Familiars or Figments of My Imagination
March 15, 2019
Familiars, or figments of my imagination: Am I alone or do other people sense the scene that blinks in my mind when I run past the table and pillars in this picture?
When daylight lasts past eight, the Hudson River pathways throng with people. In the summer, they fish, smoke, skateboard, and walk dogs. Lovers sit side by side, laughing and kissing. Families take selfies or entrust a passerby with their phone to capture them–all smiles, the Statue of Liberty in the distance. Farther north, I watch pick-up basketball games. Also, volleyball. And, sometimes, people playing tennis. Or, trying to. A few times I’ve seen small groups practicing dance steps!
So I do not need my familiars or figments of my imagination for company. Yet they continue to appear in any sidelong glance.
But even when the area’s relatively empty, I feel safe. Because the security guards wave at me and my purple hair. I run between nine and ten at night. It’s not just a habit. I need to expel lots of excess adrenaline after writing fiction.
My long, hard runs are only possible because I listen to hip-hop at top volume through headphones. And running helps me transition from the world in my mind to the real world, in which I try to participate. But have yet to acquire the knack.
This granite table and columns, for example, elicit a quick scene (perhaps from Aeschylus): a beautiful man and woman sit together, each with an elbow propped on the table. They loosely entwine their forearms. And wear costumes reminiscent of ancient Greek royalty.
Without actually seeing the blood, I know they have slit each others’ wrists and are staring into each other eyes as their opened veins fill carefully positioned goblets. Before they pass out, and before I entirely pass them, they raise the goblets in a ceremonial toast.