ICE STATION ZEBRA
It is January, and I wake up to see my garden covered in snow. Icicles have formed overnight, and several are hanging from the potting shed. All different lengths, and when the sun hits them at just the right angle, they shimmer like crystal. One in particular gets my attention and has almost a magnetic pull to it. Fascinated, I begin to look inside, penetrating the walls with deep focus and concentration. When the picture opens up for me, I can see what clearly looks like a central command station or lab of some kind. I am no longer in my garden but in a location that feels more like Antarctica or Patagonia.
There are three men inside the station, two facing a computer screen and one with his back turned to me so I cannot see what he is doing. The two that I can see are examining a street map of some kind. They are both zooming in very closely on a house in a neighborhood that looks similar to mine, and I am soon horrified to discover that the property they are looking at is my own. Also, they are using technology I have never seen before, and although they look human from a distance, their movements are not natural and their eyes too controlled. When I begin to study them, my attention goes first to the eyes of the man on the left and I realize almost immediately that his left eye is quite different from his right. One is large and round while the other is half closed and partially slanted. Each looks like they belong to a different person entirely and neither look right on him.
I then examine the other man and see that he also has non-matching eyes. As I pull back and look at him from further away, I see his body is almost divided in half. Part Howard Hughes, part Charlie Chaplin. A very intense look on his face, and he is leaning in toward the screen staring at something he has spotted. I cannot tell what it is at first but suddenly I notice what looks like the robe I was wearing earlier and had left on my bed. As soon as I recognize it, I realize he is watching my bedroom on his screen. Mortified, I quickly look over at the screen of the one to his left and am even more disturbed. It is a split screen open to both my kitchen and my bathroom. But I am not in either room. I am standing in my living room still staring at the icicle.
Not able to see what the third man is doing, I grow sick inside and begin to panic because now I have the dreaded proof I have suspected for a long time. I am being watched. But where are the cameras, and do I let them see what I am figuring out? For a second I hesitate, unsure of what I should do next. Then I slowly walk over to the couch, sit down and turn on the television. As I pretend to be engrossed in the program, I occasionally glance around the room trying to find the cameras. After a few minutes of finding nothing but a few cobwebs, I get up and head to the kitchen to get a cup of tea. While waiting for it to brew, I casually look around this room also inspecting high corners and any other suspect places. Frustration again when nothing is detected to validate or confirm my worst fears.
I return to the living room with my cup of tea and glance out the window once more. There are still several icicles to look at so I pick one again and concentrate very hard. Within seconds I am back in the same command station … but now I can only see the man whose back was turned to me earlier. He is also a strange mis-match with two distinct profiles. One that looks like Napoleon Bonaparte, and one that looks like King Richard III. When I divert my attention to his screen, all I can see is my own image staring back at me.
Copyright © 2015 (Michelle Parsons, Getting Back on Your Path). All Rights Reserved.
