Christopher S. Bell

Artist: Christopher S. Bell
Title: An Eclipsed Space
Release #: MIF086
Format: Performance, Online Release

Copyright © Christopher S. Bell, Myideaoffun December 2008.
Written from December 17th to December 18th of 2008.
Edited on December 24th, 2008.

This piece was originally released as thirty individual paper airplanes on December 27th, 2008.
An Eclipsed Space (January 11th, 2011)

By Christopher S. Bell
Lyrics by Emmett and Mary

Do it on your airplane
Let’s do it in the rain
Let’s do in the space
Between our dresser and the bed
We’re going out of our heads
We’ve all been misled
To follow the next trend
And to deny that it’s the end
Of the world
We should’ve known better
I shouldn’t have let her go
Under with the rest
Over to the show
With all her friends
With the undertow
With the growing sense
That this is all a test
Of the emergency broadcast system
So say your prayers
And tell your children
That you miss their breathless sighs
While the pilot cries
His wife looks into the eyes
Of his best friend’s boss
The cost of living life
A mile high

The brunch was brief, but nevertheless memorable, Anna Vaughn catching up with the former girlfriend of her dead son without the remedial trend occurring where she would get too stoned, dwell in the past and then end up breaking down at the table; all waiters and waitresses asking the inevitable questions, more so concerned with their subsequent tip rather than the condition of their customer. It was going on eight years since Henry Vaughn’s overdose in East Heights, Vermont, and although both Anna as well as the now married Naomi Farren were permanently shaken up by such an abrupt kick in the side by God, nevertheless, as the familiar cliché went; time seemed to heal all available wounds.

Anna felt alive at the ripe age of fifty-six; the meal shared with Naomi acting as the icing on a cake that she had been taking baby bites from for the past few years. The invitation for Naomi’s wedding to Clearview University math professor, Jude Farren, three years previously was one that Anna couldn’t bare to read; thoughts of the young girl she had known since Henry and Naomi started dating in their senior year of high school, all of sudden moving up and out of the slump; being the kind that were sharp and double-sided. Anna had always secretly wished Naomi would fill the proverbial daughter-in-law void for her, and yet as more and more people considered accidental deaths a normal occurrence in life; so too did Anna finally decide that it was time for a change.

The two matching brown suitcases were packed tightly next to her in the back of the taxicab toting Anna’s fresh outlook to the Bloomer County airport roughly a half-hour outside of East Heights. She had stumbled upon the ticket by pure chance near the end of the holiday season, the East Heights Times and its conglomerate radio station Chill 101.5 sponsoring a sorted giveaway for one lucky caller to win a weeklong, all-expenses-paid trip to lovely Hawaii.

Previously Anna Vaughn had never pegged herself as the type of person who would call in and hope to luck out on any particular foray in chance. Yet for some reason or another, on the 23rd of December, 2010, she felt somehow above it all; as if God and even if her son Henry were looking down upon her; saying to breathe in and hope for the best while waiting for someone to pick up on the other end.

They were right and Anna’s faith was restored in a whole new light as she spent her Christmas anxiously awaiting the new year, before calling off work in that second week of January and leaving behind the cold winter of East Heights, Vermont for some hot fun in the sun. She wasn’t in the least bit sure what the islands were going to be like; stories from various community members all starting to sound the same, and ultimately repeating one clean and concise message that Anna couldn’t filter out of her head even upon her arrival at the airport. She needed to experience the whole kit and caboodle for herself, and it now clearly appeared that not one outstanding element was holding her back from a much-deserved vacation away from it all.

Even the inevitable act of waiting in line behind several bored passengers as bags were viciously checked and put onto swishing black conveyor belts, didn’t manage to break Anna’s frequent smirk as one true blue message washed over her brain every few seconds. After years of living in the same dead-end town, stuck waiting on people she still barely knew, and trying to numb herself to the night before the next long and arduous morning of work, Anna Vaughn was getting away from the dirty dishes, and there was no denying that it felt wonderful.

Such a joyous expression even managed to filter over to some of the other bored passengers on flight 814, which finally took-off out of the Bloomer County airport around 2:30 P.M. There were gaps in the seats; that particular small airplane merely a transport from miniaturized towns to much bigger ones. The real and final flight to Hawaii was scheduled to leave Chicago’s O’Hare at 6:00 P.M.; Anna admitting to herself as well as the skinny twenty-five-year-old insurance salesman, Mark Kyler, sitting a few seats away, that she was nervous about the transfer. He told her there was nothing to worry about, before tilting his seat back and returning to his digital music player.

