting aside to reveal that glowing face. She smiles one more time and then she’s gone.

  Now, sitting on my couch alone again, I can’t stop smiling. I’m exhausted, physically and mentally, but it feels good. Through the window I see that the sun is setting and starting to cast long thin shadows. My eyes move to the half-full whiskey bottle on the table, still there from last night. I pour a large glass and take it in slowly.

  I exhale and sink into the couch. I sit in this new shimmer and glow. All I want is to be in this moment a while longer, this warm afterglow that ripples under my skin like gentle waves massaging the beach.

 

FOUR

> I close my eyes…

  The snow floats down all around me, blanketing the earth in a silent reverie. A stone archway towers overhead, looming dark and cold and a few lonely horse-drawn carriages creek their way down the cobbled road. I see her in the distance under a solitary lamp post, great puffs of steam rising above her head. She sees me and waves excitedly.

  I walk over to her slowly. When I finally get there she clings to me for warmth and I feel her shivering under her heavy coat.

  “What are you thinking right now?” I ask her.

  But she doesn’t respond. She can’t respond. There’s no voice file in this program. She just keeps looking at me, eyes ever-shining, ever-searching.

  The Winter chill seems to close around me. My jacket suddenly feels too light for this weather. My feet sink into the snow, wet and cold. All around me is darkness. I look up. No stars, no moon, just clouds smeared across the black sky like brushed blood stains.

  She stands there frozen, mute. Waiting for me to continue the scenario. For a while I just stare at her, through her, my thoughts racing.

  “Menu,” I say after a long time. “Exit simulation. Confirm.”

 

> I open my eyes…

  I look over at the blinking bedside clock. 3:42 AM. Stark moonlight cuts through the window blinds carving long white slashes in the carpet, revealing it for what it is, pulling back the cloak. I look around my apartment and really see it. It is empty, desolate, dirty. No one lives here. This isn’t a home.

  It takes me most of the morning and even a bit into the afternoon to get the place into a somewhat respectable state. Patches of carpet once hidden under clothes, old food boxes, and piles of random junk are now exposed to the warm light of day. It feels bigger in here now, it feels like I can breathe.

  I take a long shower and get ready to head out to meet Beth.

  The car pulls up to her place and I step out into the bright sunlit afternoon. The air smells good—green and fresh. As I make my way to her door I snatch a flower from a nearby bush. When she opens the door a rush of warm, fragrant air washes over me. She smiles and hugs me and I give her the flower. She laughs, and when she laughs she tosses her head back; her hair flips and slides down over her face and I melt. Still giggling softly, she invites me inside.

  Sitting close on her couch, we pick up right where we left off last time, falling effortlessly back into sweet commiseration as if no time at all has passed. A few times I get her to laugh and when she does it feels like nothing else in the world matters. Those brief few seconds pull the fabric of reality into a bright latticework where stars shine brilliant and the cruel darkness backs off, if only for a moment.

  I finish my drink and get up to pour another. Her apartment is so clean. The white leather couch sits huge in the middle of the room, surrounded by small glass end tables tastefully topped with candles or other little knickknacks. Looking over the kitchen counter into the room it all looks so deliberately quaint. Everything thoughtfully placed. It’s clean, white, tidy. “You good?” I ask as I uncork the bottle.

  “Casey…” Beth says tentatively. “It’s kind of early, isn’t it? For whiskey.”

  She’s on the couch, facing away from me. I can’t see her face, only the back of her head. She doesn’t turn to look. The silence builds until the air is fully weighted by it, until it fills the room and the pressure squeezes me, crushes me until I can’t breathe.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, don’t you think maybe you should slow down, or something? I don’t know.”

  “I’m just having a drink.” Heart rate increasing. Swallowing too much. Dry mouth. I pour two fingers into the glass and down it quickly, putting it back down on the counter silently. “Why are you making a thing out of it?”

  “I’m not.” I hear a frustrated sigh. “It’s just that every time you…” She trails off.

  “I just like having a drink or two, that’s all. I don’t have a problem, if that’s what you’re implying. If that’s what you’re trying to say to me. Without actually saying it. Trying to say it but not really say it.” My voice is too loud now. “What is this? Did you ask me over here to drop this on me, to do this to me? Accuse me of something?”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I think I know exactly what you meant.”

  “Forget it. It’s not a big deal, really.”

  “I can’t believe it, I don’t believe this.”

  “Casey, let’s just forget it.”

  “I should go,” I hear myself say. I hastily gather up my stuff and stumble out the door, almost tripping on the rug. The sun is too bright, everything outside is over-saturated. I’ve already pulled out my phone and hit the return-trip button. I keep walking, not looking back, as a taxi pulls up. I drop my keys, pick them up, and drop my jacket. My hands are shaking. Finally I get everything together and toss it into the car.

  I see Beth coming out the front door as the taxi pulls away.

  The drive home is a blur, I barely notice the car navigate the clogged veins of the city, speeding, slowing, turning every direction. Finally home, I storm up the walk to the entrance and up the stairs through quicksand, reaching my door after a labyrinth of hallways and corridors. I close the door tightly behind me, leaning my back against it, holding it up as if even a breeze would push it in, keeping the world out.

  Finally, I heave my shoes off, strip my socks and toss them into the corner, take everything out of my pockets and dump it all on the coffee table. I look over at my bed, over at my NeuralNet. For a while I don’t move, I just stare, barely breathing, mind on fire.

  My thoughts are racing, I need to calm down. I stride across the room and snatch the bottle. Hands still shaking, I pour a large glass and finish it in two long drags and then pour another and take with me to the bed. I sit down hard, spilling a little. I barely feel it as the whiskey runs down my hand and forearm. Automatically I reach over and grab the NeuralNet head-jack like I’ve done hundreds of times before.

  On my bed, NeuralNet in hand, ready for the warm caress of oblivion. I reach for the—suddenly my phone goes off, a deafening rumble on the wooden coffee table. I see Beth’s name and picture on the screen, staring accusingly at me. My heart jumps. The quick double-buzz of a text message. Then another. And another. I stare intently at the table, waiting. Waiting. BZZZZZZZZZT. BZZZZZZZZZT. A call. I don’t move, I just stare, holding my breath. Eventually the phone goes silent, dies, dark and lifeless.

  My heart is beating too fast, I can feel the blood flushing my neck and cheeks and ears. I finish the rest of the whiskey in one quick swallow. It burns on the way down, bringing that old comforting fire in my gut. I’m hyperventilating now. The room begins to swirl and swim.

  The phone lights up again, rattles violently on the table, shaking the table across the floor. Shaking the entire foundation of the building. The whole room vibrates, pulses with the force of it. If this doesn’t stop soon I’ll go insane. A sharp rapping on the door pierces through my chest. My heart is beating like a jackhammer now. Again and again the pounding, thundering knocks fill the small apartment, echoing off the walls, ringing in my ears, tearing my mind apart. I shut my eyes tight, shake my head, try to push it away.

  “Casey… Casey are you in there? Open the door. Come on, let me in,” Beth says through the door.

  Cradling my NeuralNet head-jack I look up at the door then back down at the jack and again at the door.

  “Casey! Casey open the door OK. Just talk to me. Casey…?”

 

> I…

 

END