An Odd Thing

An odd thing happened to me awhile ago. It was not profound or magical or worldview-changing- just odd. A few weeks have passed and I’m still not entirely sure what to make of it.

One early midsummer evening, I sat on my front porch eating an overdressed salad to a serenade of suburban working class dads all mowing their lawns in unison. A splendid breeze conveyed aromas of lilac and freshly mown grass under a subtle mist of gasoline. The weather was almost unseasonably cool for mid-August- a perfect reason to eat outside and avoid the ever-fulminating chaos inside. I lazily munched on soggy greens while watching a chipmunk dart around under the bee-harried hydrangeas. It was nice.

Twilight approached in a phalanx of rose, gold, amber, and lavender led by a vanguard of opalescent cumuli. One by one, the mowers retired, leaving an almost eerie hush in their wake. Much to my gratitude, a breeze eventually broomed away the unpleasant stink of gas. Where the mowers left off, a chorus of birds picked up, percussed by crickets, rustling leaves, and the shivering of dry grass.

Such rare, quiet, unbothered moments are what sustain me in the face of all the chaos I’ve suffered since my mother died. There were, in this brief idyllic span, no screaming children, no screaming sisters, no impromptu adventures in indentured servitude, no angry tirades, no call to chauffeur anyone anywhere or mediate arguments and confrontations or go shopping or appointments to keep or cleanup duty or shouts for help or anything. No one encroached onto the porch as so often happens when I dare to enjoy half a second’s worth of peace and quiet. No such things happened.

I sat there enjoying the nascent glow of twilight shimmering and gleaming through a canopy of peridot leaves. Disbelief mounted with every passing moment that I did not hear someone shouting my name or a child screaming or someone yelling angrily about something or a UPS or FEDEX truck barreling up the driveway or any one of the two dozen other forms rain on my parade typically takes.

It was a memory compilation of being interrupted so many times by mail trucks that reminded me to go get the mail. There was no record_scratch.wav or screeching car brakes sound at this realization. Barely even a blip. Because it was just a thought that came to mind. It was “I’m going to go get the mail” rather than “DID ANYONE GET THE MAIL!” furiously yodeled from some indeterminate corner of the house.

I trooped down the steep steps and across a concrete landing to the front lawn. My feet slid into crispy golden-brown grass baked by a merciless heatwave which only deigned to yield that very morning in the aftermath of rain. Hints of petrichor still flavored the air.

I watched my feet passing by little periwinkle cornflowers, tiny white tendrilly flowers whose name I do not know, dried leaves, colorful pebbles, twigs, the occasional acorn. Honeyed god rays of twilight aglitter with dust blazed across the tawny grass, casting long crooked shadows that stretched well out of sight. I remember feeling like I was in that area of Skyrim near Riften where the colors are all fiery autumn and you almost fall into the sounds of nature. There was no end in sight, no way out, no escape. I was destined to walk this never-ending expanse. And I was totally okay with that.

I’m an atheist with no belief in the supernatural whatsoever but I recall thinking that if this is heaven or purgatory, that’s fine. More than fine. I could be happy with this. I wouldn't mind being proven cosmically wrong by this solitudinous embrace of perpetual twilight. It was as if I had fallen into my own little pocket universe where nothing else existed but what my mind had turned into a late summer woodland paradise.

I imagined a tributary brook winding off into a waterfall-tiered creek buttressed by towering cedars and awned by gem-leaf weeping willows. Deer gathered in the shade. A Rivendale-like town lay off in the distance, barely discernible against a cool blue mist. There is no climate change here, no PFAS in the rain, no war in Ukraine, no corrupt politicians with corporatist ambitions, no microplastic pollution, no pay-walled basic necessities, no inadequate healthcare woes, no countless phone calls trying to find a damn dentist who will take my insurance AND also do extractions. None of that. Just a long, lovely stroll into the sunset serenaded by birdsong and crickets as a rainbow's worth of flowers passed underfoot.

And suddenly pavement.

wat.......

I stood there staring down at this bizarre gray mass like the witches from Hocus Pocus who had never seen asphalt before. Hopefully, none of my neighbors were watching because I’m pretty sure I stood there for a solid half-minute or more just staring groundward like a drooling slack-jawed orc. I felt as if a great deal of time had passed, way more than a standard march across the front lawn would take.

I looked back at the house which seemed like it should have been long out of sight, swallowed up in an eternity of flowery fields canopied by pearly birches, scarlet oaks, gem-leaf weeping willows, and violet maples. I half-expected to see distant crystalline mountains looming up to a billow of pastel rainbow cotton clouds. Instead, there sat the house, a hulking behemoth of wood that doesn’t belong to me. There was something jarring in the sight of it. The sun had sunk enough such that a shadowfall of trees cast a gloom over the hill where it lurked like some Bloodborne boss fight in waiting.

I turned back around and suddenly mailbox! Right in my face. I blinked in surprise as if it had just abruptly popped into frame out of nowhere. After staring at it for a solid ten-count, I pulled open the metal door and fished out a credit card bill, a Central Hudson notice (they’re raising our rates again, this time by 60%), and some furniture magazines. With one last dazed glance around, I began my trek back.

Would I slip into that place again? Would I return to that strange and beautiful ever-twilight world? Alas, no. My return trek was ordinary in every way and over in the blink of an eye. Most of the golden glow had fled, given over to gloomy gray-blue shadow. I plopped down on the top step then set the mail aside. For awhile I sat there wondering what in the everloving red white and blue star-spangled trombone solo fuck just happened.

Did I encounter a glitch in the Matrix? Did I become actually hypnotized by, of all things, grass!? Did I fucking time travel? Because I swear upon the bowling ball-smooth sheen of my shiny fat white arse, it felt like twenty-two entire years from front porch to mailbox. Why Twenty-two specifically? I dunno. You tell me. Maybe half my brain fell asleep like a dolphin. Whatever the case may be, the whole ordeal felt stranger than I could hope to encapsulate in words. It really seemed like something adjacent to an out of body experience. Like, my brain went on a little mini-vacation or something. Nothing like that has ever happened before and neither has it happened since then.

I’m not worried. I don’t think it was anything bad. Maybe stress-related. I do wish I could make that happen on command though. That would be great.