Aerials Part 2
(Picks up where Aerials Part 1 left off)
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Lost in the blackness
a light speeds in the vacuum–
UFO flies past…
While I slept, events I would soon be caught up in unfolded without my knowledge or consent. How rude right? The least the universe could do after cocking things up for me would be to lie low for a while and do nothing interesting. But no, it just couldn’t do that. My personal tragedy meant little on the galactic stage. While I lay there dreaming, an object careened towards that spinning ball where my flat rested.
None of my work colleagues spotted it and they didn’t lose their jobs over that oversight. Not fair that considering the shit storm in the press that followed. So many telescopes and not one pointed at the one pinprick of light that hurled towards us. Some amateur stargazers noted the odd light. A few tried to capture it with cameras. By the time it closed in enough to get a clear shot, the sun had popped up and they lost it in the dawn’s light.
I slept through all of this. The telescope on my terrace watched the object’s procession without me. Since it wasn’t hooked up to the laptop dozing beside me, its images flashed on past unrecorded. I’d smack myself later over that mistake.
Telescopes are turned,
looking at distant star shine–
Sunlight reached into my flat and pried my eyes open. A dried up contact lens popped out of my eye. Its mate stayed put as I wiped drool on my sleeve and levered my sore self off the rug. Dents in my cheek matched the nap of the carpet as I worked some feeling back into the arm that had served as pillow. Once I could flex my fingers and feel something other than pins stabbing me, I flipped open my laptop; my comments had drawn a response.
Guilt stabbed me as I read. I’d hurt the blogger–bloggeress?–and her reply to my hurtful words? Kindness itself. Damn it; she’d taken the high road leaving me to wallow in the muck and mire of self pity.
I’m very sorry for your loss. My poem was a work of fiction based on the events I read about. I imagined myself in your shoes and tried to do the imagining justice. It was in no way meant to insult you or belittle your situation in any way. I’m sorry you felt that my piece of creative writing did. Please accept my humblest apology and best wishes on finding another position.
Signed, IMR by MK, the blogging pseudonym of the author–authoress?
Her kindness cut me down, reduced me to the size of an ant shouldering a remorse ten times my size. What to say in response though? Clearly an apology for my angry rant needed to be ripped from the heart and typed in blood into the comment box. My anger had run away and I tried to call it back to me but it was gone, just like my job.
Thanks for the apology. Sorry for my mean-spirited comments yesterday. I was angry and hurting over my lay off. All that emotion dumped itself into my comment. Sorry for that. Lovely blog you have. –Stargazer2020
I left that reply or something like it as I only had one contact lens correcting my sight. So everything had fuzzy outlines. I closed out of the internet altogether to keep me out of further trouble and gazed at my kingdom–er–studio. Stay here and do housework or go out and face the universe?
Face the universe won because it involved a shower. First I rectified my contact lens situation then I flung myself into a hot shower to wash away yesterday, clean the slate for day’s grit to pile up. Once dressed in sweatpants and velour hoodie, I made a cup of tea, threw some protein infused cereal into a ziplock bag, grabbed my wallet and keys and fled. Sunlight speared through an ice-blue sky kicking up winds that pelted me with the shards of my super’s efforts at ice removal. I ran back inside the three-story brick building that encompassed my flat to grab a jacket, gloves and more layers. How had I forgotten that January squatted out there like a frost giant ready to freeze my bum off? Not a good sign and I hadn’t spent an entire day jobless yet. Would unemployment reduce my brain to a gelatinous goo by week’s end? Let that not happen!
Zipping my thermal parka up, I gave outside another try. This time science and good old synthetic engineering kept the wind’s frosty fingers from dipping into my core and dropping its temp. I smiled my victory over winter and ignored the swishing sounds my snowpants made. They kept my pipe cleaner legs from becoming popsicles. Function over fashion was the rule in January in New York. Or at least it was my rule.
With the artificial fur lined hood firmly pulled down to the bridge of my nose, I was a walking advertisement for skiing. All I needed were some poles and a slope. I looked ridiculous but I was warm and that was what mattered.
A crowd had gathered in the parking lot and I waddled over, boots gripping the untreated asphalt, to have a gander at what all the fuss was about. Everyone stood with their heads tilted back and hands shading their eyes. Some pointed at the sun as if it was the most amazing thing they had ever seen. Except it was the same sun that had shone yesterday and the day before that in a frigid week full of crystal clear days. What was so damned miraculous?
I shaded my eyes and gave the sky a good glare but saw only the usual suspects up there. A few cirrus clouds drifted like white brush strokes against the dazzling blue. The sun shone in all its eye-blinding, cancer-causing brilliance. No plane arrowed for NYC’s major airports. No helicopter news crew gazed down on us with their camera lenses. God’s benevolent eye must have looked elsewhere because he wasn’t staring down at the fools staring up at him.
“What are we staring at?” I asked the only person guaranteed to give me a sane answer.
Eyes that time had washed with tears so often that the brown had faded to tan, dropped from the sky to my face and narrowed at the question. “Didn’t you see the news?”
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