If your life's purpose is situated in finding solutions to your world's most aggravating inequities, what brings you pure joy may manifest as a hobby, a weekend caper, a toe dipped.
And vice versa; If your life’s purpose is exacted through your escapist talents, your societally disregarded values may be nourished through volunteering, protesting, or a book of the month club.
A life dedicated to both? That's a life filled with spirit-splitting exhaustion.
—
When we let life choose for us, our desires become inconsequential.
When our desires become inconsequential, we turn either bitter or mechanized.
Anxious or anesthetized.
You must choose. Choosing is a repetitive task, requiring daily, oftentimes intrusive self-talk, but baby, you’ve got to choose.
— — —
MYRA
1783 was a literal distant memory when Myra, Tallie, and the clowns finished their toke. This new, intermediate realm reminded Myra of the tignon portal, minus the kaleidoscopic spiraling. Markers on the ceiling sectioned off the unending psychedelic hallway by city. The walls were covered with framed chronological dates. If you used the dangling looking glasses, you could catch previews of life during that year, in that city. Myra thought they were alone until a couple sprinted down the hall, pausing to read ‘New Orleans’ on the closest marker. They grunted and continued off.
“How many people know about this place?” Myra asked.
“No clue. Probably more than you think.”
“I don’t know what to think.” Myra turned to the clowns, “What year are you guys from?”
“We’re from another world, not another time.” Petey piped up, “We’re from a town full of clowns. A clown town.”
“And it’s exactly as obnoxious as it sounds,” the other sneered.
The couple was rounding back; the man pulled his reluctant wife and pointed at the year 1790, “We gotta go, Brenda! Just jump into this one.”
Brenda’s chest caved, “He’ll find us there, Liam. He can find us anywhere.”
“What’s wrong?” Tallie called to the couple several feet back.
“We shouldn’t get you all involved.” Liam said, “Brenda, come on. He can see us here. At least inside, we can run.”
“Run from who?” Tallie pushed.
Brenda looked between Tallie and her nudging husband. She chose Tallie. “The Mirror Man. We promised him something we don’t have to get out a deal we couldn’t uphold. We really don’t have it but he’s certain we do. He trapped us in here with his hexed, all-seeing mirror until he can finish ransacking our home. When he’s done, he’ll find us. In any of these times and cities, he'll find us.”
“Oh, you just have to get to the cosmos.” Tallie offered casually.
The now curious man beseechingly curled his brow.
“Here.” Tallie pointed to a metal ladder bolted to the wall.
Brenda backed up. “That wasn’t there before.”
“Of course not. It only appears when you want it to, when you’re ready to go. Come on.” Overalls and braided pigtails would have matched Tallie’s character more than her tan cardigan and suede shoes. Not conspicuously bouncy yet there was an undeniable spright to the 36-year-old woman, a childlike quirk. She manifested that ladder with nothing more than her imagination and climbed it contently.
Myra climbed up last and what she saw blew her mind. It looked like space. Dark, dazzling, and infinite with orbs moving through the ether. Some were zooming, some crawling. Some the size of the sun, some the size of a pebble. Myra looked down. The ladder was gone. The hallway was too. Suspended in air, she wanted to panic but there was an inexplicable stability. She was safe.
Tallie turned to the couple, “There are far more worlds than just that one. Can your mirror guy find you in one of these?”
Liam admired their immeasurable surroundings and smiled, “No, no I don’t think so. Legend is: The Mirror Man sees everywhere in ‘our world.’ I thought it was a weird way to phrase it but, maybe it was literal. His mirror doesn’t reach beyond our unique world.”
“How do we get inside these other worlds?” Brenda wondered.
“You could just jump, but there’s no telling what’s on the other…”
Before Tallie could finish, the couple linked arms and catapulted into a rolling orb. It looked like they landed in a pool of syrup the way it sloshed, slowly melting around them.
“The Mirror Man, huh?” The dull haired clown rubbed his chin, “Must be tons of ways to access the cosmos.”
“But you can add levels of intention to it. It’s like, if you think of a place, you go straight there. If you don’t, you come here and can choose.” Tallie looked at Myra. “These orbs all have different worlds in them. If time exists in the orb you jump into, you pitstop in that world’s hallway to select a date.”
