I crawl into bed. It’s late. I lean over – the vertebrae of my spine crack with my efforts as I turn off the bedside table lamp. I stare at nothing in the darkness, towards the ceiling, until my eyes adjust to the night. My eyes are heavy. Tired. Soundlessly, I pull up the bed sheets. Instead of jersey cotton, I have pulled on something not unlike any substance I’ve held before. I have pulled up light, weightless time. I pull time up and over me and immerse myself under its unfeeling cover. I am submerged. It has washed over me and there is nothing I can do but be!
And suddenly: it is not weightless! It is heavy, and t a x i n g. I cannot breathe. The weight is so great I start to panic. My eyes are squeezed shut with Time’s weight. There is nothing I can do. I am.
The air is pressed out of me and I begin to feel my insides liquefy. Liquefy?! Yes. My muscles, tendons, ligaments, everything that holds bones together and gives skin form, have come undone and are now turning into a less than three-dimensional entity. Rolled out and flattened. Time is the rolling pin and I am the dough.
I am hair-thin. And still, the weight is pushing, pulling. P u l l i n g pulling. My insides are my outsides and every side in between. The pulling doesn’t cease.
There is a fine line across the middle of my flattened dough-self of a dull, aching pain. Now a line of numbness. The edges parallel to the line-of-numb, begin to raise.
I am lifted off the bed, weightless, yet the weight of Time has not stopped making its presence known! The pain in the middle ceases, and like a spring pulled too tight – S NA P – I am one-half of what I was before. A split moment later, I am a quarter of what I once was. Again and again.
Folds of fine origami-Julia collapse inwards until she is ever smaller. Dust. A speck. A speck above my jersey sheet-less bed.
There was a breeze.