In Which I Wiggle Out Of My Tunnel, Kind Of
The tunnel was not an echoey tunnel. It was my tunnel, it was comfortable, it was warm and fit perfectly to my body. Soft on the insides, hardened and tight at each end, full of snacks, and good TV shows, and hot chocolate.
I don’t remember the last time I thought about what got me into the tunnel in the first place. I didn’t know it was a tunnel, I don’t think, I believed it was more like of the rest of my life. But I guess some people live their lives in a tunnel like that. Or several consecutive tunnels.
I decided to get out of the tunnel the other week.
Today is my first day with my front half out of the tunnel. My entire front half. Down to my waist, where my shirt meets my pants. Where my belly gets to my bottom.
In the last few days of stifling darkness, I was working away at the narrow end of the tunnel, which I’d cut myself down to fit through. I was ready to get out. I left some things behind, parts of my body, parts of me, in my cozy tunnel-nest, in the fat part of the tunnel, which I will never go back to reclaim. Three times to reclaim and they still wouldn’t be held, wouldn’t be helped, wouldn’t help me, and I will not go back again. They will remain in the tunnel for nobody to have. After leaving them behind, in a trail crookedly drawn out after me, I began the serious business of chipping and picking and stretching the final and most narrow part of the tunnel, like a little dinosaur in a shell, and it was uncomfortable. It was pain and it was uncertainty, and most of all, it was incredibly lonely. All the tunnel reminded me of was the fact that I was still in the tunnel, and that I needed to get out of the tunnel. I shimmied, I twisted. I gnawed chewily round the round edge of the tunnel until my gums were raw, eyes widened up to the frosty black sky beyond. With stars. I could see it, and it was magnificent. I gnawed eagerly to make the tough edge of the tunnel soft, and then threw my body violently from side to side to widen the wetted, softened edge, and then I thrusted. I thrusted my neck towards that bright, glorious solitude in the deep darkness beyond. I picked and worked and gnawed and cried and cried and cried and shook my head to clear it, wiggled and wiggled and wiggled out of the stank darkness and into the mountain air-for weeks I worked at this.
Two weeks are a magical number.
One glorious day, or night, sometime, the crown of my head made it out and I felt that sweet, faint, goosebumpy breeze on my sweat-soaked scalp. It was the nectar of understanding, and I was almost to drinking it in. I worked hurriedly and sometimes took breaks to cry. My eyes were squeezed shut by the narrow pinched edge at the end of the tunnel, but feeling that air on my scalp, I was calmed, and I blessedly didn’t need my eyes. They leaked tears from their sides. I didn’t panic. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. Another day soon after, my eyes made it out and I blinked and blinked and cried again to wet my swollen dry eyes and my vision cleared and greedily I feasted on the sights of the future. I clung hard to several things that I saw, a silver sun clock on a green wall, a yellow-and-orange blanket, a baby, a bowl of peaches, a Christmas, my grandparents, for at that point I could see and I could hear them but I could not yet breathe them, my lungs were constricted. I stared into the blackness and saw the life steeped in color that I Will Lead. Soon again, my nose ripped out of the tunnel to sniff air not scented with Andy. Air filled with snow and clean hot water. After my nose my mouth came easier, and gulped the air, and my neck came easier still, my shoulders, and as soon as my shoulders were out to wiggle the rest of my first half popped forth like a hard spring and I threw my skinny arms into the air in jubilation. They flapped back to my sides, tired. My lungs fully expanded, feebly, inside my tiny ribcage, which was sore and unused at that point, but getting tougher. The lungs themselves are getting tougher now.
I believe that today is my first day with my lungs exposed fully to the new air, to the new air of my new life. Today I do not want to check Andy’s blog. Today, I do not ever want to see him again. Today, I am back. I will continue to work on getting my bum and my feet out of the tunnel, and once they are out, I will fly.
I don’t remember the last time I thought about what got me into the tunnel in the first place. I didn’t know it was a tunnel, I don’t think, I believed it was more like of the rest of my life. But I guess some people live their lives in a tunnel like that. Or several consecutive tunnels.
I decided to get out of the tunnel the other week.
Today is my first day with my front half out of the tunnel. My entire front half. Down to my waist, where my shirt meets my pants. Where my belly gets to my bottom.
In the last few days of stifling darkness, I was working away at the narrow end of the tunnel, which I’d cut myself down to fit through. I was ready to get out. I left some things behind, parts of my body, parts of me, in my cozy tunnel-nest, in the fat part of the tunnel, which I will never go back to reclaim. Three times to reclaim and they still wouldn’t be held, wouldn’t be helped, wouldn’t help me, and I will not go back again. They will remain in the tunnel for nobody to have. After leaving them behind, in a trail crookedly drawn out after me, I began the serious business of chipping and picking and stretching the final and most narrow part of the tunnel, like a little dinosaur in a shell, and it was uncomfortable. It was pain and it was uncertainty, and most of all, it was incredibly lonely. All the tunnel reminded me of was the fact that I was still in the tunnel, and that I needed to get out of the tunnel. I shimmied, I twisted. I gnawed chewily round the round edge of the tunnel until my gums were raw, eyes widened up to the frosty black sky beyond. With stars. I could see it, and it was magnificent. I gnawed eagerly to make the tough edge of the tunnel soft, and then threw my body violently from side to side to widen the wetted, softened edge, and then I thrusted. I thrusted my neck towards that bright, glorious solitude in the deep darkness beyond. I picked and worked and gnawed and cried and cried and cried and shook my head to clear it, wiggled and wiggled and wiggled out of the stank darkness and into the mountain air-for weeks I worked at this.
Two weeks are a magical number.
One glorious day, or night, sometime, the crown of my head made it out and I felt that sweet, faint, goosebumpy breeze on my sweat-soaked scalp. It was the nectar of understanding, and I was almost to drinking it in. I worked hurriedly and sometimes took breaks to cry. My eyes were squeezed shut by the narrow pinched edge at the end of the tunnel, but feeling that air on my scalp, I was calmed, and I blessedly didn’t need my eyes. They leaked tears from their sides. I didn’t panic. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. Another day soon after, my eyes made it out and I blinked and blinked and cried again to wet my swollen dry eyes and my vision cleared and greedily I feasted on the sights of the future. I clung hard to several things that I saw, a silver sun clock on a green wall, a yellow-and-orange blanket, a baby, a bowl of peaches, a Christmas, my grandparents, for at that point I could see and I could hear them but I could not yet breathe them, my lungs were constricted. I stared into the blackness and saw the life steeped in color that I Will Lead. Soon again, my nose ripped out of the tunnel to sniff air not scented with Andy. Air filled with snow and clean hot water. After my nose my mouth came easier, and gulped the air, and my neck came easier still, my shoulders, and as soon as my shoulders were out to wiggle the rest of my first half popped forth like a hard spring and I threw my skinny arms into the air in jubilation. They flapped back to my sides, tired. My lungs fully expanded, feebly, inside my tiny ribcage, which was sore and unused at that point, but getting tougher. The lungs themselves are getting tougher now.
I believe that today is my first day with my lungs exposed fully to the new air, to the new air of my new life. Today I do not want to check Andy’s blog. Today, I do not ever want to see him again. Today, I am back. I will continue to work on getting my bum and my feet out of the tunnel, and once they are out, I will fly.