Petey pointed at a triplet orb, “Look there. Some worlds are connected to each other, like ours. When we hopped our world’s border, we landed in another.”
Tallie stepped further into the ether, “I met the clowns in this forest-like ecosystem thriving in the eye of a tornado. These giant bugs - well they looked like bugs - but they communicated with these deep, sophisticated moans. Never heard anything like it!”
“We didn’t stay there long.” Petey shuddered, “Then we got pulled to you. You got powers or something?”
“No, just clumsy.” Myra touched her tignon, “I don’t think I want to visit any new worlds, but I wouldn’t mind visiting the future. See if we ever get flying cars and stuff.”
Tallie packed the pipe and handed it to Myra. “Think of a place and time. We’ll hold on to you and go wherever you go.”
When Myra closed her eyes, that pestilent conundrum crawled through her stomach once again. Heroism or self-indulgence? Could she split the difference? Or maybe leave her imaginings vague enough to let the universe decide for her?
She envisioned blandly, like she was typing her request on a mental typewriter: Take me to a futuristic food haven with a girl who could use an extra hand.
‘Be careful what you wish for’, she found, wasn’t as cautionary an idiom as: Watch who you let grant it.
- - -
“T, these people appeared at the bus border. Said they’re here to help.” A keylime feathered Martian nudged the hand-bound foursome forward.
“Appeared?” T's drained eyes shrunk.
Tallie went first, “This won’t make much sense but we’re from other times, other worlds. How we got here makes even less sense, but during our trip we caught the instant replay. You guys are going to war.” Tallie looked around the semi. Stacks of notes festered by a beeping computer. Construction tools and map designs sat in a piled corner. A seated boy in the back slurped water from a bendy straw. “We’re here to help.”
T didn’t have time for this. Raina’s line about ending up in a war they couldn’t win whined repeatedly in her head. She had a score of Martians only half appeased with her plan. The border patrol would be the first line of defense, taking to the trees and launching ammo at any encroaching Militants. Not proactive enough for some. Too dangerous for others. She thought about Raina and her chest heaved. Half of the time she thought Raina bailed and went back to Mars. Other times she made herself sick with guilt about not searching for her hard enough. She was a general, a babysitter, a construction worker, and a judge and all she wanted was her freedom.
Three more raps on the back of the semi and T was back in the present. In slid a fuchsia Martian accompanied by Raina’s blindfolded and shackled mother, “She came up to the border, hands in the air. Said she wants to talk.”
T sighed; her shoulders felt heavy. She motioned for the blindfold to be removed.
The 1st Commander didn’t waste time. “James isn’t running this show anymore. Don’t know who is but we just got orders to bomb your fortress and the hotel my daughter is in.”
“Raina’s at the hotel?” T loosened her crossed arms.
“James’ guards have been holding her there since the ship launched. If she hasn’t found her way here by now, something’s wrong. I’m here to join forces with you. I’m not killing my daughter and Mars knows that.” Annette wiggled her fingers, encouraging the fuchsia Martian to free her. She did and the 1st Commander tapped quickly on her phone, pulling up several maps. “Our satellite surveillance squad picked up 20 large bodies advancing towards Earth. They’re not ships, but they’re huge and faster than any technology we’ve ever flown. Whoever ordered these things to Earth… they’re coming to kill us all.”
- - -
The clowns stayed back on the semi, excited for the action this world was sure to bring. Tallie and Myra set off to find Raina.
“You picked a hell of a time to travel to!” Tallie elbowed Myra and laughed easily.
“This is nothing! I'm waiting for the real fight.” Myra was lying. She found Tallie’s resolve intimidating. The young girl was terrified. “I...I just wanted to help someone.”
“Congratulations, you’re about to save the world.” Tallie didn’t know how heavily those words fell on Myra.
Myra assessed the decrepit Chicago neighborhood. “After all of this, will you keep traveling? Or do you have a home you want to get back to?”
“I’m sure I’ll eventually visit my hometown, my mom, but I don’t have a husband, a house, or a career. I chased those things for the longest, but I never really wanted any of that. Just felt like what you’re supposed to do…supposed to want. Travelling feels like freedom. Back home couldn’t possibly top all this.” Tallie looked at her young companion, “What about you?”
