5.511 THE GREAT MIRROR

​

We were wandering through an old school. It must be my old school. Has to be. It’s familiar to me in its layout, familiar in another way too, familiar in how it feels to stand beneath its fluorescent lighting and dotted ceiling tiles. I know this place. I’ve been here before. I belonged here once. But now I’m not so sure. I must be a foot taller now. Occupying more space. Space it feels the halls don’t want to grant me. Polished tile floors, alternating patterns. I step in every other one so the grey dashes go in the same direction as my feet. Tough guys sizing me up. I can feel their eyes, but I can’t see them. I’m too focused on the patterns of the tiles. 

​

High school t-shirts from a box, two sizes too small. Tommy takes the East High shirt. I take the High shirt. Cross town rivals. We put them on, our adult bodies bound tightly as we walk around the next corner. He’s inches shorter than me. I don’t look at him, but I know that his face wears more age than my own beneath his dark, greying hair. Traverse through the men’s bathroom, past stalls and out a second door. Hiding in the bookracks now in the carpeted library. From what, we’re not sure. Peek through the stacks, see more books on the other side. Red, green and blue. Children’s books with bold titles, unreadable. 

​

Something sinister passes behind us. It must have. The sweat on my neck chilled. My stomach swirled. Shake off the feeling, doubting my own senses. Move forward. We exit the wing of the school. It stretches behind us for miles. Stepping outside, leaving the hallways lined with graffitied lockers behind. Fresh air awaits. 

​

I present to him a table covered in expensive car cleaning supplies. I think I’m supposed to take his daughter on a date later. He’s impressed at the supplies I’ve procured. Examining each item, he accidentally pours out a tub of wax. Then a second. The moms are here now. They chime in, ready to help. They offer to go back inside the school to get more. No! Something evil we hid from lurks? Yes. I’m certain of it. There’s something ominous behind. Unsettled, my mind shivers. 

​

——

​

Without knowing how I got there, I notice I’m waist deep. I’m standing in water, wading toward a familiar face. A massive concrete complex surrounds me, stretching a hundred stories up into the fog-laden sky, with levels and levels and levels rising up to the heavens. We are in its center. Tyler, or whatever he’s going by now, will be here I tell Ryan, my childhood friend now grown. His brother Scott soars down through the air, breaking the water in our view. I don’t see where he came from. Couldn’t have been that high up, but it is.

​

They’re all looking at me now, a sea of pensive blank faces, as I push across the water to the uncaged, steel ladder. I don’t look back at them. I don’t look up. I don’t want to know how tall it is. I know I need to ascend all the way to the top. No half measures. My feet aren’t touching. I’m treading water. Angel gets to the edge of the ladder first. I remember him from college. Severe anxiety. Medically serious. I feel bad. He’s a big guy, much larger than me. I don’t want him to drag me down from the ladder in fear or stop in front of me, causing me to lose my grip from waiting. We have a long way to go, and not much time to get there. I swing past him and start my ascent quickly, not looking back. 

​

They’re all cheering me on as I climb. At every level they cheer. They know I’ll do it. The day hinges on the excitement of the divers. The pats on the back. The words of admonition on the way up. I have to keep going quickly to get to the top, not wanting to get caught in the dot-matrix of it all. I reach the summit of the concrete behemoth. At the top, wide and flat, I cut the line. It’s a long line. Other men, shirtless, waiting to jump. They’re afraid and recalcitrant. I can see the trepidation on their faces and in their quivering muscles. Not me. I know it’s my time. I must go now. 

​

I feel alive as I take off in a sprint back toward the center of the cylindrical complex, bare feet striking the ground noiselessly. Strong, youthful legs driving into the pavement carry me forward. The adulations erupt, spurring me on. I fear I’m running too fast. I worry I may hit the other side of the circular center when I leap at last. I leap anyway, throwing caution to the wind. 

​

I’m falling now. I cannot see the bottom. I cannot see the water. I cannot see what lies below. Going through smoke and dust at supersonic speeds. The clouds and smog break before me. New birth. That’s the image that seizes me as I plunge forth into the unknown. Though I cannot see them, people shout on every side of me. “Edge! Edge! Edge!” They’re helping me stay true in my descent. Helping me navigate the uncertainty. I wonder if it’s eternity as I sail down toward the depths that await me. There’s no panic. Only calm resignation. 

​

I wonder, “Is this what it’d feel like to commit suicide? I’d probably panic before I hit the pavement.” The thought makes my stomach churn for a second. I fear it might hit like a ton of bricks; that moment when the water and I finally collide. I straighten my body like an arrow. I feel the cool mist of the water arise to meet me, caressing my face, telling me it will be alright long before I reach the bottom, long before her watery arms embrace me. I hold my body straight, tensed and firm, take a deep held breath to be ready, braced, praying it’s deep enough for a safe dive at this velocity. 

​

As I spear into the depths, my mind moves to sharks. What about jellyfish? Is there a scuba diver positioned here to help me navigate back up to the waterline and the waves? I have no idea how deep I’ve gone. I open my eyes and see only blue green. My sense of self dissolves altogether. Where the water begins, where I end; these are opaque obscurities. Surface Surface Surface Surface Surface Surface. My ears become unplugged. I’m unsure if I hear applause. Perhaps it’s nothingness altogether. I’m not certain if I’ve even broken the surface of the water. Static surrounds me. I open my eyes anew to look. 

 

I wake up.