Anna didn’t think such an act was rude, but rather fixated her eyes out the window at the soft moving clouds that were varying in consistency, color and shape. She was ashamed to admit that she hadn’t been on a plane since her own jilted honeymoon in Palm Beach with temporary husband Raymond Vaughn over thirty years earlier. Thoughts of how time flied then came in and out of focus as Anna dwelled on the brunch conversation with Naomi; neither one necessarily saying everything that they needed to. It was more so a meeting of pure circumstance; Naomi just happening to be in East Heights for her brother DJ’s twenty-fifth birthday party.

The phone had rung early that morning; Anna figuring that wrapping up another highly sentimental aspect of her past before she could fully enjoy the warmth from the hot Hawaiian sun, was a must. Yet, despite both women’s shared sinking souls that continued to solemnly scream Henry’s name, neither one felt obligated to say much of anything about his life or death for that matter. It was almost as if they had grown immune to such a free-floating disease; its infectious scent having previously dwelled in the air around them for the longest of possible intervals.

Life was spacious and grand again, though, as Anna sipped her complimentary bloody Mary, and listened to the different seemingly insignificant sounds around her. There was the loud clicking of Mark Kyler’s jaw as he viciously engulfed the small bag of peanuts, before tapping on his armrests, humming a song Anna didn’t recognize. She then tuned in to her own headset, finding the selections for that particular shortened flight, less than satisfactory. In the end, the conversation between married couple and well-established East Heights Country Club members, Walter and Caroline Mansfield, seemed like the best of temporary solutions; their rapport with one another making Anna realize that there was one substantial thing missing from her life. She hadn’t been in love with anybody since Raymond flew the coop in the mid-eighties.

Slumps in thoughts were an unavoidable problem, yet another cruel sting from the human condition. Anna remembered such a life lesson as it was one of many steps that she had read about in various over-priced books, all of which were somehow supposed to help her not only get over bastards like Raymond Vaughn, but also the pain and anguish he left behind, most specifically with Henry. She had gone through a fair share of problems raising her spaced son, and also helping him find the forward motion of life, and yet Anna Vaughn knew the true irony in her forced push on Henry to move away from their small house on Mineral Drive and reconfigure his engine. Once he was gone, it was another whole universe all together, and the pain and anguish from his absence in her life wasn’t completely subdued until the plane finally landed in Chicago around 5:00 P.M.

Anna grabbed her carry-on with a sigh and followed the other few passengers as they all headed out to the different corners of the crowded airport. It was then a less than familiar waiting game as she quickly ate a double cheeseburger from one of the multiple fast food lines, and sat by her assigned gate, biding her time until the call to board. Possibilities of not only who she would meet in Hawaii as she freely floated around to various tourist attractions, but also who and what everybody was doing in the airport popped in and out of Anna Vaughn’s brain as she tried to place everyone somewhere.

Sights of children annoying their parents, lovers saying goodbye or snuggling up next to each other all struck odd and open-ended chords with the worn woman in her mid-fifties. Anna felt as if she had been watching Hallmark images of life pass her by ever since her own proverbial well dried up. Happiness had existed once, though, and she knew that possibly it wasn’t all over yet, that there had to be more out there, maybe not necessarily in the exaggerated and vivid colors of Hawaii, but somewhere.

Anna’s only problem was that she didn’t know how or where to look for the answers to her own problems; the book that was an intriguing and corrupt bestseller, still sitting in her carry-on having not been opened yet. She purchased it as a Christmas gift to herself, wondering if all the fuss, televised broadcasts, interviews and governmental fears were in the least bit accurate. Was it as simple as signing a piece of paper and starting to live with the words and creativity of other participants, or was there more to it than the average bear could hazily sniff out while shitting, bored in the woods?

Anna was a little too reluctant to browse the pages, and so she simply continued to wait, before boarding flight 111 at ten till six. The weather reports had been false, another expected and daft snowstorm managing to miss Chicago entirely; everyone seeming beyond pleased as they sighed relief and found their assigned seats. Her fingers became tense and idle around the same time the ghastly man a few years younger than Anna sat down next to her, clearing his throat loudly as he impatiently waited for take-off; no introduction or words exchanged between the two of them until roughly an hour in.

