I pushed the door open and stumbled outside into an afternoon as dark as twilight. The rain had slowed to a drizzle but the air seemed too warm and heavy to breath. Panting, I leaned back against the wall of my apartment building.  Idly my fingers moved across the damp stone, finding something comforting in the friction between my hands and the gritty surface. 

On the busy street, cars spun past, their headlights forming spidery shadows that skittered over the face of the buildings across the way, one after another, over and over.

The rhythm set me to thinking about all the natural rhythms: birth, childhood, school, college, work, marriage, motherhood. It reminded me that I’d fallen out of step. Somehow I’d become disconnected.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up and saw that the sky had lost its color. In the thickening dark it had faded to the same damp gray as the buildings, the street, the sidewalk. Everything was washed out and hazy, like a sanded mirror that can only reflect its abrasions.

I closed my eyes and replayed the day, a voyeur of my wounds.

This morning I’d stopped in the middle of putting on my makeup, and stepped from the bathroom to the adjoining bedroom, to see what Ray was shouting about.

 “Damn it Julie,” Are you ever going to get it together?”

“What’s wrong, Ray?” I’d asked my irate husband.

He held a light blue shirt up by its hanger, and shook it. “It’s nothing but wrinkles. How am I supposed to wear this?”

“Don’t you have another one?” I asked, gesturing to his side of the walk in closet.

“I want this one. It goes with the tie I planned to wear today. Why are all my clothes always wrinkled?”

“Your closet’s too full,” I explained patiently. “Even if I hang your clothes up right from the dry cleaners they get wrinkled. You have too many clothes for the space.”

“So now it’s my fault?”
  
I sighed. “You could iron it.”

“You know I don’t know anything about that kind of crap.”

“All right,” I said, surrendering. “Give it here. I’ll do it. But I have to make it fast. I wanted to leave early; big meeting this morning.”

“You’re wonderful.” Ray said, giving me a smile and an affectionate pat on the butt.

As soon as I finished the shirt, I ran back to the bathroom, to finish lining my dark brown eyes. Then I used a straightening iron to force my long, unruly chestnut hair into something sleek, and semi-professional looking.  My thoughts were on sales figures, as I stepped back into the bedroom.  It took a moment for it to register that Ray was still there, sitting on the edge of the bed, the shirt I’d ironed still hanging from the ironing board.

“What are you doing, honey?” I asked.

“I decided to call in sick. If the day’s going to start like this it’s bound to just get worse.”

“Can you do that?” I asked, meaning should he?

“Of course I can. You know they love me. Just like you do. How about you come here and show me how much?” He smiled at me and began to unzip his pants.

“Oh honey, I can’t.” I argued. “Honestly I just can’t be late this morning. There’s a new boss and I told you what a micromanaging pain in the neck he is. He doesn’t know what I can do yet so I sort of have to prove my self all over.”

Ray shrugged. “Your loss.” Then he reached for the remote and rolled into bed. As the TV in our bedroom came on with a roar of canned laughter I hurried to find my keys. I knew Ray was being passive aggressive and I shouldn’t let him get to me. I also knew I’d be tense and out of balance until I could work things out with him. Maybe I’d fix something nice for dinner, wear that lacy black teddy he liked so much. I’d make it up to him tonight and everything would be all right again.

Distracted, it took several minutes for me to remember that I’d left my keys in my coat pocket instead of in their usual place, on the hook by the front door. Finally I was in my gray Volvo sedan and on the way to work. Reaching the end of the street I decided, since I was running late, to turn left instead of right, taking the highway instead of the surface roads. Everyone said the highway was faster, and my fear of the five lanes of speeding traffic, merging cars, and lane hogging trucks, was childish.

I realized my error only minutes after slipping into the heavy morning traffic. Wondering why the cars ahead had slowed from a crawl to a complete stop I found a radio station that reported an overturned truck ahead. Damn it.  What should I do? I didn’t know if the next exit would take me around the accident, or dump me into some neighborhood where I’d circle endlessly, looking for a way out. I should know this. Why don’t I know this? Why am I so stupid? I decided to call Ray and ask him for directions to get around the accident. I’d also call work and let them know I was going to be late.  Then I realized that in my hurry I’d left my cell phone plugged into the charger in the kitchen. 

An hour late, I rushed into the conference room, where my new boss and the other two members of the team were working on a presentation we would be making in a few moments.

“I know I’m late,” I said, “I was…”

“No time,” the new boss interrupted. “We’re going now.”

Everyone stood.

“I have some additional figures.”

“Keep it. We have enough.”

“But…”

“Wait one moment.” He stepped into the hall, gesturing my coworkers out with him, then came back alone and shut the door.

“I have some good things here,” I said, patting my briefcase.

“I’m sure that you do,” he hissed, “but as I’ve said, we have all we need.”

“Then you don’t want me in on the meeting?”

“Actually, I think what you should do is take the rest of the day off.”

“What?”

“Take the day, go home, and spend some time considering your priorities.”

“Take the…”

“Did I not make myself clear?”



I nodded.

“Good enough.” He shut the door and was gone, leaving me with a sense of failure and shame. I sank into one of the conference chairs and rubbed my forehead, where the beginning of a headache was making itself known.  All the stress of traffic and running late, not to mention not having time for breakfast, was beginning to add up.

Oh no. I totally forgot about Tina. Thinking about food had reminded me that I’d made lunch plans with my best friend, Tina. Actually, I reminded myself miserably, I’d been forced to cancel our last two lunch dates. Work had intruded both times and now this.  I could take this opportunity to go home and work things out with Ray. Or I could keep my lunch date with Tina. No, I had to see Ray. Tina was such a caring person and such a good friend that I knew she would understand.

