The car slowed to a stop right outside of my house and in that moment I saw all of time as if I were living outside the power it possessed over the slowly, or quickly (depending how you look at it) rotating Earth. There was no slow or fast, only black.
A Black Car
The car was black with tinted windows and it had sharp black fins that made it look dated. Despite being a timeless being, style remains an inevitable product of the destructive force of time that I cannot bring myself to see as timeless.
Do you follow?
I exist without time, yet I see that time still has the power to render things unfashionable like bell bottoms every twenty years or the wing tips on cars. It simply cycles in and out.
A man and a woman stepped out of the car. Both were dressed in floral pattern suits. Make that a pant suit for the lady. This is a vivid recollection. When one is without time there is nowhere to be, so details become a new manifestation of passion. The women had her long brown hair tied up into a loose bun and strands of hair fell out in different places. Some over her forehead, some from the top of her scalp; she wore dark rimmed glasses that were very large on her face. From above her eyebrows to her cheekbones, two large ovals consumed her face. Within the ovals two pinpricks of light began to grow. She could have looked young for her age. The floral pattern began to glow. She was walking up my front walkway with the man. She was slender and seemed to be rather tall despite her flat Keds.
The man? He was a nondescript male in his mid to late 30s. I was single at the time of the incident so I did not really pay attention to the man. Yes, I suppose his floral suit was glowing too if I really think about it.
They knocked on the door in unison and I answered it. A wind came rushing in and four glowing eyes shown out of a pitch dark void that consumed the outside world. Pictures were falling off my walls and my bathrobe was swept up in the breeze exposing myself to my guests. I was holding the doorframe just to stay in place.
The visitors spoke slowly and quietly once the wind had died down. Their voices melded together in a symphony of consonant blends that rose and fell in a wandering harmonic phrase. Not unlike a Gregorian chant. Their glowing eyes stayed transfixed on my exposed body and their faces remained expressionless.
I was overcome by en eerie calm. It settled on my head making it suddenly very heavy. Then my shoulders sank and my heavy arms slowly dripped towards the floor. My scalp was dripping off my skull as I slumped into a comfortable lump on the floor.
My floral guests put their hands on me.
Time Slows Internally
A giant rope pulled me up eventually. Being free of time really puts a damper on describing the “when” of things. But I stood up, naked, eventually. The rope was not a real rope, but it was my new companion. It was hooked to my chest where my floral visitors had touched me. It was not pulled taunt and it almost never is, but since it has been attached I have never been free from its slight pull.
We walk through deserts and cities; mountains and islands. Searching for something I never know I will find. Millennium have passed and I still feel my rope pull me gently, with each pull some of it leaves me, slowly unraveling from a wheel inside, slowly cranking up the gears of a clock. A tick tick tocking clock.
Finally the rope unravels and the gears are put into motion on a slow countdown. Like a wind up soldier. I march quickly and with purpose. Diligently.
I find rhythm and time. It is all in symphony. It is all consonant blends arranged and hinging on nouns that I can understand and be understood. I walk in time now. The external and internal clock tick together, only this time their roles have switched.
You see, time ticks internally, but it is created externally. The gears can only spin internally for so long. The external tick tick tocking only exists as long as we can think about it.
Under the weight of defined age, I remember that on Thanksgiving 2011 I saw the black car parked. Wing tips and all. I was eighty as of two days prior. November 22, 2011. 11/22/11 remember that date. It’s important. Slow down the philosophy to focus on the meat and potatoes.
My floral friends were visible through the glass but they would not come out of the car. I was across the street from them waiting for a bus outside of a convenience store when I saw them looking at me. They watched me cross the street, miss my bus, and come right up to their window where I did this: knock knock knock on the glass.
The man shook his head. I guess he wasn’t in the talking mood, plus it was raining. I told myself that. Rain is a big deterrent for many everyday activities that would be embraced in any other weather. Rain for some reason awakens people’s inherent fear of getting wet.
A few minutes passed with me just staring at them through the window. The man shook his head one more time. “No,” he said with his shaking head. His eyes began to glow and the beautiful woman’s did too. I can’t lie, I was still crazy about her in that floral pant suit. The glowing eyes grabbed my chest and tugged gently. They pulled me in and they felt warm. Like they were two long lost friends who still understood me after all these years. Slowly he let the car role forward. Behind the car was a wake, not unlike the wake that follows a boat. It rippled in waves that cascaded across the street and splashed into the curbs. The bumper sticker on the car read, “Follow the Wake.”
In the wake of the car time faded to a dull thumping black and the gears inside slowed to a crawl and later a stop. Naked, I walked behind the car in the bizarre parade down the street. The wake of the car pulled me onward and onward and onward until I no longer had a sense we were moving and the external tick tick tocking stopped.
"So this is how it ends. Another tugging," I said to no one in particular.