Anna Vaughn’s skin started to crawl before such a brash intervention on her life occurred, though, as the man first insulted skinny studio musician, James Mulligan, sitting across the aisle from him. He was discussing his basic routine with a tight little number named Nadine, who faked interest with every word spoken, downing various medications and drinks with every quick passing of the multiple flight attendants. The man named Craig Roseman decided to instantly talk James down in size, explaining that just as teachers were failures for not achieving their real dreams, so too were musicians who didn’t have their own albums. Both James and Nadine simply shrugged off such a drunken comment as they figured the man was simply upset over his own life, which in all truth hadn’t offered an opportunity to stop and smell the roses for a long time.

The rudeness continued to circulate as the skinny blonde flight attendant named Cassidy passed three or four times before Craig finally decided to work his magic on her. A few choice phrases that were meant to be flirtatious, but turned out to be beyond condescending drove her young form up a heated wall as Cassidy tried not to return any of the insults and instead darted towards the front section of the airplane. She then never returned with the third glass of scotch that Craig had insisted be single malt of a first class quality, despite the fact that he was a broken man, riding coach.

This lack of service sent the man over an even steeper edge as he was soon purposely kicking the seats of Victor and Joni Connel in front of him, asking for more room as the happily married couple eventually plugged their ears in and fell asleep on each other’s shoulders. Craig was then soon walking towards the bathroom, bitching about how long he had to wait, before the flight attendant Cassidy exited the small one-unit stall with her former college companion, Roman Laslo. This intended personal scene, sent Craig through the most vicious of loops as he finally returned to his seat and glared at Anna.

However, despite his fickle nature as a passenger and neighbor, the aged waitress refrained from saying anything the whole time, still contented by the view outside her window and the various other conversations that were occurring, specifically the heartfelt ones between Victor and Joni before their well-deserved nap. It was Craig’s infuriated words upon Anna pulling the crisp book out of her carry-on, searching for glossed over bits of information, even if they were exaggerated and gray, that sent the fifty-six-year-old over the proverbial edge of biting her tongue.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” Craig said with a hacking laugh as she opened the paperback book.
“What?” Anna groaned.
“Oh nothing, I just wouldn’t mind knowing what kind of drugs you’re on if you think that book’s going to offer you any kind of answers.”
“I’m not on anything and it’s none of your goddamn business what I read.” Anna spouted back, in a similarly agitated tone.
“You’re right. I just don’t understand why people think that this guy knows what he’s talking about. I mean, he’s a fucking whack job cult leader who hasn’t done anything, but feed his followers drugs and bullshit ideals.”
“This isn’t a lecture. I just wanted to see what this was all about, so leave me alone.” Anna was softer the second time, hoping her motherly tone would help Craig settle back into his seat. She then hated herself for how much such an attempt failed.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t understand how everyone can be so gullible and pathetic. I mean, they buy into his book and fund this asshole’s fucked-up way of life without a second thought. I mean, what do you call that?”
“I don’t know, and who cares? I can do whatever the fuck I want. It doesn’t concern you. In fact, none of these people’s lives concern you. You’re obviously completely alone and having problems dealing with it, so you’re cutting me down to size or whatever, but I don’t care what you say because I think you’re an awful human being.”
“You don’t even know me.” Craig replied, almost offended.
“I don’t need to. I know what people are like and you’re the worst kind of personality.”
“Are you trying to analyze me or something? Like you took one psychology class in college and all of a sudden you’re the perfect judge of character.”
“You could ask anybody else you’ve interrupted on this flight and they’d tell you the exact same thing. It’s not just me, it’s everyone.” Anna felt her heart pounding as the shear rush of telling this perfectly rude stranger off, hit her in angelic waves.
“Well what about you? You’re alone. Nobody’s with you right now.”
“You’re right. I’m not with anybody, but at the same time, you don’t see me projecting my insecurities out on everyone who just happens to be in the same vicinity.
“I’m not insecure about anything. I just know how the world works, and I’m trying to offer everyone the same point of view on things.”
“Well then why don’t you shut the fuck up and write a fucking book about it?” Anna scowled, before burying her head back in the first few pages.
Craig didn’t reply, but rather sat speechless for a couple of minutes and then turned to Anna with a remorseful expression. “I hate that you’re right.” He said, solemnly.
“So do I.” Anna replied, dully.