I picked up the conference room phone and punched 9 for an outside line, then dialed Tina’s cell phone. After four rings her voice mail message came on.  

“Hi,” I said, after the beep. “I hate to do this to you again. I know you must think I am the most unorganized person on the planet, but I can’t make it for lunch today. Please don’t be mad at me, and let’s reschedule for the same day next week, ok? I miss you. Talk to you soon.”  When I hung up it felt like I was breaking more than just a phone connection.

I shook off the feeling and prepared to brave the hallways of the office complex. Luckily, I didn’t see anyone I knew and a few minutes later I was safely in my car, navigating through a fast food drive thru. On my way home I ate a fried sausage and egg patty and washed it down with overly sweetened orange juice.  The greasy food, combined with my anxiety, was a terrible combination, and by the time I pulled into my apartment complex I felt queasy and my headache was worse than ever.

Maybe it was time to brush up the old resume. That was the thought foremost in my mind, as I unlocked the front door. I’d been with the company for seven years and had thought I had a future there. Maybe I’d been wrong.  I opened the door and stepped inside.

Immediately I heard them. It was a sound you didn’t mistake. A woman’s breathless gasps and Ray’s voice saying, “Yeah, that’s it, that’s it.”  All of it accompanied by that squeak in the bed frame we always joked about.

The keys fell from my hand. They hit the floor with a hard jangle and abruptly the sounds coming from the bedroom stopped.  Then, “Shit.” Rays voice, angry and breathless, and then he was standing in the hallway wearing nothing, a sheen of sweat across his skin.

I walked towards him but when he reached for me I brushed past and looked into the bedroom. Tina was standing on the far side of the bed, hastily wrapping a sheet around herself.

I stood where I was as time stalled and the planet seemed to stop. It seemed to keep spinning for everyone else though.  Tina was saying something. Her red, blotched face animated. I noticed how her golden blonde hair was spiked and matted, her lipstick smeared. This was not the Tina I knew. The Tina I knew was elegant and pulled together.  

“Was this because I didn’t go to lunch with you?” I finally said.

“What?” Tina asked, her blue eyes growing even wider.

“Honey, this doesn’t mean anything.” Ray was saying. He touched my arm. The touch made me wince and back away.

“Julie,” they both said, but I refused to hear them.

I left the apartment, shutting the door carefully behind me, then walked to the end of the long hallway and pushed through the door at the front entrance. When I reached the street I turned right then stopped and leaned back against the wall. I wanted to just lean against something and breathe for a moment, for some reason that seemed like a very important thing to do.

Then the what ifs arrived. What if I’d had sex with Ray that morning? What if I hadn’t forgotten my cell phone? What if I’d called the office to tell them I was stuck in traffic? What if I could have had children? What if I wasn’t so disorganized all the time? “I can’t do it,” I said, to no one in particular. “I can’t get it together. I can’t get perfect. I’ve tried. I give up.”

Strangers walked past me but they didn’t see me. I felt nauseous and closed my eyes. With my eyes shut I became more keenly aware of the wind created by the cars slipping past. I raised my arms and let the pull of the wind draw me. I took one step forward, towards the sound of spinning tires, then another. 

The slipstream from the cars was warm and soft but it pulled too, exerting an unsteady but always gentle pressure. I felt my fingers begin to tingle, the tips first and then each knuckle and finally the palms of my hands.  Then the tingle was gone, replaced by a slippery feeling, as if I’d put on too much lotion.

I opened my eyes and saw my hands. They looked like a still photo of an object in motion. They had become skin-toned streaks, beginning at my wrists and elongating in impossible ways. I knew I should be afraid. That I should question my sanity, or wonder if some hallucinogen was pumped into my last latte, along with the amaretto syrup.

I discovered that I was not afraid. In fact, I was fascinated. I saw my hands weave in wonderful bands in, under, and among, the cars. The dark streak, I realized with delight, was the ring on the third finger of my right hand. Its dark blue sapphires looked black under the fading light. The lighter band of color was the silver ring on my thumb.

My hands moved farther and farther away, stretching until I could no longer see the tips. I regretted that I hadn’t painted them a nice, bright pink that morning. They would have looked like cherry blossoms, spinning away.

My wrists tingled.

Unraveling like a spool of ribbon, my arms unwound then spiraled after my hands. In moments my shoulders joined them. I lifted my head, straining to avoid what could only be inevitable. Yes, there went my collarbones, broken away from each other and spreading apart. Then there was a tickle in my throat.

The unwinding seemed to travel in two directions, moving up my neck and chin and finally reaching my face, which was pulled, elongated and drawn after my collarbones.

At the same time it traveled down, opening my chest, unwinding my ribs.  At first they formed a cylinder, but then the rate of diffusion reached a point where the wind from the cars affected them, and they pulled apart like taffy, spreading thinner and thinner.

My legs were last. The right one started first. My face and eyes were dipping past a blue Pontiac but still I could feel my legs unknit. At the last, my heels drug against the sidewalk and then became no more than a suede smear, as they slipped into the stream.

For a while I enjoyed the freedom of trailing among the cars, moving smoothly between them, admiring their aerodynamics in a completely new way. Then I reached an intersection, and an updraft.

The updraft seized me, and lifted me higher and higher. I was amazed at the heights I attained and was almost afraid to look down. Then, laughing at the uselessness of old fears, I allowed herself to enjoy the view.

Ping.

What was that?

Ping. Ping.

A pair of pesky hydrogen atoms had ripped one of my oxygen atoms away.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Another scattering of atoms slipped their bonds and migrated, joining strangers and breaking away. Touched and touching, joining and recombining, I couldn’t believe I had ever felt alone.

Ping.

I was beginning to rain and…

Ping.

I giggled.

I couldn’t help it.

It tickled.