Where did those lines come from?
I started to sweat. It wasn’t particularly warm, but I was particularly uncomfortable on this northbound October ride to Lenox.
I would sit down, but there were no seats if you hopped on in Midtown for the afterwork commute. I felt sick. Something was not right. Looking out the windows was just flickering lights, as we wouldn’t come out from underground for some time.
There was a man in front of me, also standing. We were both listening to our iPods and made eye contact once or twice. He had perfectly curated thin dreads and a bright leather jacket. I remember thinking it was too hot for a jacket, but if it looks good, it looks good.
Looking down at the page and trying to balance my pencil as I filled numbers into the grid using the pole as a surface for the flimsy paperback, I kept missing the correct box and the numbers were barely legible.
In an instant the packed train seemed empty. Where did everybody go? What was the last stop? I tried listening to the conductor, but no one could ever understand what was spoken into the speaker, as if chewing a mouth full of Doritos while announcing stops was a requirement for the job. I must have been too focused on filling in the numbers to see so many disembark.
The guy in front of me was now leaning against the side, his legs crossed showing off his untied Jordans as his back arced over while he looked down at his iPod, probably picking the next perfect tune to finish this long, long week. Was it even Friday?
The lights continued to flicker through the windows as we passed at high speed. I closed my eyes for a second. I wasn’t dizzy or nauseous. There were no glowing yellow spots that I’ve often seen prior to getting a migraine. There was just something amiss.
The color was different when I opened my eyes. We must be above ground. The yellow glow of underground lights was replaced by the blue sunlight bursting through, making the whole car appear gray.
I looked back at my trusty book of numerical distractions, noticing how the light was projecting light such that the color of the page was nearly identical to my surroundings. My mind immediately started thinking about wavelengths, temperatures, and how slowly my eyes were adjusting to observe this peculiar phenomenon.
Distracted by a bump and another flashing light, I went back to the page, filling in potential numbers on the squares that couldn’t be filled or eliminated.
Why were lights still flashing? Looking up from the page was stepping into an alternate universe.
Where did those lines come from?
Before me, things became more clear. There was a pattern on the train not unlike that on the page, though much greater and without limits. Another announcement by the conductor gave me no insight as to what stop we were approaching, but it didn’t matter; my place was here. Right now.
I understood the problem: Disorder.
I briefly made eye contact with the man in front of me. This time it was different. It was a look I couldn’t identify. Rationalization led me to believe it was signaling ‘see ya’ as he got off the train at the following stop. After he left, I determined that the numerical value for him as a variable was a 9, and it was out of place.
Why do these fucking lines keep moving?
The flickering lights stopped as a burst of bright light filled the car, completely blinding me for a second.
That was weird. I must have dozed off.
At this point, I noticed there were a few open seats, so I decided to take one facing a window so I could see outward, instead of looking ahead to the grid of seats. Looking out the window, everything was gray. Concrete, asphalt, more concrete. A train through a dystopian nightmare colored with graffiti - probably some kind of code.
Someone to my left was carrying an umbrella. She looked at me and told me everything is going to be fine, you’ll see. Her voice was soft. I could feel the sweat dripping down inside my shirt. I looked downward at my boots, thinking there was no rain in the forecast, so I asked her about the umbrella.
Several people looked at me. This I noticed immediately.
I looked back to my left and no one had an umbrella. We were between stops, so there was no chance someone got on or off the train. Looking back at the floor, I could see the lines again. Clearly, no one else could see them.
My connection was getting more acute. I could predict the bumps and jerks the train would make just before it made them. I stood up holding my hand just near the overhead bar to test out my newfound capability. As we neared a station, the whole train jerked while I was able to stay stable, separating myself temporarily from time and space. Each time this would happen, there was a ripple in those lines.
But something else was opened. I could see the ripples around the people. Their values and their breaks. Perhaps if I concentrated enough, I could readjust the lines. This was related to fluid mechanics - the boundary layer. Pieces were getting stuck in the boundary layer that were meant to flow, and vice versa.
The problem: No one else could see the lines.
Someone tapped on my shoulder as they passed and I jumped. My back was on fire - not literally, but it felt like it was. The pain was absolutely blinding, so much that I lost my concentration.
What the fuck is happening to me?
The more I was altering the fabric of reality to help others, the more I was inadvertently affecting myself. The train came to a stop, and people were exiting. I saw the man from earlier walk past my window.
That look. It wasn’t ‘see ya.’ It was pity.
Why?
This isn’t really happening is it? (I know it is. Every sense in my body is firing and telling me it’s real.) I pinched myself like they do in movies and cartoons to see if I was dreaming.
Fuck that hurt! Why did I pinch my skin so hard? So this is real. But it can’t be real.
Let’s take this step-by-step backward. You’re a scientist. Make some hypotheses and test them.
I began focusing my energy on someone across the train. He was holding his head, clearly having a headache. His value was a 4. I If I can readjust his position, relieve some of the pain, he’ll pull his hands from his head and relax. I focused intensely for 3 or 4 minutes. He dropped his hands, slightly shook his head, and smiled, looking out the window.
This. Is. Real.
If I had told myself yesterday that I would be able to…
I stopped myself mid-thought. Something here is wrong. Very wrong. I sat back down and immediately jumped. My back was still very much in excruciating pain. This pain was real, no doubt. But what if everything else that I know is right is wrong? Wouldn’t that mean that yesterday, everything I thought was wrong is right today?
I knew that I couldn’t tell anyone about this. No one would understand. No one at all.
But I promised one person I wouldn’t hide things from her. She would listen to me. She would understand.
Last stop. Finally, enunciation over the loud speaker. Did he-she finish their bag of chips? Regardless, the last stop is far past where I needed to get off, which meant staying aboard until we headed southbound.
I realized that I cannot trust my senses. False. I did not realize that I can’t trust my senses. This is an impossible task, at is is literally how we perceive our surroundings, and we trust that our perceptions are reality. We can’t separate this.
No.
I realized that I should not trust my senses for the time being. Not until I can verify with someone what is actually happening.
I looked up at the overhead light in the train and forced it to turn off by focusing on disrupting one of the terminals of the fluorescent light. Other people seemed bothered by the outage, and moved. What if I try to open the door of the train while it is still moving?
Lenox.
Well, I guess we’ll have to find out another time, because I can’t miss my stop twice. I stepped outside into the dark humid night, glasses fogging upon contact with the air and I floated just above the sidewalk to avoid strange looks from people. My feet just glided mere millimeters above the sidewalk, which felt amazing, since I had been on them for so long during the train ride in what were considerably uncomfortable, though fashionable boots.
As long as I stayed within the lines, my journey was effortless.
I arrived home and lied down on the floor, realizing that my life had just been permanently altered, whether my experiences were my new reality or my perception was hijacked so perversely that I could never trust myself again.
The pain, while lying on my back, was exquisite.