The earth was still trying to rub the sleep from its eyes when little Christopher hopped out of bed on that early Saturday morning. Most days, this wouldn’t surprise the excitable eight-year-old boy, who always woke before everyone else did, eager to begin the new day. Today of all days though was the first day of his Thanksgiving break, and he was surrounded by cousins and distant family members of the same age, who should have been just as excited as he was. They were all staying at their grandparent’s house up in the mountains for the holidays. Most of the families had gotten in late last night after Christopher had already gone to bed, which would explain why they desired to sleep a little later. This simply wouldn’t do for young Christopher though, and for a moment, he considered dashing into his cousins’ room and jump up and down on their beds like a violent, brash alarm clock. Then he remembered the last year when he had done this and how he had gotten a stern lecture from his mother about being considerate to others and was subjected to sitting in time out for an eternity.
He decided to resist his impulses this year.
Christopher wandered out of his guest room and into the hallway. The polished wooden floors were chilly against Christopher’s bare feet. He ran back into the room and put on his socks. He took advantage of sleeping adults and slid down the hallway in his socks, an adventure usually denied from him. He wandered into the vast, open living area of his grandparents’ giant wooden cabin, looking up at the ceiling that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the sky, reminding Christopher of a cathedral he had visited once on a school field trip.
When it wasn’t filled with the chatter of noisy grown-ups and the intoxicating smell of his grandmother’s pastries, the living room felt hollow, like a historical building put on display. The lonely atmosphere began to eat at Christopher, making him feel like the last boy in the world, something that he (a very social and talkative child) had absolutely no intention of being. He scurried across the living room carpet to a long, white and green checkered couch that sat next to the fireplace. Christopher curled up on the couch and wrapped his arms around his legs, locking them in place with his hands.
The young boy’s eyes slowly scanned the room, taking everything in, searching for something to pass the time, like a book, or one of his cousins’ new action figures that they’d dropped by mistake. He kept scanning the room until he came face to face with himself. A photograph of himself, that is. Christopher was sitting next to the couch’s end table, which had resting upon its surface a framed photograph of Christopher that had been taken a year earlier. He cringed at the sight of it. The photograph stared at him with the impatient eyes and cutesy smile of a child forced to a photography studio in a mall. The photographed child wore a big, goofy cowboy hat as red as his great aunt’s glossy wet lipstick, a light blue button-up shirt, khaki pants, and adorable cowboy boots with plastic spurs on the heels.
The horse that the child sat upon was made entirely out of lustrous wood. Tufts of wooly hair spurted out of the back of the horse’s neck. Its eyes were made out of giant, glassy marbles while its hooves had been turned into two curved planks in order to make the horse rock back and forth. Christopher remembered the day that the photograph was taken. He had been told by the angry looking photographer to stop rocking in the horse for the last time and look into the camera. Christopher didn’t understand why they would put him on a rocking horse, and then expect him not to rock back and forth. It was like putting a mouse next to a piece of cheese and demanding that he keep his dirty paws off of it.
Christopher leaned up against the arm of the couch and stared with utter fascination at his picture. He wondered to himself what it must be like to be a photograph. Did they just sit there all day? What did they do if they had to pee? Did they ever get lonely? Maybe when no one was looking, they snuck off to grab a bite to eat. Christopher began to wonder if perhaps while everyone slept at night, photos and portraits on the wall finally stretched their backs and began to socialize with each other. He had thought he heard faint voices in the living room last night, but he couldn’t be quite sure. He wondered if his waking up so early had surprised the photographs and they all had to rush to get back into position when he slid into the room. Hopefully they weren’t mad at him.
As Christopher continued to stare at the picture of him in imaginative wonder, he felt his eyelids slowly growing magnetic. There was nothing he could do to stop his eyelids sealing shut, apparently he was much more tired than he thought he was. The boy had almost drifted completely back into the land of sleep when something small yet drastic caught his attention. His eyes shot open like automatic doors on a sugar rush. There was absolutely no way that Christopher had just seen what he did. It must have been a trick of the light, or perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him hoping it might make him want to return to sleep. He peered closer at the picture and tried his hardest not to blink. His eyes were watering furiously when finally, it happened again. The boy in the picture rocked back and forth on the horse.
It was a subtle movement, nothing too drastic, but it was enough to get Christopher’s attention. He let himself blink and then returned to staring at the picture. It happened again! This time it was much more obvious. The boy slowly rocked forward, and then let the momentum push him backward. The entire time the boy’s expression remained motionless. This was too much excitement for one little boy to take in all at once. He jumped up and down on the couch, then with one pent up burst of energy, he flew across the living room and into the hallway toward his cousins’ room. Christopher was willing to go into time out for a million years just for this.
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The young boy snapped out of his daydream, in which the horse he was sitting on actually had legs and was romping through a sunny field. He looked around to see if his environment had changed at all. No. He was still stuck in this marble room, glued to a rocking horse, expression frozen in time. This is all he had known his entire life, sitting on a horse in a small empty room. He couldn’t even remember being born, just becoming aware of his surroundings. He’d been sitting in that position for so long that he’d lost any sense of time. The only bright spot in the room was a tiny window near the ceiling that looked out into a room filled with furniture. Sometimes he could see shadows moving around the room. He’d try to call out to them, but then realized he lacked the ability to call out at all.
He looked up toward the window again. It was the same old room; nothing had changed. All of a sudden, an unfamiliar shape filled up the window. The boy looked closer and realized that it was his own face looking down at him. A geyser of sheer excitement and confusion came over the boy.
“How is this possible? How can I be looking up at a bigger version of myself?”
“Who cares? Obviously he can move! Perhaps he can help us!”
“How will he know to help?”
The boy had to admit, that question had him stumped. How could he get this big mirror image to help him? He couldn’t shout for help, that was obvious, and he was completely rooted to the rocking horse.
“Perhaps I can try the rocking horse.” He thought to himself.
He’d tried to rock back and forth before simply out of boredom and his efforts had ended up fruitless, but he was desperate now and would be willing to try anything again. He pushed with all of his might against the horse, and leaned back as far as he could. He repeated the motion. At first, his body was completely stiff, unable to move, but the more he tried, his body began to loosen up. Before he knew it, he was slightly rocking back and forth. He excitedly looked up into the eyes of his giant clone. The clone looked speechless, jaw hanging open in total surprise. Help seemed imminent. He could almost taste escape. The giant turned and ran away from the mirror.
“No! Come back!” the boy thought loudly in his head. He tried to calm himself down by saying that the giant had probably only gone to get more help, but after a long wait, he began to lose hope. Much later, the boy did come back, bringing back more giants with sleepy, annoyed expressions painted across their faces. The boy pointed into the window in exasperation, yet couldn’t ignite the same fire in his cohorts’ eyes. Eventually they waved him off and walked away. The giant face looked back into the window, disappointment streaking down his face. The boy thought maybe he could rock back and forth again to inspire his doppelganger, yet it hardly seemed worth it. Perhaps he’d try again some other day, but for now, he would continue waiting. He knew that someday, a figure from beyond the window would notice him. It had to happen. One day, hopefully soon, the boy stuck to the wooden horse would find a way of escape.
...Why are you so brilliant?
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