Look Up More

It was an old house with lots of old pieces and even more half-built new ones.  That was just the way my father operated.  He would get in a frenzy making some sort of improvement to the house’s design and get discouraged halfway through and stop the project.  The two storey house had at least five different sets of stairs since we had moved in and the current count was one and a half.

No place exemplified the old fixtures meeting half-assed renovations more than the kitchen.  I was in the kitchen so often I tended to take it for granted, but today I saw the irony of it.

At eye level it was no more unusual than any other kitchen in the middle of remodeling but if you looked up you found an old fashioned can opener mounted to the cabinets.  Beside this was a press to seal on the lid for mason jar style canned food and beside that was a bladed device I assumed was used to then remove the lid when you wanted to eat the jar’s contents.  Of course, I really wasn’t sure about any of this.  I know it’s outdated and that we had never used it for anything more than the can opener for a week when the electric one went out.

It was really charming, the mysterious antique additions to the house, and I smiled at them.  All it took to bring on that smile was to look up.

People should really look up more.

Above all of this was a ceiling that was vaulted for no particular reason.  The space had 2 x 4’s running across it and some plywood between them in places.  Junk was piled on the plywood like some sort of makeshift attic that really shouldn’t be out in the open.  

My father entered the room behind me.  He had been looking for me.  It was easy to get lost in the half constructed labyrinth of the bottom floor sometimes.  I could tell from the way he was breathing that he was frustrated.

Then I did something really unwise.  

So why did you build this here anyway?  You would think I would have learned not to ask questions like that anymore, but for a moment it slipped my mind.  I remembered all this while watching his face overcome by white hot anger.  The pain of a merciless spanking with a piece of window molding that just happened to be lying around flashed through my mind.  I saw his hands around my mother’s neck, slowly beating her head against the wall until she would never say something like “that” again.  I remembered my tears falling through the half built stairs as I watched.  I couldn’t let him hear me, I had thought, I couldn’t let him know.

So why had I been so foolish to ask a question that spat in his face?  Well, I could never tell how he would react until it was too late.  Anything, it seemed, could set him off.  I backpedaled.  I watched his eyes dart over the “ceiling”.  I watched as he climbed the stepping stool and reached for something in the attic.  I imagined a thick board crashing against my skin as he rooted around for something.  I quivered when he withdrew a hunting bow.  Neon green with black camo pattern; it was captivating.  I only stared, frightened at the bridge of the bow as he pulled back on the string and released.  The bow made what was to him a satisfying snap.  I restrained my reflex to jump; I could not show weakness.  He reached for arrows, then another bow.  

I felt my muscles relax.

He took me out into the yard; to show me how to shoot, he said.  He loaded his bow and pointed it in my direction, then up, and fired into the air.  I ran and ran, back and forth, dropping my bow and scurrying like a scared mouse.

I was looking up to see where this arrow was going to fall so I could avoid it and I caught the sight of this missile out of the corner of my eye skimming above the trees and then out of view. I only saw it for about a spilt second but I can still remember it exactly.   It was long and thin; white with two black stripes and four fins, half at the middle and half at the end.  The first small cloud of dust and fire didn't bother me, it was small and inconsequential and in the back of my mind still remained the arrow as a more immediate danger.

I felt the shock before anything else.  My eyes blinked reflexively and when they opened again a flaming mushroom of death emerged and I felt my body pushed back and then up by a second wave of energy.

The ground grew farther and farther beneath me and my ascent began to slow. I could see not one but two large balls of flame growing and consuming the land, one on either side of where I had stood seconds ago.

I watched the yard I had been standing in as it was consumed by flames. I started to feel the weightless feeling of freefall, and for the first time I can remember I was happy and unafraid.

I know that I am falling ever faster into the flames, but it doesn't feel like it. I realize that even if I weren't caught up in the blast, or the radiation didn't get me, the crashing to the ground would do it.

But for now I'm still in freefall and I feel so safe. Up here nothing can hurt me.