TUNNEL VISION

This time he was going to do it. Walk right on in there and tell her. Straight out. No more pussyfooting around it. It was over. Had been over for a long time now. They were just going through the motions now. Out of habit. A bad habit. But it was time to kick it, once and for all. Besides, he figured, it would be the best for both of them. At least that was what he told himself. What he always told himself. He just had to do it quick and get it over with. Like pulling off a Band-Aid. It would hurt for a split second, but, in time, the wound would heal and leave just a trace of a scar. He wasn't expecting the trembling beneath his legs, though.

He'd been watching Jen in the kitchen when the earthquake hit. A big one, this time. Sent everything rattling around and then knocked half of the dishes on the countertop crashing to the tile floor below. The clock on the living room wall fell a few seconds later. CRASH! The suddenness of the noise was more disconcerting than the motion beneath his feet. He'd been through this before, though not nearly as bad; so he wasn't all that shocked. And, thankfully, it was over almost as quick as it had begun. A moment later, he was again left in silence with the reminders of the quake noticeably scattered around him. While he made his way to see her, the picture they had bought at the flea market a week prior came hurtling down and cracked him hard on his skull.

"Patrick, you okay?" he heard her shout. "Pat?"

Nothing. He tried to respond, but the words got stuck in his throat.

Though his vision was now blurred, he could see her as she poked her head out of the kitchen, shouting louder, "Pat, you there? That was a bad one this time."

Again, he could say nothing. He could hear the sounds of the ambulances and fire trucks racing somewhere in the distance, but they seemed to be fading in the distance.

That's when he saw her notice him on the ground. She came running over. He could feel the blood trickling from the wound in his head and hated the thought that she was seeing him like that. But that thought was quickly replaced by another one. The light was fading and so was her voice.

"Pat, can you hear me?" he barely heard her say, as she leapt to his side.

But nothing. Not a sound. Not a breath. Not a flicker of movement.

Now Pat couldn't hear a thing. But he could see. A bright light. A tunnel of light, actually. Pulling him down and through. Quick. Quicker than he had ever traveled before. Quick as… well, quick as light.

He touched down an indeterminate time later in a place he vaguely recognized. A room that he hadn't seen in what seemed like forever. The walls were papered with brightly colored trains and circus animals. The bed in the corner was impossibly small, but not too small for a child of four or so. His bed, he suddenly remembered, from when he was about that exact age. Perhaps the first clear memory he had. He had spent a lot of time in that room. In that bed. Alone and daydreaming.

And when he looked closer he could see something stirring from under the covers. A sandy haired boy. He knew who it was in an instant. Recognized the face from all those photos his mother kept around her house. A face so similar to his own, yet so vastly different. It had been his, at one point, so many years earlier.

Was I ever that young? He thought.

Of course he had been. Still, it seemed so distant a period in his life. So much like another lifetime that it resembled more a story he had heard than his actual childhood. It was too far removed from his current existence to be associated with the person he was today. The dots simply didn't connect. But they did, as he was soon to see.

That first dot, twenty years earlier, was a painful reminder of his boyhood. Despite the brightly colored room, he knew his life was drab and colorless, even back then. The divorce had left his mother shattered. And with the crash came the distancing. Leaving a father a city apart and a mother a million miles away; though, in reality, only a few feet separated them. The other side of the wall the boy faced might as well have been an immeasurable chasm, both just as impossible to traverse. Both vast and empty and lifeless.

He remembered trying to reach out to her, but the shouts and the tears went unnoticed. So the young Pat sat alone in his room and let his mind wander. To far away places. Distant lands filled with magical creatures and people who cared about him. Places filled with laughter and joy. Pat remembered those places as he watched himself lying on that bed staring at the wall. He always thought he liked being alone. But seeing himself like that made him realize how sad he really was.
And then the wall started to glow. Soon it burned bright and white. And the tunnel presented itself again. Sucking him in and down and through once more. Pulling him away from the boy he yearned to hold and to assure that everything would be all right. Though he knew it wouldn't be. Not really. How could it ever be all right? He thought, as he was whisked to Lord knows where.
The tunnel of light opened on to another room.

