This is a true story about me. Kind of like my blogs, but more of the side of me I normally don't talk about.
Ever since I was little I've had the feeling that something unseen was out there. When you're that small people call it an imaginary friend. No one put that idea in your head, yet we all seem to have this memory of having a friend that only existed to us. My siblings and I talked about ours a couple of nights before I flew. Theirs came in pairs and they could recall their names as if it was just yesterday they'd said goodbye. My brother's - Burt and Mara. My sister's - Elly and Ennie. My Billy said goodbye to me a long time ago. Billy was my main 'friend' but I remember having a second one as well, now that I think about it. His was more of a sinister personality so maybe I blocked him out after he left. Even as children we block out painful memories. This isn't put in our heads either. Why was one of mine dark?
No one teaches us the idea of an imaginary friend, right? Does our imagination run wild and manifest itself as a personality. Or is there something out there, reaching at us. Wanting to be heard. And why does it want to be heard.
I've just arrived in Bangkok and was immediately taken to my hotel by two men in a van wearing what reminded me of the suits at the end of ET. Did that scene not scare the absolute shit out of anyone else as a child? I'll be in quarantine for two weeks and the first week I'm not allowed to leave my room. Good thing it's a comfy room and good thing I'll have a view! They tell me I'm on the 7th floor and when I step into the room it is a lot nicer than I thought it would be. Nothing is sectioned off of course, but I tell myself I have a living room (the sofa as I walk in), a bedroom (the bed), an office (a desk and a chair), a bathroom (I expect there's no explanation necessary here), and a balcony with a view indeed. I set my things down and go take in the view.
When standing on the terrace a memory comes back to me from when I was young and staying at my grandparents' house in the northern part of Wyoming. They had taken a fan unit out of the window on the second floor and the space left there was bigger than normal. My brother and I had been picking up crab apples off the ground that day, collecting them to make jam. 'Now look at this space in front of us,' we thought, '...and look at that!' There was the crab apple tree right outside of it. I was the first to reach for them. One, two, three - yes, picking fresh apples from here was so much more simple. And Aunt Lois would be so happy with fresher ones for our jam. "Just a couple more," I said, but as I reached for the fourth the majority of my weight was outside the window frame instead of in and like a Dad and daughter on a see-saw, I tumbled where the weight was more. I tried to stop myself and this actually hurt the most. I tumbled out of the window and grabbed the frame with my the tops of my thighs in a desperate attempt to right myself. This only caused my weight to swing inward a little and hit the side of the house I was falling out of. Yes the concussion with the ground pained me, but the blood, that was from me and the notable force that threw me back against the house. All's well that ends well, nothing was broken and I was alright after some childish tears but that feeling of free fall and fright will never leave me. Also, what threw me into the house? I clearly remember this thought. 'Could I have really forced myself into the house while falling? Maybe I'm young and I don't understand how things work. Or maybe I was pushed.'
When I was too old to have imaginary friends, at certain ages you're too old to have a lot of things, they faded away like distant memories. The 'friends' may have faded but the feeling that something is out there beckoning me has not. Instead, it has shown itself in other creative ways. Life is creative now isn't it. For as long as I can remember, at least after Billy and the other one left, I've had a strange interaction with lights. The way I perceive them, the colors they emit, the way they look around certain people (I've been told these are their auras), and last but certainly not least, the way they turn on and off. The rest are fairly subjective, however, I believe the way lights turn on and off to me is somewhat unique in the fact that they sometimes do it on their own. I say somewhat unique because my friend AJ and I have discussed this a few times.
AJ and I were out walking the neighborhood one night back when we were only sixteen and a street light shut off right over our heads. I muttered something like, "Boy, that sure happens a lot."
AJ, stone-faced, turned to me and said, "Uh, what. What happens?"
"The street lights. Well, this is going to sound weird, but -"
"Please go on, don't stop talking."
The look on AJ's face worried me a little but I knew I should say it. "When I'm out sometimes street lights will just turn off around me."
"Me too." said AJ with the straightest face I've ever seen that man make. "And have you ever had more than one do it at once?"
"Yeah actually." I'd never told anyone this before. "One night I was by myself staring down a long street. The street didn't curve so I could see all the way down it. One turned off over my head and I didn't think much, because like I said, it happens a lot. Then the next one a little down the road flickered off. Then the next one, then the next one...until they were all off and I was on a pitch black road by myself."
AJ's face looked blank, "...so, what did you do?" he asked.
