genesis and dénouement

He woke up confused. He had a sense of being without proof. He knew there was light outside, but the blinds over the windows prevented any further insight. From the way he found himself clutching at his blanket he assumed it was cold. He seemed to remember it had snowed. He made the assumption it was winter. He closed his eyes.

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t know who he was. His immediate thoughts were not of finding out his own name; he knew what his name was, but for some reason he did not prove this knowledge by saying it aloud. The thought of where he was did not cross his mind; either he knew where he was, or it did not bother him to awaken in an unfamiliar setting. What bothered him was when. He did not know when he was. All he knew was that he had slept, and that now there was light outside the windows.

He looked at a small collection of blue white numbers across from him. He somehow knew it to be a clock, a device for measuring time. It told him it was "Twelve." Due to the lack of darkness he assumed it was daytime, noon. He was unsatisfied. Which noon. He remembered that clocks are very limited in their assessment of time; he knew it was day from the light. Knowing when in the day did not further his understanding of when he was. He turned over, and closed his eyes.

He had this sense he was missing, had missed, would miss something. That events were going on and had been going on all around him, events he felt he should be or should have been a part of. And this is why he was troubled. If he could discover when he was, he might be able to discern what he had missed.

He knew he could not remember time in its pure form. He did not have the ability to piece together fragments of hours, of days, of years, in order to create a picture of the time leading up to that moment he awoke, confused. But he did know that he had the ability to piece together events, things that occurred within those fragments of time. Events would piece together to form that picture he needed, a map of events, leading to him, now, awake with eyes closed, facing away from the clock reading noon. So he set to remember things. To retrace his steps, through memory.

He soon discovered that although his mind seemed to offer up images of faces and colors and knowledge of having done, he had no recollection of doing or even witnessing anything. He could not remember a single event in his past, and therefore could not determine any sense of time. He opened his eyes. He was looking at the ceiling.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around the room. He was surrounded by things, things he somehow knew were his. He even knew what they were called. Books. Video cassettes. Toys. Shoes. He knew these were his things, that he had read and watched and worn and played with them. What he did not have was any memory of having done so. He lied back down, or laid, or lay, he wasn’t sure of that either, but it did not bother him.

He began to make assumptions. He knew he could not live longer than a few days without water, so he could not have been asleep for very long. He knew he himself had to relieve himself of waste products more frequently than "every few days," so he felt safe in assuming he had not been asleep longer than a day at the most. This was a small comfort; he was no closer to when he was, but at least he knew he could not have missed very much while he slept.

Seized by a wave of practicality he began to think forward, to piece together those events which were to come to avoid missing those as well. And as he looked to the future a change came over him. The feeling of being troubled drifted away. He looked forward and his mind was put to ease. The word "hope" did not cross his mind, and if it had he would have dismissed it. He would not have described his feeling as "hope" because, he would have explained, "hope" is too active an emotion. What he felt was passive. Not "hope" but "possibility," though that word did not cross his mind either. All he felt, passively, was that although he could not remember doing, he could do. For he looked forward and saw nothing. There were no events to remember in the future because he had not experienced them yet. And this feeling of possibility came over him, not an active feeling like hope; it was as if the feeling had been given to him from outside. It was a gift, this nothingness possibility, the ability to do. He rose.

He found boxes and tape. He began to put things into boxes, those things he knew were his, the books and video cassettes and toys. He packed up his things in boxes and sealed them with tape to make room for creation. In his mind a ball of clay began to take shape. He sculpted the clay in his mind as he packed away the things in his room. He emptied his room into boxes as his creation grew in his mind.

And when his room was finally empty he smiled. He had created space. And in his head the ball of clay sat, unmarked by past events, new in the now, peopled only with possibility. He walked to the door and opened it, and saw the light outside for the first time unfettered by window blinds. And with a world of possibility cooling in his mind, he stepped outside, and closed the door.