The Umbrella at the Edge of the Universe

At the beginning of it all, there might have been nothing, but by the time I opened my eyes there was darkness. Then, very quickly, there were planets. 

"These are the planets," said the girl with the orange umbrella. 

They didn't look like planets to me. They looked like ballerinas. A woman pliéd in front of me, intricate braids swishing as she vaulted across the stage floor, skirt glinting when she twirled. The space shimmered and bent at wild angles.

"Is this Tchaikovsky?" 

Darkness, planets, music. I hummed the notes for a minute, trying to feel the rhythm. Another girl— tawny leotard, hula hoop— spun by me. 

The orange umbrella bobbed. "Tchaikovsky? Maybe. 'Waltz of the Flowers', isn't it?"

I nodded. The planets ignored me and the girl with the orange umbrella. Their multifarious colors swished through choreographed patterns in a blinding haze— gauzy silver hippie skirt, slim azure tutu, striped petticoat with a russet corsage. They danced in pulsing circles around an invisible center. I wondered if it was the sun. 

"Of course it's the sun," said the girl with the orange umbrella, "but you can't look at stars that close. You'll go blind."

Oh. Of course.

"Shall we continue?" The girl asked, bouncing gently in her lace-up boots. She seemed pleasantly anxious, as if she wanted to move beyond the ballet— but not if I wanted to see more of it, out of decorum. 

"Continue where?" I asked. The girl shrugged. I wasn't expecting much of an answer, as she hadn't clearly responded to any of my questions. Not even the very first one I asked, when I woke to only darkness.

"Where am I?"

"A hospital, I suppose. Please, come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Up. These are the planets."

Her umbrella had been red then. Scarlet. Everything that wasn't dark was bloody.

I glanced at the umbrella again. Definitely orange.

"Who's that?" I pointed to a small dancer with dark curls, huddled beyond the ballet. She was crying, head bent softly over stained silk, tears beading at the hem. A few dolls, nearly identical, clustered at her feet. The rest of the chorus flitted past her with a passive disdain. 

"That's Pluto, of course," said the girl. "She was demoted. Some of the others were never really planets at all, you know. Seen enough?"

I hadn't. If these were really the planets, I wanted to find Mars, not to mention Earth. But before I could protest the umbrella hooked around my wrist and the girl dragged me to a stairwell I hadn't noticed before. It was dingy, and the dimly whitewashed walls brushed pale powder on my skin. 

I looked down at my hands. They were covered with scars, but as I climbed the violent lines began to fade. An angry puncture wound between the webbing of my fingers cleared up. My heart wasn't beating, but my head felt decidedly less foggy. 

"Wasn’t there a crash?" I asked. "Ten car pile up, someone said?"

She didn't look back at me. "There were only four cars. Recognize it?"

"Recognize what?" I was still in the stairwell, although she seemed to have emerged from it, judging by the bluish glow framing her face. 

"This." The girl brushed aside and I stepped up, into the room. It was enormous, shrouded in glass, with small fireflies flickering through the sapphire space beyond the enclosure. People drifted aimlessly, floating with haughty grace across the clear floor. Each elegant silhouette wore lovely clothes, tuxedos and evening gowns scattered with tiny lights. It was clearly a party, but none of the guests were speaking to each other. 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"Up." The girl waved her yellow umbrella— it was yellow now, the same astonishing vibrancy as a sunflower— at the majestic figures. "Some people go Down," she continued. "They see cells and electrons and things. But you went Up, saw the planets, and now there's this."

"Why aren't they touching?" It was really bothering me, that people at a party would pass by each other without a glance, a whisper. They weren't talking. There was noise, a rushing white hiss that must have come from somewhere, but it wasn't made by the people. 

"I don’t think you can understand," said the girl, "It’s right in front of you, but you never see it." She sighed, and her yellow umbrella wilted. "But sometimes they do touch. Look at those two, right there."

I looked. Near us was a young man with a blue bow tie and slicked back, dark hair. Apart from him, a woman swayed in time to the white noise, bits of light scattering from the fluid fabric of her long dress. They moved gently, like a breeze was the only thing that kept them upright, and the way they moved brought them steadily closer together.

"You call the man Milky Way, and the woman Andromeda. They're in love, and eventually it will be too much for them. They'll reach out to touch each other."

"What happens then?" Their eyes matched their clothes. Kaleidoscopes, glowing as they shifted.

The umbrella jerked as the girl shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Their hearts merge, she’ll tear him to pieces, etcetera. But you'll be Up, by then. Shall we continue?"

"We're going up?"

She nodded. “One more level."

I looked around for stairs, but there weren't any. The girl wrapped her gloved hand around my wrist and aimed her umbrella high in the air. We shot through the space where I thought there had been a glass ceiling and into a cloud of white light. 

"What's going on?" I panicked— I couldn't see. 

"It's okay." The girl's face swam in front of me. Her white umbrella shielded some of the light, and, blinking, I met her eyes. It was the first time I'd seen them. They were dark black, crisp, waves of gray tide foaming to the surface. 

"What— where—”

"This is Up," she explained. "This is the edge of the universe."

"What?" 

There was that noise again, like singing with no music, and a strong wind that pulled at my fingers, my hair, my skin. 

"What's happening?"

She smiled, and her umbrella dipped briefly against my cheek. "It's okay. I promise. You’re just becoming light. Or maybe dark. But I think, in your case, it's light."

My toes tingled. "Am I— am I up?"

"Almost." A tear beaded against her skin, but the brilliantly shining umbrella whisked it away. "There are organisms, and planets, and galaxies, and now you’re moving to the plane of universes.”

“Is it like this?” I gasped. The tingling in my toes was starting to burn. “Is all of the universe light?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been. I have to stay Down until there are no people left to bring Up.” She twirled her white umbrella and the burning shot through my legs. “At the rate you lot are going, it won’t take very long before I’m Up too. But for now…”

Her eyes flicked back to my face. My feet and shins and thighs were gone completely, disintegrated into the noise, and the burning sensation was spreading.

“I have to go back Down,” she said.

"Why?" She couldn’t go. The burning hurt and I wanted her to fix it.

“They need me. I’m sorry.”

I surged forward, trying to grasp at the girl and her umbrella, but my hands were only wisps of energy, my fingers arcing away in dazzling rays. The girl's face was fuzzy, fading. 

"Goodbye," she whispered. 

Goodbye, I replied, but the sound was lost in light.