"Well the wind came up, and it was a cold one. And I swear AJ, the bushes started moving." I was talking faster now. "I don't know if something was in them, or they were actually moving but I ran like hell. I didn't care how dark it was, I ran as fast as I could until I got home and turned on every light in the house." I paused a moment. "Something happened to you like this too, didn't it?"
"Yeah, yeah it did."
AJ and I haven't spoken of this particular instance since. Occam's Razor says the simplest explanation is the most likely one. A transformer probably blew not far away and the lights were just shutting off in sequence due to a lack of power. At the same time, a cold front moved in which triggered the wind and in turn made the bushes sway. But I know that's not what happened. It was all too much to be coincidence, and sometimes you just know. You feel it.
We do still talk about how street lights turn off around us though. I brought it up when I was home and sure enough, twenty years later, it still happens to him too. For the most part I've tried to switch it all around and I tell myself that when a street lamp burns out or flickers off it's good luck. I mean, how many people can that honestly happen to. It must be good luck. And in a way I think I've manifested some good luck out of it by changing my frame of mind. They did stop for a while when I considered them lucky though. Which was odd. Almost like I wasn't understanding and they're mad that I don't listen to what they have to say.
After a couple of days of avoiding the balcony from that vivid flashback fear that swept over me, I have returned. With some proper respect and due diligence I've come to appreciate it. It is, after all, my only interaction with the outside world for the next ten days. I've sat out there and looked for Bangkok apartments on my laptop, read a book, and even gone out there during a rainstorm to appreciate the gales that sweep through Thailand at the end of monsoon season. After that last storm though, I think I'll admire the rain behind the glass porch door. I can see it well enough from the inside and the tile was slick. Add it to the list of factors that could help me take the plunge. A slick tile floor, a bit too much of a hustle, the railing that hits me mid-thigh and definitely isn't up to code, a sudden wave of dizziness and there you have it - seven floors down that amount to a certain death. One misplaced step wouldn't necessarily mean a fall but it could lead to another misplaced one to try and catch your balance, this one forcing you to brace yourself as your balance isn't there yet, and with nothing to grab onto you flail your hands and brace yourself with your thighs on the rail just like the window in Wyoming. The head is the heaviest part of your body, toppling over the railing pulling the rest of your weight with it like a sack of improperly stacked groceries falling out of your hands. One thing only pulls the cascade of things behind it. Once you start falling comes the dread of absolutely no recourse. A force you can't barter with pulling you down. You can't negotiate with it any more than you can your impending fate as the wind comes faster and the ground beneath you. Your breath stops and you watch it all, wide-eyed, helpless, and a heart filled with fear.
This is why I've moved inside to write now. Also there's air con in here, which is nice. Lots of these scenarios have played out in my mind since I entered this 7th-floor room; they've given me a shake from time to time. I've never felt like I had a fear of heights, but maybe after that summer in Northern Wyoming I do. Maybe that was the start. Another thing came over me as I thought about it again on the porch just now, I was clear-headed until I pictured myself falling. I remember returning to that second level of the house after I'd stopped crying. I wanted to return to the scene of the crime, I guess you could say, and give it another look. Wanting to conquer my fears, making sense out of it, who knows. It didn't make sense to me though. As I stared out my grandparents' window I was confused. I've always had a great sense of balance, how could I have just fallen? How did I hit the house? Was I pushed. Was I pushed out? Surely it wasn't Derek who pushed me, then who. One thing I do remember is how every single light in the room was on when I returned to it. It was the middle of the day and every lamp, night light, overhead light, and table light was switched on.
I've talked extensively about street lights turning off. It's been happening for twenty plus years and it's just so odd. Lights also turn on for me sometimes. I've never actually seen them turn off and then on, except for the one time but I'll get to that in a moment. Actually, I've never witnessed them turn on per say. It happens more like this. You know when you wake up randomly in the middle of the night for no reason? Well when I do, often my bedroom light is on. Just like the street lights, I shrugged it off as nothing for the longest time. But it happened again and again, and sometimes on recurring nights. I would get up, turn the light off and go back to sleep, thinking '...dammit, did I fall asleep with the light on again?' It kept happening though. Also, I've always had a hard time sleeping, can't get this damn noggin to shut up most nights, so I had to rule out simply dozing off with the lights on. Like I said before though, Occam's Razor - the simplest explanation was I had become one of the many people in this world who sleep walk. (Could I sleep walk right off the balcony? Waking up halfway down, not knowing how my days will end until I'm in the fall.) I must be finishing up my walk back in my bed and 'sleeping me' forgets to turn the light off. However, I never woke up in any other places from my 'walks.' Still, I thought maybe sleep walking was the answer for a long time, until other things started happening. One night I woke up because my door slammed shut, and the light was on. One night I woke up to a jar full of change falling off a shelf, the light was on. Once again, the most likely explanation was the wind blew these things out of place and maybe the switch wasn't fully in the down position. We all do it, when the light switch is sort of balanced in that weird middle position. Then somehow its balance falters and upward it goes, the light comes on, right? But the sheer frequency of these occurrences made me question them.
