Static, static, static… love Part 3
I watched the little girl wander, intermittently blind and cloudy until her flower of a mother realized her err and returned to the pathetic and adorably insignificant child. And it was that moment that I, as a spirit, acted. Because I saw every tiny, monumental, or contradictory change that encompassed Julia’s conscious shift from audible desperation to reclusive safety, all those foolish reversions reflected in detail on her already deepening eyes because she was not yet aware of where or even how to hide the reflection of her soul from her two big, dark opals. And I knew with the experience of a life lived that if she were to be permitted such an easy escape as the gentle and sudden reappearance of her warm place, her mother bent down, arms outstretched, smiling, eyes softened with the joy of being relied upon, if those wandering tears proved to be enough to quell the fear that had fully encapsulated her being, from birth to death, that Julia would be forever lost, that I would never fall in love.
So I spent what I had to take over her mother for just an instant. But this was an instant that had been eternally planned and efficiently decided and with minor viscosity I entered her carbon-based form and affected nanosecond alterations in selective ion channels and neuronal resting potentials, realizing a cascade that allowed the woman to inexplicably fail to recognize her adopted daughter. And when Julia did finally recognize her paternal protection and the tears abruptly hesitated at the tips of every eyelash, when she grabbed that pale waste that was still reverberating with my instantaneous curse, the woman’s acute and localized amnesia spread through limbic circuits and lower brain organs so that she was struck by an even more inexplicable sense of absolute revulsion and intrepid wickedness and that briefly insane woman quickly pushed the legitimately bewildered child from her waste. And as planned, the hormones diffused, with no more effort on my part, to their targets to elicit a shudder, an acute sensation of disgust and rage that forced an otherwise calm, loving, and weakening flower to spit on a human being for the first time in her life. And she cursed the child with words she hadn’t found even the suggestion of a need to use for her life, that she had only heard as a little girl herself while her own mother unraveled a tale from one of the books she had forgotten she ever knew,
“Don’t you touch me, imp!” Her voice rasped into what sounded like the crackling of a plastic wrapper and went to a place inside Julia that had been born only inside the deep mayhem of a supernova creating the first carbon atoms the universe would know, a place that existed in every creature composed of all carbons, a place that only the radiation of the universe’s birth still recognized.
What a gift. In the terrible places of the singular psyche, as one might imagine afloat suspended slowly in the depths of space, watching the shrinking ship that could never be unseen because it had no horizon to crest, carrying the broken tether that had failed its only intended purpose, to be thrust, to realize that one’s mind is the only mind, both animate and inanimate, that the closest you would ever find yourself to another human being is with yourself, and that the furthest could only be that same person again, a place that afforded such abstract treasures as to change Julia into an insecure, shy, tentative, empty, but not empty as a numb uselessness and impotent, but rather an emptiness that was factual, serene and equally threatening and fulfilling, an emptiness that she could rely upon, determined, hopeless, beautiful, fantastic, amazing, stunning, radiant, everything, everything, everything. In short, it was in that core of aggravated loneliness and loss that I discovered (created) the only girl that I would ever die for, that I would ever love more than myself.
