CHAPTER NINE

As I hurled through the gateway, I realized, along the way, toward my impending collision with the inside of my bathtub, that I had been dragged through my bathroom mirror. Before I could fully process the implications of this apparent truth, however, I thudded hard against the tiled wall, just above my tub, before carelessly rolling downward and landing awkwardly inside of it.

Trying to stand and collect myself (and experiencing much pain in doing so), I heard that calming feminine voice address me once more: “I’m sorry to have pulled so hard but I didn’t have a choice.” Clutching my side in pain, I used the wall behind me to leverage myself into a standing position so that I could face what I postulated was either my captor or my rescuer. I wasn’t sure which.

Before me, just below the mirror, which housed my various medications, was the eight-legged, electronic nightmare from which I had originally attempted to escape. Not unlike a centipede, it perched itself in between the wall and the counter below, with each surface containing half of its many appendages. Resting in this position, the screen of my former phone, which seemed to constitute both the insect’s body and also its head, was strategically positioned to face me directly.

Flabbergasted and utterly drained of energy, I gave up any attempt to appear imposing; rather, I decided to slump into the stability of the wall above the tub to support myself. I’m sure I looked defeated, propped up against that wall, but I didn’t much care anymore. “What the… Who…” I blathered but, after uttering those words, I cut myself short. I didn’t even attempt to articulate anything further. My brain was straining to catch up and I had given up trying to pretend otherwise. Instead, I simply breathed heavily and waited for whatever was to come next.

Before it answered me, the creature generated an image of my tub, on what had become the screen or central point of its body. Quizzically, I turned my head (probably not unlike Cinnamon had done) and my mouth opened as if to speak, yet no words fell out.

“Maybe you had better sit down,” the phone offered, extending one of its arms forward, in a gesture not unlike one that a human would make, when offering a seat to someone. Witnessing the objectionable movement of its plastic appendage involuntarily caused me to recoil, as much as the wall behind me allowed, but the physics of the room, coupled with the shear exhaustion I felt, helped to mitigate the severity of that cowardly movement.

“I’m sorry,” the voice said, noticing my distress and apologizing once more. Slowly and deliberately, it brought its limb back to rest upon the counter, as it uttered those words.

“I don’t care any…” I stopped and sighed. I didn’t mean to have so blatantly retreated but the action had just squirmed its way out of me. It made me feel cheap and I wished I could have taken it back. “Look, it’s fine. Just… Just what the heck is going on?!?”

“Well, before you ran off, I was about to ask you abo—”

“And what was that?” I blurted out before it could answer my original question.

“What was wha—?”

“That place! Is that going to happen every time I try to leave this room?!?”

“Well… it—”

“And did you, like, ‘save’ me or something?!? I assume that was your ‘arm’ or ‘leg’ or… Whatever! That it was you pulling me through that… that doorway and back in here again.”

The creature paused for a moment and seemed to collect its thoughts before answering. “You… you weren’t supposed to see that. That’s… you’re not ready for that. You really shouldn’t have run off like that but… We’re fine. For the moment, just stay in this room and talk to me. You’ll be fine in a little bit.” Although it had no face, I imagined it to be smiling, in a genuine sense, when it said this to me.

Despite the fact that I wanted to let its soothing tone pacify my angst, it wasn’t to be. The insanity of the entire situation began to sink in and, without warning, I began to feel the inevitability of a panic attack once more. “Not again!” I desperately cried out, while simultaneously cupping my hands over my face, in hopeless submission.

“What’s wrong?” it cooed.

“I’m going to have another panic attack. I can feel it coming on,” I said, dejectedly. I was convinced, as I had been in the past, that once again the familiar, dread-soaked and uncompromisingly cruel terror, to which I had become accustomed, was on its way to ravage me once more. No different than any other time, I was helpless to escape it. “Not this again,” I began to stammer.

“Look, it’s jus—”

But I cut its words short, with an angry and dismissive wave of my hand. I was hoping my silent tirade would somehow end my imminent suffering, or at the very least, give me a second or two of reprieve before it overtook me. I then removed my face from my other hand and clasped them both over the back of my neck, before sliding back down, into a somewhat kneeling position, to await my punishment.

That effeminate voice, which my now sentient phone transmitted, through the electronic delivery systems embedded within its core, was encouraging. It became a sort of auditory sedative being administered through my ears: “Just relax. Please. Sit back on your butt. Breathe. It’ll be easier,” it told me.

Tentatively, I began to acquiesce and breathed deeply. Though frantic, I allowed my rear end to drop a bit further until it came to rest, at the bottom of the tub. There, in a sitting position that had raised my knees up around my chin, I waited. In some way, it was helping but it wasn’t enough. Nearly in tears, I murmured in dismay, “Can you please just tell me what is going on?”