“I’ve seen more during these travels than I ever thought existed. Every time I think I’m ready to go home, I see something new and exciting. I don’t want to miss out on anything, so I guess I’ll just take it as it comes.”
“What you should be doing with your life…it’s a gut thing. A spiritual thing. Not a wait and see type of thing.” Tallie breathed in the dusty Chicago evening, unsurprised at her contrasting serenity. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young man sitting on a rusted bus bench.
“Hey!” She called out. A confused Myra frowned and squinted, searching for Tallie’s invisible friend. “Hey, hey!” Tallie called again before jogging over to the boy. Myra cautiously followed.
“You can see me?” The boy asked.
“I’m Tallie. This is my buddy, Myra. She can’t see you, but I can.” Tallie turned to the alive one, “Remember when I told you I laid two spirits to rest? Yea, I can see ghosts.”
Myra shook her head unsurprised.
“I know I’m dead.” The young man said, “I’m actually okay with it. But I can’t get back to my body. The iron chains on the doors, they burn.”
“Where’s your body?”
“It’s in the hotel.” The boy stood and reached out his hand, “My name's Thomas.”
- - -
Tallie was right. Myra’s gut had been telling her something. The same thing, over and over. But fear’s voice can be just as repetitive and, if you let it, twice as loud. Discerning gut from nerves is intricate, surgical. Or, as Myra learned, driving out fear can be as counterintuitively simple as facing something scarier. The girls were just a block away from the hotel when a bomb landed near the festival grounds. Suffocating smoke clouds took over the neighborhood as more explosions erupted. Tallie and Thomas ran towards the hotel. Myra lagged behind. Tallie got to the lobby doors and pulled on the handles. She asked Myra to look around for something strong enough to snap the iron chains. Tallie didn’t realize, just seconds prior to her pleas, Myra whipped off her time travelling tignon and zipped home.
She shakes out her curls in the mirror. An arched-back Pierre nuzzles her ankle and meows passionately. “Oh, Pierre! Sorry I was away for so long. I missed you. But, man, what am I going to tell my dad?”
She looks at her ‘gator cakes still sitting on her dresser. “Ugh, I’m surprised these don’t stink.” She lifts one hesitantly but, they are still warm and crispy. The daring girl bites into it and twirls with delight.
“No time loss!” She plops down on her bed and chomps on her treats, telling Pierre all about her adventures between bites.
- - -
“Two more orders of ‘gator cakes.” Myra calls to her father.
“Got it!” The oil bubbles in the fryer. The day is nearing an end. Few more straggling orders and they’d be packing up for the day.
Myra fans herself with a paper menu. Her father tells her to grab a couple bucks from the drawer and get them some lemonades. Myra hops off the truck and heads to their favorite stand. She uses a napkin to wipe the sweat off her forehead and neck. She tosses it. The tissue bounces off the garbage rim and lands on the ground.
“It’s a crime to litter, baby girl.”
An icy breeze hits her neck, cooling her more than she’d like.
Gold Teeth. His chubby friend. And a third man, Baseball Cap. Myra keeps moving. The boardwalk is crowded. She’ll be fine, she thinks.
“She hard’a hearing, bro.” His friend pushes off the tree he's leaning against.
A hand grips her shoulder. She throws it off and tries to run. Gold Teeth yanks her between two trinket shops, holds her arms behind her, presses his body against her back. She opens her mouth to scream. His friend covers it. Standing close, his feet between hers. His round belly smothering hers. Baseball Cap looks around. Looks uneasy?
“Y’all really on this?”
Gold Teeth frowns and nods to the fat one. The friend spins around to continue restraining the squirming, half-elbowing girl.
“I thought y’all was just tryna holla at shorty.” Baseball Cap starts backing out of the dumpster-lined recess.
Gold Teeth, “Ain’t nobody gon’ know. Nobody gon’ care, man.”
“But how old is she? This shit…”
Myra tries driving her feet into the friend’s thick shins to no avail. He dodges her attacks, or they just don’t hurt. Gold Teeth turns back to them. He caresses the girl’s chin, “If she ain’t ignore me all the time... I just wanted her name. Maybe get some recipes,” he grins. His teeth shining too brilliantly to not be ironic.
