The Dance
There is a room in which nothing exists and existence is nothing at all. In this room, there walk many different people, all colors, nations, but all of them are the same and spend their days continually absorbed in reflections of themselves.
The room itself is paned with glass walls and those inside can see nothing else. That is except for one person, a man not sure of himself and what exactly they are all doing in this room.
Damian has been here for ten years and knows this very well. Keeping careful tract of time is his only pastime. Though there is no visible difference between day and night inside the room, he is one fortunate enough to be allowed in with a small silver hand-wound watch and a pocket calendar. With these he keeps a continual log of the passing minutes, hours, days.
This one of Damian’s most peculiar traits magnifies his differences in the room because no one else in the room appears the least bit aware of the passage of time, or at least, Damian has not noticed no other person has ever asked him the time, though he makes obvious to all the fact that he alone holds a watch.
The others are intent only upon observing themselves, never allowing their attention to be swayed. They walk in steady circles about the perimeter of the room, always facing the walls.
Whatever happened to them all to make them this way, to bring them here, Damian has never been able to tell. What bothers him most is that they seem so content, while he is ever on the end of his nerves, his mind is continually turning about – waiting, looking at his watch, paying attention to the time. If only he could force himself to do away with the watch. If he could break it or just let it slowly unwind, then possibly he could find that constant state of pacific joy that seems to fill the others.
But he could never do it. More than anything else, he feared facing the room without time.
Every now and then, he found himself gazing into the mirror, suddenly taken up with his own reflection. It disturbed him to find himself absorbed by the thin lines that carved their way into the shape of his face. Once looking at them, he could do nothing at all but watch his face follow him and walk about the perimeter of the room, continually by his side. He might lose himself to this motion. Sooner or later he would always find himself listening to the simple, stable sound of his watch’s constant tick.
The sound in a children’s rhyme, tick, tock.
He spent time in a corner with his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms rested on his knees, his ear down over his wrist. Like this, he listened to the watch. Tick, tock. He attempted to revert the rhythm so that what he heard was Tock, tick. Something so simple turned out in reality to be so hard. Only after intense concentration did the song finally begin to play backwards. Tock, tick. Tock, tick, it sang, and upon his victory he jumped from the corner and shouted with untold excitement.
No one else looked up from the walls. No one else made a sound.
He sat back down and listened to the watch. Tick, tock.
The same scene repeated many times. If so inclined, you may have been able to tell time by it.
One day, Damian decided to speak.
There had arrived one other like him. She refused to look in the mirrors.
Being very beautiful, she captured his attention immediately, and he suddenly wanted to speak to her.
It had never occurred to him before. He felt it out and reasoned with himself that if his apprehension grew feverish when he contemplated such a feat, that it must be something valuable and worth trying. If they all would not speak, there must be a reason.
He wanted to say anything to her. With her, this place would be something new. They could walk around the perimeter together, looking at each other, seeing themselves in each other’s eyes. Over many days, he added up the pros and cons, jotting them down all over his calendar, and finally decided he would speak to her the following afternoon.
By this time, he knew there was not much time. She was already becoming like the others. There were only a few moments each day when she did not stand completely facing the mirror. He thought maybe if he could speak to her, he could bring her back.
He stood up, pocketing his calendar and watch, but keeping a firm grasp of the watch as he moved closer to her. Nervously his thumb rubbed the back of the watch.
She lingered in a corner by an old man, staring at the glass. Both old man and young girl stood alike gazing ahead, but Damian saw her eyes flicker as he walked closer. He noticed a distinct flutter.
Taking a place beside her, he stood before the mirror but looked directly at her in the glass. She did not move. Edging closer, their shoulders rubbed up against each other.
Immediately she moved away. Expressionless and mobile gliding down the wall.
A bit later, he tried again. This time he made a distinct noise when by her side. He cleared his throat. This made no difference. He eyed her meaningfully, budged her, even reached out and touched her hand. It was cold and not at all soft and immediately slid off away down the hall.
No longer able to bear it, he chased after the hand, and pulled it to his face. She turned and faced him, blind to all but to her hand, and by looking so closely at her own hand on his face, she did appear to see him. Green eyes, pale red lips seemed almost to smile.
He smiled.
Closing his eyes, gripping her hand tight, he mouthed a word.
When he opened his eyes, she was gone. Across the room again, staring at the wall, mirrored beside the old man, she stood.
Frantically, Damian followed her. The same scene played itself out, and then played again.
Her expression never changed, and each time she appeared to smile in some dark chamber of her own mind. But upon hearing the word, she immediately withdrew. She took back her hand and walked away. He even began to lift his watch to her ear. This made no difference.
The sequence itself did not tire him. He repeated it every hour upon the hour. It became their dance and if it was all he had in the world, it was that valuable that it could not end. Its intense need for meaning was itself meaning enough. Very quickly, he forgot about the watch.
posted by Paul Gee @ 5:57 PM
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