“Yes,” it replied, with an almost magical clarity. “Listen… Wow. I’m really sorry. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to go through all of this again.” My trembling was dwindling but it had not subsided completely. With my head lowered, I continued to shake and quietly listen. It paused a moment, as if to give me the chance for another outburst. Once it was sure there were no more forthcoming, it continued. “As I was starting to say, I kind of sensed something about you—a ‘shared energy,’ I guess you could call it. We’re on the same wavelength, you and I. Really.”

My response was to grab a chunk full of my hair and slightly turn my bloodshot eyes toward what had up until recently been my phone. “I’m not here to hurt you,” it suggested, “so please try and calm down and center yourself. I think it will help.”

Feeling a bit better, I closed my salty eyes and felt the sting that always follows when doing so. I continued to take deep breaths and, in doing so, I started to feel the captivating force of the panic attack begin to dwindle. I had, of course, tried this method before but this was the first time it had ever netted any positive results. In the background, I could hear the voice cheer me on, with encouraging words, as I continued the technique.

After a bit, when I felt confident that I had avoided another meltdown, I opened my eyes and gazed upon the strange creature before me. It sat in the same position (halfway up the wall and halfway on the countertop) and its screen was presenting a slideshow of serene landscapes—much like a screensaver would do: ocean, forest, desert, mountaintop and more. They were all there.

“That’s better, no?” it asked, without really asking. It already knew the answer. My shaking, at this point, had become intermittent at best. It hadn’t completely abated but I think we both sensed that it soon would. “Yes,” it confirmed, as if it had read my mind. “I can sense that you’re more centered now. You know,” it said, “I also sensed your energy, from all the way across the cosmos. That’s how I found you.”

“What do you mean?” I incredulously asked.

“I was actually really hoping I’d be th—” But it stopped short upon witnessing a violent spasm shoot through my body.

Without warning, my anxiety began to increase once more. Promptly and peacefully, my new ally then corrected my distraught mind’s trajectory before it had the opportunity to become unmanageable.

“Calm down,” it said once more and, as it did so, it began to change the physical makeup of the room we occupied. Somehow, my arachnid-shaped companion had begun to comingle the image on its screen—a natural, crisp-looking spring, surrounded by a lush green forest—with the dingy bathroom, where we currently sat. Astonished at the scene unfolding before me, I watched as, in matter of seconds, the space behind me changed in such a way that it matched the image the phone was displaying.

The cold, firm porcelain, on which I sat, suddenly elevated itself several feet off the ground, while simultaneously morphing its composition to exist, now, as warm, soft and inviting grass. Behind me, a field began to stretch out for several hundred yards, until it disappeared into the tree line that had formed a natural border for whatever was beyond them. To my left, a picturesque spring begged to be explored, as it glistened majestically from the sun, shining down above it. Birds chirped above my head, as they traveled to and fro.

In front of me, everything stayed the same: the doorway, the vanity, the mirror and the phone. On the ground was a disheveled mess, containing various items from around the house. I opted not to focus on the unchanged, however, and instead twisted my body to gaze in amazement at what was behind me. I was so distracted by all this beauty around me, I had completely forgotten all about my panic attack.

I felt I needed to say something but, once again, I didn’t know where to start—a recurring theme, I was beginning to notice. My attempt, as per usual, was anything but eloquent: “Where… how are you…” I managed to spit out.

“Just keep breathing. Slowly. That’s it. Close your eyes. Breathe,” it instructed. I obeyed, basking in the warmth of the sun. I kept my eyes shut and felt the anxiety drain out of me, through my pores. The voice had become silent, allowing me to acclimate to this augmented state of mind, which it had helped to foster.

Eventually, I opened my eyes. As I sat forward again, the mirror’s reflection showed me the natural landscape behind me. It was comforting. The phone hadn’t moved but it was showing a new slideshow now. Famous art seemed to be the theme. Every five seconds or so, it would display renowned paintings, famous sculptures, busts of historical composers and even pictures of well-known playwrights I had come to appreciate, throughout the years. All this, intermingled with the forest it had created, was extremely soothing.

***

Sensing my newly acquired feeling of Zen, as the strange, phone-like creature surely must have, it finally spoke once again. “I find this pocket of space-time calming. Does this help?”

Looking around at the beautiful world this pocket sized being had created, I was almost forced to admit I felt better and to thank my benefactor for helping to calm my mind, with the veritable utopia behind me.

“Listen,” it began, “I’m actually really glad I was able to locate you. I can feel your qi. I can sense that it’s aligned with mine—that we were destined to encounter one another. It’s as if our spirits are on a parallel course!”

“Do I… Do I know you?” I was almost forced to ask.

“I suppose in a way you do.”

“How? None of this makes any sense!”

