Consider a Journey, walnut ink, acrylic/ paper, 11 x 14,
ed touchette 2016
It has already happened. I am headed there now.
Billy will ask, Where?
I answer: To that which precipitated me.
Hmm. Billy will mumble. He'll ponder then ask, Why?
My answer: Have been since what they've repeatedly remarked as my first breath.
You know, they call it the beginning. Being born.
Actually, I think that was a consequence of where I'm headed.
Now and then, as it were.
A what? prompted by Billy's confusion.
There, I'll say. My raison d'être. That which gave rise to my existence if that's what you call my living. My life. It's already happened.
Billy will turn away.
I have no concept of how long I've been here. In real-time? Years. In space-time?Maybe seconds. Maybe eons. What's out there?
That thought becomes past tense as I engage the quandary. To be or have been.
I go. May be is no longer valid. Become is was.
Malcolm says, The present is. The future was. The past will be.
She stands, back to me, a terry cloth towel clings to her hips, another turban wraps her head. Water spots on the carpet outline her feet like a chef's dribbles, meant to entice, ready my lips and tongue for a taste of her.
I laugh openly. As if the swale of her lower back was never enough.
She turned and asked if I'd be gone long.
I watch as I left, then shrug and go.
Memory: Captured pasts. Massless yet there. Incomplete though lit and audible. Sometimes you can smell it. Taste it, too.
Real-time supports these definitions. Space-time rearranges them.
Sensations flash. I recall, remember, recollect. Recollect is good. There is somewhat of a gathering and reconstruction. Yes, a reconstruction of thens. Whens. Futures now past and they become more perfect. Mutated.
Rearranged? Possibly to suit the needs of the end. And yet there is no end. The event is circular—so far. Back and forth in and out. Here and there. Mostly here but there exists for comparisons. Picked from the agglomeration.
Ahh, relativity, Malcolm offered. Takes time. Take time, he added. You will need it.
Where we are has already been and we were there moving toward there only here for the slightest. What we are is what we were and will become will soon be. Then am will be was. Will be will be am.
There is clarity in this. I turn and glance forward over my shoulder.
What? Billy asks.
Getting here, I answer.
Where? Billy asks, mystified.
It's already happened. I am headed there now.