Also, there was the one I couldn't shrug off. One night when I awoke, the light was on of course, I felt the bed shift and slightly rise where my feet were. The feeling that happens in a bed when someone sitting on the end of the bed gets up and walks away. I shot up and looked around a well-lit room. The room was empty and silent but my bed had just moved in an all too familiar way. What was that. Something just left my side. If there was someone or something leaving my bed or my room now, is this what has caused my lights to turn on for so many years? Has something been in here with me while I've been sleeping?
I've become much more comfortable with the balcony while writing this. I'm on day 10 of my quarantine which means I get out of here in less than a week. I've enjoyed coffee on the terrace and have learned to respect its boundaries, which is good because I'll probably be living in a high rise soon and will have a balcony of my own. The hotel quarantine has honestly been pretty great. I mean I wouldn't prefer it to being a free man but I can't complain. Their laundry rates, however, are a little egregious and I only packed a week's worth of clothes. I've been trying to use certain pieces more than once if they weren't that dirty but when I put on my workout shirt from yesterday I smelled like I'd just strapped a day-old bowl of fried rice to my chest. I'm a cheap ass, also known as frugal, so I asked for some soap from 7-11 and am currently doing my laundry in a plastic sack in the shower. Honestly, it worked out really well. Tough to tell if you got all the suds out though and then while hanging them out on the balcony I left a trail of slightly soapy water from the bathroom all the way to their resting place on the low railing. Done and done. They're set to drip dry and I'm set to write some more.
The only time I saw a light flicker on and off wasn't long ago. I spent a lot of time out in the carriage house at my Mom's while I was home. They live in an old part of Fort Collins and the carriage house in their backyard is exactly like it sounds. A small house, probably more barn-ish back in the day, where a family would park their carriage when not using it during the times when streets weren't paved and those wealthy enough drove a horse drawn carriage. It has since been remodeled and has electricity, a bathroom, sofas, a TV, and even a beer fridge. Basically it was my man cave. One night when it was particularly late, I was out there doing some writing. I loved how quiet and isolated I felt; I could really get into my thoughts. I was really into it this evening when one of the four track lights overhead burnt out. I stopped and looked up at it. 'Doesn't usually happen indoors,' I thought. 'Well every light has its time I suppose.' After clicking away on the keys for a while more I needed to use the toilet, there's a beer fridge after all. After finishing up I washed my hands and looked in the mirror. The way the small bathroom is situated, your face is quite close to the mirror when you're leaning over to turn off the water. There seemed to be a small speck in my eye. The ash from the fires was raining down daily so it was probably just more debris. I leaned in closer and looked at the blue in my eye, and that little tarnish of what looked like a black pepper flake. It moved. I looked again and it was still. I moved closer still and looked again, face and forehead now almost making contact with the mirror and my breath fogging up the mirror a bit lower. 'What was that, and why did it' - the light in the small bathroom flickered off now. It only flickered though and was back on in half a second but when it came back on, the eye in front of me was brown. I retreated from the mirror quickly and was surprised even more. The face was not mine. I blinked and he blinked. I turned to the left and so did the reflection, but the man staring back wasn't me. While my eyes got big and I backed away a little more I felt my mouth tremble and start that motion you do when you're cold mixed with another motion of about to scream. The man in front of me did not, he smiled. The light flicked off and back on again and there was me. My reflection restored and showed me backed into the wall, as far back as I could muster, eyes wide and mouth open.
Well, with the story from the carriage house I suppose you're about caught up. Most of this can probably be explained by something more simple and some of it cannot. At least not by me anyway. It will be nice to get out of here in a few days, and be nice to do some laundry in a more normal sense when I - oh shit, it's pouring down rain again and my clothes are still out there. I can't believe I didn't hear it.
I got up and approached the balcony, I hurried. Across the hotel floor, through the glass porch door, and out on to the tile. As my foot left the room, quickly out into the rain, the lamp next to the bed turned on.
