Who Moved My Life

Who Moved My Life?

He would feel it in the mornings; when he first woke up it hit him like a harsh blow to the stomach.  He recovered marginally and creaked out of bed.  Football practices had been particularly grueling lately, but nothing impacted his body, his whole being, as this thing did.  It had a life of its own and it loved to overwhelm him, wrap around him and not let go.  He would slowly descend the stairs, those same stairs that he used to practically tumble down, two, three at a time, so compelled to get down to the bottom with a victorious leap to the wooden floor below.   He would wolf down breakfast before his other brothers could get their hands on the warmest, butteriest toast and then sail out the door and start another day that was consumed with Ginger.  

But now he choked down breakfast and couldn’t even tell if the toast had been buttered at all, he didn’t care.  He barely noticed anyone else and they kept their eyes down most of the time.  They could see the thing surrounding him, he thinks.  It’s not invisible.  They are family, they know.  They’ve seen this before, only this time it’s different.  It’s different because of Ginger, he knows it, but the thought of it is turning the thing into shards.  He can’t make them go away.  Even Ginger wouldn’t be able to kiss them and make them go away.

He escapes the warm kitchen but as the door swings away from him the day is even warmer and redolent with fall smells.  Nothing like living in the south with all the omnipresent heat to be able to smell things intensely.  He never appreciated this fact while he rolled around with the sweaty galoots who made up his failing football team.  But before it was just funny and he’d run to the warm shower afterward, and Jesus, the warm arms of Ginger.  She would always be waiting for him after practice by the side of the sun-baked brick school building; always that half-smile and almond eyes that looked like they held some secret you could never grasp.

As he shrugged off the breakfast scene and walked down the cracked pavement the thing changed again.  Now the shards had turned into a wooden box encasing his body and he had to drag it with him to the best thing that had ever happened to him, his sixteenth birthday present, a 1958 Chevy Bel Air. It was powder blue, which he felt was the best color.  It always lifted him up when he saw it in the shady driveway.  Today he blindly reached for the door;  somehow he got in behind the wheel, but that hard box pressed in on him and he could barely feel his body as it sank into the plastic upholstery.

How could this be happening now?  His father, wearing that strange crooked grin of his, had told him three weeks ago that they were moving.  But… really?  It was fall and school had just started, and the promise of a new year had made him feel heady with all the prospects life seemed to be so generously presenting. 

Even though the football team was lame, he was the captain and he could feel all eyes on him as he positively floated down the pine-smelling halls to his next class.  And…Ginger.  She was beautiful.  He had never dated such a beautiful girl before. She would be sitting across from him in the Bel Air with that smile and he couldn’t believe his luck. Oh god…maybe when he got home he could reach the liquor cabinet behind the china hutch and steal the bottle of Old Kentucky before anyone got home.  He wondered if that would help soften the walls of this box he seemed to be living in now. 

He and his siblings were Navy brats and his dad delighted in all the moves.  Yes, this was not an unfamiliar story, but when he was a little kid moving had been an adventure,  piling into the old station wagon and heading for the newest Navy housing.  New friends, a new school that looked and smelled different… eating TV dinners for a while until they got settled.  But he was almost a man now and he was different, he didn’t want anyone else telling him where he was going.  And his father wanted them to move frequently, even without transfer orders from the Navy.  His father was whimsical, and he expected them all to just drop everything and look with anticipation toward the next town. 

He had told Ginger, and she cried at first but then strangely seemed to recover from the news.  He thought she must be living in some kind of fog.  But her dad was in the Navy too and such was life.  She huddled with her girlfriends and would smile at him but he could tell she was starting to move on.

The day of the move loomed large.  His siblings seemed to be oblivious to the upcoming transition.  But he felt like he was buckling under the crushing, inexorable weight of it all. His only respite was to sit in the Bel Air and play the Beach Boys.  He never did find that bottle of Old Kentucky; his dad had probably already packed it.  

He woke up on the appointed morning and the heaviness hadn’t changed at all.  He felt like this was going to be his life now, and he fought to find some kind of control.  He had said goodbye to his football buddies.  They goodnaturedly cuffed him on the head and promised a visit that would never materialize.  And Ginger… that was the hardest.  She pressed herself to him but when she backed away her eyes darted sideways and she couldn’t look at him.

His family clambered into the station wagon, the youngest ones joyous.  They were too young, there was no box to confine them.  At least he didn’t have to join them in the back seat like the old days.  He had his own car now, one perk of being the oldest.  He was directed to follow them at a close distance.  His father probably thought this privilege would be enough to make up for the devastating event that was unfolding.  He gripped the steering wheel and felt the tightness all around him.

The plan was to meet up at a diner at noon for a family lunch before they continued their journey.  He couldn’t even remember what the world looked like whizzing by him as they drove out of town.  He was fixed in one position, the box made sure of that.  Would he ever be free?  It was starting to feel suffocating and he hoped that he could keep his hands on the wheel.

After a mostly silent meal with his dad trying for some sort of fake jocularity, he trudged back to the car.  At least the Bel Air still looked good to him, possibly it was the only friend he had anymore.  He slid in and steeled himself for the journey ahead, still feeling like his body was entrapped and wondering if this would simply become a constant in his life. He could somehow move from one place to the other, yes, but as soon as he was still he was completely held inside this thing.  The road trip wasn’t causing the box to fall away and release its grasp, giving him sudden and complete freedom. Sadly, no.

  He was in the habit of always letting the station wagon get far ahead of him, his dad didn’t seem to mind.    He settled into the cool, vinyl seat, paused before he put the key in the ignition and then instead of wearily feeling the confines of the box again,  suddenly everything went black.  Velvety black.  It almost felt like a comforting thing, but unsettling to say the least.  What now?  He seemed to be floating in some indefinable nether world and he finally saw the box around him in its entirety;  it looked like a sturdy wooden closet just big enough for him.  The image only lasted a moment, and now it looked like paintings by Salvador Dali that he had seen in a museum on a school field trip.  It was melting and becoming distorted.  Large wooden panels fell away from each other and turned into wavy shimmering strips.  He realized his whole body was vibrating uncontrollably.  He felt like he was hurtling through space, the strips circling him in a dizzying light show.

 He suddenly woke up and looked down to see he was still clutching his key in his hand. He had no sense of how much time had passed.  What the hell was going on?  He felt odd, no other way to describe it. His body felt light and heavy at the same time.  Suddenly he thought….Where is the goddamn box?  It seemed to still be around but he couldn’t figure out where it was.  He could sense it but then he kind of couldn’t.  He got out of the car.  His legs felt difficult to move at first,  but then unbelievably strong.  He wished they had felt like this when he was running down the football field.    He took a few more steps, and then it struck him.  The box must be inside him now; he had no idea how he knew that, but he felt convinced.   It was part of him, he had no doubt, and he was fucking STRONG.

Now his legs were carrying him effortlessly back to his powder blue wonder.  He felt exhilarated and freer than he had ever felt in his life.  The past weeks all seemed like a blur now; he no longer felt the need to know what had happened to him. All he knew was that he was his own man now, his life was opening up ahead of him and he was ready to go down this new road.   He swung the door open of the fabulous Bel Air and drew in a big gulp of fresh air.  The key went into the ignition almost without the help of his hand.  He turned the car around and looked at the landscape ahead, the one that had previously been in the rearview mirror.  He was going back and nothing could stop him.