There was then a moment between the two that could have very well been stretched out longer than either one expected, had the abrupt jolt not occurred in the plane. It was fast and frightful, striking the right side of the airliner without any concern for the passenger’s wellbeing. It was like a rubber band flung across the classroom at some unsuspecting bookworm; a flick to the back of the neck that was utterly uncalled for, and yet nevertheless shared not only by the passengers of flight 111 from Chicago to Hawaii, but also around the entire world. The papers had been signed, phone calls made, shiny red buttons behind Plexiglas pressed with repeated sighs of “God help us all.” It was the beginning of the end, and no one was expecting their free ride to be cut so short.

The plane leapt up from the first stray blast having hit the ground around Oklahoma and vaporizing all those within that particular bubble. Blips and warning beeps started pouring through the radio as the pilot began to talk and coordinate precautionary steps that he hoped would never fully surface when he initially took on such a job twenty years earlier. He then started to cry, following announcements to the seemingly frightened passenger’s over the loudspeaker. “I’m not exactly sure how to say this, but it appears as if this is it. This really is the end.” The pilot then started thinking about his cheating slut of a wife as he tried his best to keep the plane in the air, despite the obvious damage to its outside frame, before he nervously crawled into a ball by the controls and started mumbling prayers he had forgotten from grade school.

The co-pilot then felt it was his obligation to take over and hope for some kind of divine miracle; the sweat on his hands and face beginning to make him woozy upon looking down at the stains instead of the bright lights forming in various places around the sky. He thought they were strangely beautiful despite the inevitable consequences of such random illuminations, supposedly happening everywhere. It then didn’t take much longer for him to completely lose his sense of composure, gigantic tears forming in his eyes before free-floating in the air around
his bald head. It was going to be longest of possible descents back to earth.

First class was an erupting zone of agitated and maniacally hysterical bodies, all attempting to say their last good-byes to those that they had either completely written out of their lives or that were reliably and unfortunately occupying the seat right next to them. Cellphones and communication devices attached to the back of the airline seats were being viciously pulled from their slots; airsick men and women trying as hard they could to remember their four-digit ATM codes in order to say one final farewell before all the pieces exploded up back into their bodies and then lied dormant in the cold desert sand.

Screams echoed before being strategically hushed by the corroding sound of oxygen masks bouncing off of in-flight magazines getting ripped apart by the shear force of the airliner attempting to stay steady after every subsequent explosion in the sky. The individual compartments were bending and snapping off as all scientists and testers had predicted they would. Seats were being pulled out of the ground; bags viciously opened by strangers as they searched for anything to subdue their intensifying fears which continued to leap out of their stomachs.
Vomit bags were filled with the remains of chicken and fish, alcoholic beverages and dinner carts rolling around on the floor or shattering on the ceiling with the right jolts. Lights dimmed or burned out completely, children crawling next to their mothers and fathers; searching for the warmth of a womb that could no longer sustain them. Windows began to crack under the pressure, sucking all elements out of them without much concern for comfort. All the checks and pluses were well tested and yet nevertheless completely useless when the end of all things managed to viciously spark out of nowhere; the inevitable domino effect releasing collages of images in every single passenger on flight 111’s heads.

There were luscious dreams of what had happened and what they would inevitably be missing out on despite the fact that every human being, whether they managed to survive or not, would soon have to adapt in ways that their often cushy lives weren’t necessarily used to. Such realizations struck former college friends and recent revitalized lovers Roman Laslo and Cassidy Brooks in a heightened fashion; both managing to find one another the second the bad news just happened to register in both their brains.

He breathed dust in the middle of the first class aisle, ignoring all the outside elements and instead freezing in place as she skidded over towards him; Cassidy’s skinny arms grabbing onto Roman’s back harder and tighter than either one had experienced before. “This isn’t happening.” She said, closing her eyes and pushing her head into his chest.

“It is, beautiful.” Roman replied, putting his hands on her soft cheeks and soon pushing his mouth into her own for a single perfect moment, before the window closest to them shattered; shards of thick glass striking both in their necks and sides; the force soon sucking them out into the cloudy smoke and ash that was only getting larger by the second. Although no one saw or would find either Roman or Cassidy again, bored and looking for answers that the false sincerity of a higher education and life in general didn’t quite offer; nevertheless as both took their final gasps and accepted their fates, they couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of joy before the free fall. Whether it was coincidence or pure and shameless circumstance, the two had come back together before the final curtain call, and that was something special.

