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- Solipsism.
- When I was seven years old, many years ago, I was playing around in the park with my best friend, with my best friend, Jonathan. We aren't friends anymore; in fact I never really saw him again after what happened to me... Anyways, I had climbed onto the top of one of these welded metal towers, the tower itself was shaped like a pyramid with interconnected metal bars allowing you to climb to the top if you wanted to, which itself was made up of criss-crossed beams, or you could hang off the side like a... well, a monkey. It was good fun, and in my playful state I thought I had a great idea to entertain my friend. First I breathed deeply, standing up to haphazardly balance myself on two legs. I carefully found my footing on the flat-topped pyramid. Smiling with all the confidence of a reckless seven year old, I spread my arms wide open, like a bird ready to fly.
- I then proclaimed the the world, "Hey look! I'm Superman!" ...although the world only really consisted of my friend and his father.
- From where I stood then, smiling brightly down at them as they smiled back up at me, I saw no danger. Here and now, with hindsight, I know well that pleasure and pain are two sides of same coin. That innocent little trick I had played for just one friend would really change my outlook on things throughout my life. No, it didn't kick start an acting career. Not even a career in theater. While I entertained these ideas of grandeur, they really only became my delusions of grandeur. How lucky was I? After what has happened now, I'd say not at all.
- Well, I watched with glee as my friend climbed up after me, intending to do the same thing as I had just done. Higher and higher he climbed as I looked down at him. I got cocky and put my hands by my hips, striking a pose for the shaggy blonde boy.
- "So you think you can beat Superman, huh Jon?" I smugly questioned.
- "I wanna be Superman too!" Jonathan exclaimed back at me. I quizzically turned my smug gaze down at him, watching as he got ever so close.
- "Hey, wait a minute man! There's not enough room for two of us!" I shouted as he tried to take my spot. He only laughed as I stumbled backwards while he pushed his way forwards.
- Then, it happened.
- I wasn't looking at the time, but everything seemed to suddenly turn from normal to slow-mo as I slipped backwards. My worn down shoes apparently not able to keep a grip on the sleek steel supporting my weight. I let out a sharp screech as I fell down, to a small kid like me, it felt like I was falling into the abyss. I watched my friend's look of horror while I fell all the way, I swore to myself that I'd get him for this, but I never got the chance. I cried out as the back of my head slammed into another horizontal metal bar, the audible crack it made sounding like an over sized baseball being hit for a home run by Babe Ruth in a Yankee's baseball game. The rest of me slid to the ground, but very much alive and awake.
- I sat up, tears in my eyes, and managed to stammer out to my friend's shocked father.
- "B-bill I wanna go ho-ho-home!"
- He and my friend nodded and stumbled over each-other trying to get to their respective bikes. It was a wonder at all that I could even stand, much less run without feeling dizzy. Though in my blissfully unaware state I had neglected to realize the full consequences of what had really happened to me. My feet kicked up dusty wooden chips as I stumbled my way onto the little bicycle I called my favorite. Not once did it occur to me that maybe I shouldn't be riding a bike with a possible concussion, but I was a kid, we hadn't even learned what the word concussion meant.
- We rode our bikes down the chewed up asphalt of 77th Street for some time before turning onto mine; Coal Road. Houses flashed by as I traveled at the back of the group, then slowed down as I turned into the gravel driveway that composed the front part of my humble abode. I quickly made my way inside, my mother hurriedly procuring ice for the back of my head while Bill stuttered as he rapidly tried to explain to my father about what had happened, Jonathan standing next to him like a little sad puppy. I laid down on a couch in our living room, the back of my head settled on the ice. I don't know how long I laid there, staring at the TV screen as SpongeBob SquarePants tried bring me joy in this troubled time, but I do know that there wasn't supposed to be a new episode today.
- When I went to bed that day, and woke up the next, I told my mother and step-father about what happened. Explaining that I crawled my way up the tower, making the proclamation that I was superman, to hitting my head. I tried to be as detailed as possible with my explanation, using all the vocabulary a first grade student could possibly know. Yet much to my chagrin their faces grew increasingly perplexed as I went on about the events of the previous day.
- They both looked at each-other, then back to me. "Son.", my step-father started, "That's not what happened."
- My mother sat on the couch next to me and began stroking my hair to calm me down,
- "You were knocked out, kiddo, Helen and her husband were driving by and saw what was going on. They picked you up in their van and drove you home."
- I was confused, and defensively I countered
- "But I remember riding my bike back with Bill and Jon."
- Yes I remember this clearly, surely they were mistaken.
- Mom smiled at me, though it was strenuous,
- "No sweetie, you were definitely not awake."
- ...I didn't say anything after that; Choosing to accept their explanation of the events, but deep down I knew that's not what happened, and didn't understand exactly what occurred that day.
- I'm 19 now, and looking back on my life I've received many head injuries. But that specific injury was the only one I could remember clearly. As if it were some kind of life changing event. I know I don't have photographic memory; could hardly remember the answers for tests in High School, but I can picture each and every moment from what happened that day twelve years ago. I have had lucid dreams before, and they have never felt as real as that day, when I rode my bike back home after getting knocked out of my gourd. If I had gone unconscious, surely I would've remembered waking up. I didn't remember waking up after all. Even coma patients know that their dreaming, right? Or they at least wake up like no time passed... Right?
- I had asked my mother and step-father, who are now divorced, about what happened throughout the years. As it turns out, they disagree with both my explanation of the events, and their own explanation.
- My mother claims that she never told me about being picked up in a van, saying instead that my friend's father carried my home. My father disagrees with even that, saying a stranger picked us up in his car, taking me home in a show of good grace.
- All three of these explanations are wrong, and I can't understand why they don't remember their own original accounts of the event. They both attest that the remember what happened with a clear head, so why are they wrong?
- Recently, I've been hearing people call my name. A headache accompanies every single call, like a pulsing reminder that something is wrong. They call, even when nobody is there. I know I'm not crazy, I am very clearly attached to this reality, right? But, when I hear my name, Kyle, called out more and more clearly with each calling, I can't contain my thoughts of fear. Ever single time they say "Kyle" it sends chills down my spine. My head pulses. My breath quickens. My eyes dart around in utter terror as one single thought
- invades the very essence of my consciousness.
- I never woke up.
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