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 Portland State University

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 People walk briskly down the street on their way to work. Their office building is seven blocks away from their house. Each step they take moves them one step's distance forward. But then, for no reason, their world squishes together. Everything in their world is crammed into a tiny, skinny space. In fact, the world these people live in becomes a pancake.
   The businessman who was hurrying to work now finds that his surroundings have rushed up to him. The tree that was 20 feet away is now within arms reach. The mailbox that was 10 feet away is now pressed firmly against his side. In fact, things have been squished in so close to him that he is unable to take another step. He stands impatiently, tapping his foot. Sometimes he finds that his foot is so crowded it cannot be moved. This situation of random compression lasts seconds. Or perhaps minutes. Or even hours. To the businessman, the length does not matter. Any length of time means that he will most certainly be late for his meeting. He waits, waits, waits some more. Finally, space resets itself, and all the objects which had rushed toward him now rush back to their correct places.
   The poor, unfortunate claustrophobics cannot stand the new proximity of bicycles, newspaper stands, and lampposts. They find themselves nearly entangled in their surroundings, which until then, had so graciously maintained their distance. The sudden crowding throws them into a state of panic. They shout and attempt to throw up their hands, only to realize that their arms are pinned to their sides because of a bicycle. Or a newspaper stand. Or a lamppost. Their wails of fear and frustration can be heard in any city in this world. Left with no possibility for escape, many simply faint. Their body falls clumsily upon a nearby object. After space returns to normal, the claustrophobic will awaken to find himself draped over that object, several feet or blocks from where he fainted. He was carried along with the object when space stretched out again.
   There are some people to whom this rubber-band movement of space does not matter. They do not tap their foot impatiently because they have nowhere more important to be. Instead, they take this time to think about the world. What they will buy when they get to the grocery store. The movie they watched on tv last night. The last time space contracted. They seem to remember that they were strolling through the rose garden last time. The bushes rushed up to them quickly, but it was no matter. The thorns did not prick them or tear their clothing. In fact, no matter how close things get, no one is ever hurt by the out-of-place objects. The people who do not mind waiting for space to sort itself out think these thoughts, but they do not worry about them. If they can move their arm, they drink their coffee. If they can move their head, they watch the clouds in the sky. They know that space is what you make of it. And they have learned not to make it a big deal.

 

© Copyright 2000 Kris Laubacher

All rights reserved. For permission to reproduce please contact Jack C. Straton, University Studies, Portland State University, Portland, OR, 97210-0751, straton@pdx.edu.

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