a world of your own
A World of Your Own
Little Bob Lewis was nine years old. He was also about to experience his first day alone in the house.
The Lewis seniors had decided on embarking on one of those excruciatingly long walks, which only old and restless parents seemed to enjoy, and thought it a great opportunity to leave Bob alone for a while. The father, an executive for the post company, thought it was already long overdue and that the boy must “learn to take responsibility for his actions” and that it was to be a good lesson for him. For two whole years had he suggested the idea, and the mother, a good and caring housewife, finally gave in. However, it was not without doubt or hesitation she did so; Bob was all she had had ever since Father’s promotion and she had developed a sort of craving to nurture and take care of him. Recently, however, and much to her concern, Bob did not seem to enjoy his mother’s company anymore; he would much rather visit friends or watch TV, than spending time with her. But Father was right, the kid was nine and so he was ready to face the world, alone this time.
After what seemed like hours of Mother hugging and kissing him and his father shaking his hand, his eyes moist from pride and joy, little Bob was finally by himself, and oh what a time he would have. Inspired by his cartoon idols on the telly, he ran into the kitchen, dancing and shouting hysterically. A dizzying ecstasy grabbed hold of his psyche as he forced open the refrigerator doors, and indulged in the sweet tastes inside. He found all sorts of new things in there, but one thing in particular caught his interest: A four layer chocolate cake, each layer more chocolaty than the other. Needless to say, his stomach would ache severely that night.
As soon as he recovered from his giant orgy he ran, without cleaning the countless chunks of chocolate littered across the kitchen, and without even closing the refrigerator doors, into the living room to watch TV. Just as he was about to hit the green button on the remote, the telephone rang. His mother’s voice echoed through his head: “Remember, don’t pick up the phone unless it’s me or Papa on the other line, alright?” He remembered.
- Hello!
Bob remained silent.
- Hello, Bob, are you there? Can you hear me? Bob!
He flinched slightly when she used his name, but was not yet ready to reply. Although he knew Mother would never hurt him physically, he always felt uneasy whenever she raised her voice and so he would often use his hands as two tiny shields between them. He did fear her, yes, but more so did he fear the society of which she was the ruler. Consequently Bob, instead of answering his mother’s call, crossed his fingers and prayed to God that she would just vanish.
- Bob, I can hear you breathing! Why won’t you answer me? Are you up to no-good business again, Bob? Are you?
She would probably have gone on like that for several minutes, had he not repeatedly smashed the wireless phone against the wall. He breathed heavily; never before had he openly defied the will of his parents. His heart beat ferociously and showed no signs of ever slowing down. He was free; free to do whatever his beautiful mind was capable of imagining. The TV itself seemed to be smiling at him, as he browsed the channels his Father never used let him watch.
***
Little Bob was not so little anymore. He had lost count of the years but the grey stripes in his decreasing set of hair, and the wrinkles beneath his eyes and cheeks indicated that he was well over forty. Not once had he seen his parents ever since that fatal day, when they had left for that walk, and he often wondered where they were. Although, he constantly reassured himself that they were of no importance anymore, and that thoughts about them and their whereabouts were thoughts wasted.
Through the years he had found many great activities. Although the first months mostly consisted of him running amok in the house, screaming and playing, he would soon settle down to engage in activities far more productive and intellectually straining. He started reading books for example. One by one he devoured his father’s old library until every written word inside the house had been read, analyzed and revised. There were other, more creative projects as well, such as building a new king sized bed for himself, made out of parts from his parents’ old one, or breaking down the walls so as to create one vast room instead of many small ones.
However, there was one thing Bob had never done during his time in his fortress: He had never been outside. And whenever he proposed the idea to himself (he had developed a habit of having long and complex dialogues with himself), he would always respond by stating the fact that he was free here, and that he was contented, and he was right. Nothing in the outside world tempted him even the slightest, all that was needed for a great and interesting life could be found right here, in his beautiful mansion.
Bob’s latest mission was inspired mainly by his father’s old physics book he had found deep within the basement. A tiny fly had made its way into the house, through one of the many cracks in the walls, and followed him around for several minutes. At first, he was rather annoyed by the little insect but then, as he observed it further, he became rather fascinated with its ability to fly, so he decided to discover what made it possible for it to do so. He searched frenetically through the aged papers to find anything that might give him directions, all the while keeping the fly in sight. Finally, he found a formula that could help him on his path; however, he would have to capture the fly, to be able to study it more accurately.
Spontaneously and without warning, he flung his arm into the fly’s general direction, which, terrified by the sudden attack, rushed out through the same hole it had come from just minutes earlier. Bob was devastated; this was the first time he had had trouble finishing a project, and he cursed himself for picking something as unpredictable as an insect to study. He rose quickly from his comfortable chair in what used to be his father’s study room, and hurried towards the door; he was going to catch that damned fly at any price. The door squealed as it was forced out of its long slumber and Bob was now facing the world which he loathed and dreaded the most; the world he had fled that decisive day some thirty years ago.
The outside world looked nothing like he had remembered; the suburban households, the beautiful cars, the frolicking children, all were now replaced with a great veil of intrinsic darkness, stretching out into infinity. Two giant bug eyes were staring at him from the black horizon. They were greater than anything he had ever seen or heard of and his fascination was endless.
- So, Bob, you finally decided to come out?
The voice was incredibly deep and was chanted, rather than spoken, by what seemed to be several invisible mouths scattered across the dark void.
- I came here to finish a project! I came here to find out why and how you fly!
Bob tried to mask the fear in his voice, but he had the strangest feeling that those eyes saw more than just the superficial.
A cascade of disturbing sounds emerged from the different corners of the abyss, and together they formed a grand symphony of pain and grief. Women screamed in desperation and disbelief, men broke down before the truth of their fates and children wept as their worlds were taken away from them; their very own, peaceful homes.
- Do you see, how much there is to see? Can you feel how much there is to feel? Can you, child, CAN YOU?
The voices echoed with tremendous might, and the wailings slowly faded away. The eyes too, disintegrated and the world was given color once more. Out of nowhere, appeared those suburban houses of his childhood, together with those lovely streets and those beautiful cars, he had always hoped to drive one day. The last thirty years became like something out of a weird dream, and he could not believe what he had experienced in that dark twisted world of his. Bob Lewis stepped out of his childhood fortress and crossed that threshold for the last time. He cried as his old shivering touched the wrinkles in his face, for he realized now, finally, that he had not earned them.
m.a.o