“You need to get off that girl, man.” Baseball Cap turns Gold Teeth around. The two face each other again.
“Just get yo ass on, nigga! No one making you stay.” Gold Teeth yells.
Baseball Cap pushes past Teeth. He reaches out to break the heavy friend’s grip on the girl. Gold Teeth shoves him.
Cap swings on him. Hard enough to buckle his knees. He stomps Gold Teeth once. Chubby loosens his grip on the girl to pull Cap off Teeth. She doesn’t see what happens next. Or really any of it. Not through her streaming tears, filled with a hot terror she’d kill to never feel again. She sprints back to her truck and into her father’s arms. The safest place she knows.
- - -
Myra’s shady cat, Pierre, and her reserved father, Kalvin, were all Myra had after her mother died. She had friends. She was in school clubs, but a global pandemic didn’t allow for sociality. School counselors, relatives, and her father all encouraged her to see a therapist, but Myra refused. She’d gone to one after her grandmother passed; the breathing techniques and worksheets were belittling. This time she didn’t want her grief to be graded and on file. She spent an exorbitant amount of time in her room. Furious but growing.
With all her time alone, her eyes scanned miles and miles of social media and advice columns. An internet search for 'finding oneself after a loss' turned into just 'finding oneself.' Her head filled with more content than she had room for. Filled with what’s right to believe. Who’s wrong to support. What it means to be good-hearted, a role model, an activist, an ally. Being told she wasn’t doing enough just for the next columnist to say she shouldn’t be doing anything in particular, anything at all. Was she doing enough, or was it too much. For who?
A sermon on faith in the morning, a podcast on law of attraction in the afternoon, a protestor’s livestreamed rally at night. She’d pet her resting cat, “It's like they spin a prize wheel and cling to whatever aesthetic it lands on." She'd scroll through the caps lock titles, all promising a 5-step plan for a prosperous, purposed life. Vague, repetitive, or contradicting. Groaning she'd plead, “Just tell me who I’m supposed to be, and I’ll be it.”
How does she filter through the millions of dichotomous messages? Fiery collectivist martyrdom or romantic iconized self-love.
Heroism or indulgence.
What would happen if she chose authenticity?
- - -
“…for you.”
Myra remembers where she is. “I’m sorry, what was that?
Officer Furlow kneels. Myra isn’t short but he kneels and looks up at the girl. “I said anytime, any trouble you’re in, I’m here for you. I know ‘sorry’ doesn’t do much, but I am sorry this happened to you, Myra. I’m glad you’re safe. I’m very glad you told us.”
Officer Furlow is a regular at the truck and became good friends with Kalvin over the years. The three of them are in the living room. Her father pulls Myra down to the couch to lean on his shoulder.
“Nothing happened.” Myra says blankly, “Nothing to report, I mean. They just scared me. They didn’t even hit me or anything.” Myra pinches herself for saying that. But some part of her believes she should be grateful she was only partly harassed, only almost abducted.
“You didn’t deserve any of that, Myra.” Her father’s voice is deep. Distanced, but still shielding. “You didn’t deserve a second of that, Princess. You wanna talk some more?”
“Not tonight. I just wanna lay down. Thanks Dad. And thank you, Officer Furlow.”
“Good night, Mymy.” Her father rubs her arm, “Oh, and Officer Furlow will be patrolling outside the house tonight.”
Myra waddles off to her room. She lays down just for a moment before popping back up. Sulking isn’t going to be helpful, she decides. She pulls out a notebook to write. Dwelling won’t be helpful, either. The teenager turns on her music. She spends the night drafting new menu mockups and dancing in the mirror with Pierre being the indecipherable yet unrelenting judge of both activities. She texts a friend. She wants to finally take that ballet class with her over at the Y. What would be helpful, she decides, is doing whatever the hell she wants, exactly when she wants to do it.
There’s a knock at the door. Kalvin and the officer step outside. They walk the guest to the end of the driveway to talk.
The officer did patrol that night. He only moved from his post once to arrest the two men, too grown and too knowing. He waited to do that, though, until Kalvin and his brother returned in sweaty t-shirts icing their bruised, unreported knuckles.