Stretching farther back into the plane; the sorely disappointed passengers in coach were all going through similar motions with less space to freely freak out and say their final words to each other. Nadine Ryan instantly pulled James Mulligan into a warm and clammy embrace; a quick and forward motion of unzipping and insertion taking place right around the same time every lopsided tourist accepted the truth. She then started to fuck him without much concern for any of the other seemingly slow-motion portions of the plane; every one seeming insignificant when compared to the pure pleasure that went hand and hand with an orgasm shared between two perfect strangers. They were both fully flushed; screaming out obscenities interspersed with sweet nothings before the last section of the right wing cracked under the air pressure and took both Nadine and James to a sensible and passionless grave.

Husband and wife Victor and Joni Connel considered participating in a similar act of fornication upon first sight, but instead decided to calmly and coolly grab each other, ducking down and dealing with the overwhelming task of summing up over twenty-five years of marriage in one swift motion. Victor began, swallowing a large gulp of sweat and looking into his wife’s eyes, smiling as the expected tears flowed seamlessly.

“I’m sorry I had to be an asshole and schedule without asking you first.” He said, his heart close to coming out of his chest as various other passengers went into shock and convulsions on the vomit-stained carpet in the middle of the aisle.
“It’s okay. You’ve always been excellent at surprising me.” Joni replied, various liquids pouring out of her face.
“So, I couldn’t be happier to be with anyone else right now.”
“Me too, hon.”

Both then ignored the others and waited patiently, each flicker and free-floating wave of diminished gravity far from pulling either of them apart. They hadn’t expected such a terrible thing to occur, and yet nevertheless knew how to handle it the second the pilot muffled his word over the loud speakers. It was going to be a dark and insidious descent, but for some reason or another, they were okay with that. It was what Victor and Joni had learned to grow into, despite the fact that they would no longer have to bite their tongues for the other one’s sake. They were the book definition of a marriage until the sweet sour end.

Sister and brother Paige and Paul Pitman as well as this cousin Quinn all rushed towards the back of the plane following the pilot’s announcement. The three didn’t say anything but the necessary, as they searched for any kind of temporary solution, which would hopefully sustain them longer than necessary. What they ended up with was an overabundance of white airline pillows and blue blankets; the three burying themselves in the cellophane wrapped pieces and pretending like they were all young and alone again, patiently awaiting the dinner bell in their own private little forts. It wasn’t logical or even normal anymore, but rather what they needed to do, following far too many broken or open-ended incidents in their often distant, albeit related lives.

Craig Roseman sat petrified for longer than he thought possible; breathing in polished oxygen and looking around for answers to existences, despite the fact that no one was offering him any. He tried to remember all the prayers learned from the first eighteen years of his life where church on Sunday was a necessity, only to regrettably find that he couldn’t recall any of the words. He then unhooked his mask and starts to push his way around the fellow unleveled passengers, screaming out for the warmth of another human being, and finding that more or less everybody was thinking and acting as he had even before hearing the news.
They were self-sustaining units and all Craig could think of such a selfish display of affection was that all the time he spent jumping around from rock to rock had finally gotten him to where he was right then and there. He stood anxiously awaiting his own demise in the middle of the aisle, looking around at what felt like justice had he any sense of its cruel and unusual pull. Fairness was diluted and so was love. There was only the understated illusion of death on his plate, and he hated how unattractive it was.

Then he heard Anna Vaughn’s soft voice, an octave higher than all the other noises. Quickly Craig turned to find the surprisingly calm woman sitting Indian-style on the stained blue carpet, various required baggage simply passing her by as she repeated the same phrase over and over again, not necessarily for herself, but rather for the general collective of the plane; their lack of participation not necessarily making her cranky or disappointed about the clear and visible weight of things to come.

“Death by non art thou understood. Death by non art, Henry Vaughn.” She continued to say it over and over again; until Craig got down on his knees, arms folded in prayer, starring at the complexities in her face and mellow head, trying as hard as he could to understand what exactly everything meant.
Eventually, he just decided to repeat the message as did others seconds before the entire plane bursts into flames and was ripped into a million pieces; fireworks for blinded eyes that wouldn’t ever completely understand what such bright lights meant as they fell from the sky. A few would later say that the shear sight was breathtaking; like an eclipse or some other understated show that was completely out of this world. Anna didn’t bother to think about what the others would say, though. She was simply contented by the fact that in her final moments, other people were listening.