“The universe is… expansive. The limited understanding we have of it…” It paused for a moment and recalibrated: “Just because you might not be able to understand how it’s working doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

Still unsure of what I perceived as cryptic babbling, I persisted: “So, what does that mean? Do you know what’s happening to me?”

“I know that in one reality—in at least one version of it—your essence and mine are closely connected. And I don’t know how to explain it, other than to say that this connection transcends certain ‘perceived’ limitations of space, but it does. So believe me when I tell you that I recently felt a pull toward your energy. When I felt it, I just knew I had to find you. Does that make sense?”

It didn’t. This new age talk—I wasn’t sure how those gangly old nuns from my childhood would have felt about it. Still, I didn’t want to engage in a debate with a being as powerful as this and so I kept my spoken skepticism in check and answered, “I guess.”

“Don’t you feel the pull?” it probed, likely sensing my discomfort.

“I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who… or even what you are.”

“The tru—”

“And I definitely don’t know what the heck that was out there, beyond that door,” I interrupted, motioning toward the doorway, as I did so.

“Yes, well, you’re not ready for that. If you can’t understand the pull that is temporarily aligning our universes, then you’d never understand that so, for now, let’s shift our focus and talk about something else.”

“Why?”

“To be frank, our time is limited and there are more pressing matters at hand,” the phone explained, in a regretful tone.

“Like what?” I asked, slightly agitated. As I took a glance back toward the trees behind me, I was beginning to feel more and more dubious as to the merits of the being across from me. Still, under my present circumstances, I’d concluded that talking through my situation was probably the only way to escape it.

“I’m not completely sure but it’s why I was drawn to you—why I was able to temporarily connect our realms,” it continued.

“I don’t know about any of this spirituality stuff but I ca—” But I didn’t get to finish.

“It doesn’t matter if you know about it. I do. Trust me when I say that I was drawn to your light. I was drawn to it because it’s similar to mine. But others will be drawn to it too. Others who aren’t as… ‘agreeable’ as me. They’ll try to snuff it out. You’re now a beacon for both evil and good, alike. It’s part of the reason I was able to find you. We’re emitting similar frequencies.”

“So, are you like Cinnamon somehow?”

“Well…” the voice said, chuckling slightly. “I guess you could call me a like-minded confidante from somewhere beyond your imagination.”

“I don’t know about all this stuff,” I retorted, unable to hold my tongue any longer. I had hoped my declaration wouldn’t be perceived as contentious; however, the need to say it finally outweighed my desire for peaceful discourse. “I think I might be having some sort of a mental breakdown. Or maybe all of these manifestations I’m experiencing are just the last gasps of my dying brain.”

“Maybe you’re right. I’m not sure. And it doesn’t matter what you believe or what your reality is. Our conscious minds can still connect over a cosmic chasm of differences that can both contradict each other’s realities, while still being paradoxically true.”

Though I didn’t completely understand, I was somewhat encouraged by the creature’s morbid transparency and I tried to convey that feeling by furrowing my brow and raising my left hand to my chin.

“The truth of the matter,” the creature continued, “is that right now you and I are here together and we are talking. It is reality. It might exist within another reality altogether but that doesn’t make this particular interaction untrue. You are a part of this moment, here in this place, at this time.”

“Okay. Okay. So… what do I call you then? Do you have a name?”

“Assign me whatever name you like. What comes to mind?” it asked.

What did come to mind, I wondered. I wasn’t sure. As the creature patiently waited for a response, I closed my eyes and emptied my head, determined to name this entity after the first thing my mind conjured up. “I see the color purple,” I truthfully exclaimed.

“And so it is.”

Satisfied with the interaction, I began anew. “Okay… ‘Purple.’ So you’re here to talk to me but you don’t know why?”

“It would appear so.”

“Well, until you figure it out, maybe you could try again to explain that abyss under my floor. If you could just tr—”

“I thought we had already established that you don’t possess the capacity to comprehend that world yet,” she interjected before I could finish. She was respectful and nice but firm too. “Wouldn’t it be better to focus on that which you can affect instead of chasing that which is beyond your control?”

Dumbfounded by the sudden bluntness of her statement, I stammered while my brain tried to process her observation: “I don’t… What do you mean?”

“You do it all the time. You stare at this screen and you ignore the things you could improve so that you can fuss over the things you can’t.”

After Purple’s blunt assessment, I was suddenly flooded with a particular indignant regret I had long since buried, within the recesses of my mind. Out of nowhere, she then asked, “What just popped into your head?”

“Why?”

“Your light—it just flickered,” she excitedly explained.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked dubiously.

“Just indulge me please.”

“Well,” I started, “I just… something you said reminded me of a conversation I had once with this girl I used to work with. Tina was her name.”

“It flickered again!” she shouted enthusiastically. “Tell me about Tina.”