I know this place, too.

Different paper. All brown. No bright pictures. Bigger bed. Different house. But still his house. The house he and his mother shared with the man she married next, Jack. Jack brought his mother back to life, but not back to Pat. Still alone, Pat's daydreaming took form on paper. The creatures from his head now stared back up at him from the drawing book his mother had given him to keep him occupied and out of her hair.

Page after page, enormous animals with impossible fangs and strange, dreamy eyes filled the book. Even floating up high, Pat could see the spark of talent that would prove invaluable later on in his life. But still the same sad, lonely boy lay on the bed, doodling away. Then the boy turned up the radio on his nightstand to drown out the noise his parents were making. The shouting had started soon after the marriage. The boy had grown accustomed to it. Eventually, he would wander out into the backyard to escape it completely. Perhaps that's where his affinity for nature started. After all, the creatures he drew needed places to live and breathe and hide in.
Pat watched as the white page of the book on the bed started to glow and then spin and then open up, creating another vortex to suck him into. And down he went. Fast and smooth. Pat hated the scenes he was seeing, but liked the ride. Enjoyed the easy, gliding motion. He wished life could be so smooth. His life, especially.

The next occurrences of events appeared differently than the first. He simply slowed down this time, passing through his life instead of making complete stops along the way. Pat saw himself age in jumps and starts. Saw himself go to school, where he stayed on the outskirts of the other children's play. Watched as the art improved from year to year. And saw his mother go from Jack to Steve to Bill. He too had little luck with the opposite sex. Though not nearly as proficient as his mother, he had occasional luck with women. The luck, sadly, always ran out after a month or so. Pat was easily bored. Or perhaps prone to drifting. Either way, year by year, he held little hope of ever settling down. Of ever not being alone.

Next, he watched as he floated over himself while out on dates.

What was wrong with that one? Man, she was nice. Just look how she stares into my eyes. So young and in love. But why do I look bored?

That seemed to always be the case. Pat was forever running from or to one relationship after another. Like mother like son. Both achieved the identical outcomes. Neither was ever really happy. Except in Pat's art.

That was where he shined. Stood out from the rest. Was overwhelmingly accepted. He even made a nice living at it. Pat watched as his art grew larger and more detailed. And went from paper to canvas and onto gallery walls. He hovered over patrons who smiled and pointed at his work. The creatures never failed to illicit a comment. And that's when he came upon Jen. Saw her staring intently at one of his works. Watched as he turned the corner and encountered her for the first time.

I forgot how pretty she was that first day.

They talked and laughed. She commented on his talent. He asked her out. Three months later, they were living together. A first for Pat. It terrified him, but he acted on impulse and moved his meager belongings into her apartment without giving it much thought.

The tunnel ended at the flea market where they had found a used, early work of Pat's. They both thought it funny to find his art there and bought it on a whim, hanging it in the living room so they could stare at it while they sat together. In truth, it brought him more comfort to stare at it than at her.

Look how she looks at my work and smiles. Such a nice smile she has. But why am I not smiling? I should be smiling. I want to be smiling.

And then the light grew even more intense and spread all around him. Engulfing him. Warming him as it pushed him up, up, up and out. His eyes opened and he gasped for air. Jen was kneeling over him, her eyes filled with tears. He watched as she realized he was staring at her. Saw her go from sad, to startled, to elated in a split second. He smiled back up at her.

"How long have I been out?" he asked her.

"About a minute. The worst minute of my life," she responded, smiling at him and kissing him gently on his forehead.

It only took a minute?

"What happened?" he asked.

She pointed to the picture. "Earthquake."

And then he understood what had happened. Remembered where he had been heading when it hit and what he was intending to do when he got there. Almost said it before he recalled everything he had seen. It flashed before his eyes again and in an instant he knew it would be a mistake. He wasn't doomed to repeat his mother's mistakes, or his own, for that matter. It might have taken an act of God to make him realize it, but better late than never, he figured. His art had brought them together the first time; and that was what brought him back to her again.
There was indeed a light at the end of the tunnel. He just had to go through it first in order to see that it was there. Now he intended to bask in it.