He found the little girl pleasant for her age. “Not a crier thank god!” There seemed nothing unordinary about her save that she disappeared before his eyes one day as if she were a badger into a hole in the gowned. Had he not experienced it in full view before him he would have had to say it was merely a spontaneous hallucination. Yet the girl had past a moment or more in his company. And that could not be denied lest he deny his own sanity. Whether his brain was engaging in an active form of metaphor was up to discussion? He saw what he saw. The immediate question at had was what did these event work out to? Some form of everyday play? Or a situation with more gravity where life that had yet to mature was enigmatically aborted for reasons that were beyond his ability to comprehend. “No.“, she was not a crier! The fissure in the ground at his feet that she had darted into seemed barely three inches in width. It’s length spanning a couple of feet. in the other direction. How deep it ran intuit he ground was something of a secret that he did not feel inclined to plumb. In a flicker of an eyelid she was there. Then a blur of a couple of frames and the bare imprint of her disappearing thusly. How odd his mind kept protesting like an echo un-suppressed in its desire to find find as many unseen passageways within the halls of his thought to seek solution to this mystery as soon as possible. So disturbing was it in its mild form that he felt inclined to remain standing there without thought of moving forth from the same position that the event had caught him in. A mental lag of moments.
He may have been waiting for a sound. But there was none. “What would her parents think?“, mused to himself in silence. Would anyone believe his explanation of her disappearance? Would this explain anything when those in authority of their commonly understood senses asserted the impossibility of this action? And then begin to lean upon his own life to ask questions that he found impossible to respond to rationally? Where would this lead him to? Especially when the little girl was officially considered missing? Maybe a jail sentence and the ire of the community outing him for the balance of the duration of his earthly existence? A miserable thought indeed? Still it irked him that the freeze frame of her departure underground compelled him to seek sanity in the attempt to approach someone and relate what he had experienced. That was normal. You had to report such things to the authorities or you yourself were and accessory to the event. That was just the way things were in society. The sentiments of the parents had to be taken into account. They must know the whereabouts of their child! Or at least the vicinity of the last sight of her. Still in his mind this did not add up. It was all an impossibility that logically could not be explained much less really understood.
His rewound the tape of his own existence backwards without the benefit of the analogous mechanical squeal. “How did he know her?“, he thought to himself interrogating his jumble of thoughts. She seemed as familiar as family. She might have been his niece had he had a sister? She might have been the child of his friends, if he had any friends? She might have been the dependent of a neighbor? But then he knew so little about life behind that counterpoised series of doors along the hallway that he traversed from his apartment to the elevator. Her presence in his life did not nag him as if she should not be remembered to some failure of his recollection. His familiarity with her was beyond question. She was not his own daughter. Though considering the joyful innocence of childhood that she portrayed he would have found pleasure in having sired such a wonderful little soul. Whatever the import of the event that now began to grow stale in his mind he knew that his role as witness was the issue. Though the first thing others would ask he knew would be his relationship to the little girl as to if she was a stranger or not? How odd?
It was reasonable of course to suggest that in the extended family of human existence there was alway a common thread to lead one to an implicit association. The inference of reasonable behavior suggesting that, “like it or not!“, one was responsible for their fellow human being. The measure of one’s worth in general was measured by their regard for others and the willingness to take action on their behalf. There were extenuating circumstances of course. It was always a battle of rational judgement versus the emotions of the moment to plunge forth into the boiling waters of a stormy sea to save those drowning. Most likely resulting in a second corpse lost to the waters when the addition was tallied. A self-defeating proposition that would be agonized over by all with every recrimination in place to reverberate with the counter arguments of the rationale of self-survival. “What an odd situation?“, a chiming sound uncharacteristically interrupting his thoughts tolling from within. “What an odd situation?“, it tolled again. “How can reconcile the absurd?”, it struck him. The impossibility of such an event being so clear to the waking world but not so in the world of dreams. “Was he dreaming?“, he wondered. that would explain everything. “Well, almost?“, the next thought bumping into the first int he next breath.
If he were indeed asleep then the question of the veracity of the incident was not demoted in importance to another query. The larger more expansive inquiry of meaning as it related to him in specific. What this vision some form of mirror of conventional reality. The reprise of an incident that seemed trivial in passing? But now having been in revue deep down upon the shores of his own personal river Styx had blossomed into a more seismic event of a deep dark hidden meaning? So startling seemed this occurrence that it was hard to find it nothing less than the seed of a prophecy relating to him that begged to be heeded with some gravity. Something serious that his inner playground was warning him about? “Was his world so peaceful after all?” “Was the outside world outside him that rested under the light of the Sun capable of the constancy of blissful regular existence?” Of was it a cauldron of incongruous encounters that one by necessity had to take for granted until overt signs hailed the danger? Many times too late nod after the fact. The dreamy part being one’s constant desire to resurrect their own sense of child-like dreaminess in the pressurized world of rationalized orderly external behavior. Behavior demanded that never seemed to suit the desires of that child within? The too becoming more and more incompatible as the years rolled along and those thing proposed as ‘rational’ buy that overbearing phantom know as society made less and less sense. What could one describe it as with this awareness but a reaction to phenomena?
The time seed to be ticking in his head as he made his first movement in what seemed the light of day. He was still standing there. Where ever ‘there’ seemed to be. He was not in his bed at dawn’s insistent break. He was just somewhere. Somewhere away from the familiar. A place like any place that a sailor might pass int he midst of a mighty ocean and never from that moment on be able to discern from any other place beyond a compass bearing scribbled in a log book at the positive declination of the sun at that time of day. Perhaps now he was casually walking on to some task that would disappear with all the other daily tasks, that once completed, were mentally discarded. Nothing resolved, of course. And now being once again in motion heading on to the next waypoint, nothing needing to be. The image of the girl being leaned up in the dusty closet of extraordinary recollections maybe one day to be recovered for more frivolous incidents as ammunition for making an impression in public discourse? The impact of the alacrity of the moment fully dissipated. That, after all, was life!