A Voyage To Clarityland

My bear still smells like clothing detergent.

The passports we made for our imaginary friends have grown yellow and tattered; the blotted ink with their squiggled names still holding onto childlike imagination at its peak.

Buzz Lightyear’s colours still look a little washed out and Gumby is a prime example of what happens to bendable PVC rubber when it ages. Yet, even they sit proudly, against the cupboard wall, in almost a silent dignity of their years of service to me.

At the corner of my room lies an old Thermocol DIY ship, that has seen more voyages than many of our country’s best naval ships. Toothpicks still hold together the makeshift sails, and the permanent ink on the side proudly boasts the little squiggles that make up the name of the vessel.

And Red still smells like clothing detergent.

I walked into an old room in my mind today, one that hurts every time I enter it.

It’s my old bedroom; a.k.a. my childhood creative sanctuary and safe place.

Its real-life counterpart has now been fashioned into a modern bedroom by the house’s new owner, but I stole a piece of it when they took our house. Not a big piece, but just one room.

Can you call me a thief if I stole a little room? ‘My’ old’ little room? Would you call me devious if I told you that I didn’t want to return it?

I won’t return it. It holds my joy, my youthful hope, long after the trials of adulthood came after it.

Each time I open the door, I see a smaller version of me, sitting in a cardboard spaceship; too big and old to be playing in one, but that’s merely a grump’s gripe.

One day, when I had grown tired of life again, I entered this room, closed the door behind me and gently tried to fit in behind a younger me, sitting in the box. He asked me for a payment, so I handed him Monopoly money; a fair trade for the use of a good man’s transport.

He licks out, glances at it and throws it away; as if the payment was completed at the handover, rather than its deposit; but who am I to argue with his banking system? I barely have my finances sorted out in reality. Perhaps true joy might be found in licking one’s paycheck and throwing it out the window.

He turned his head rather demandingly and asked me where I wished to go. I didn’t answer.

Seeming rather irritated by my lack of clarity, he turns around 360* to face me, which was possibly a grave mistake given how the box was too small for either of us anyways; sending us both tumbling to the side as the box tipped over.

Made-up curses were exchanged, more money was handed over, licked and thrown away to cover the damages, and the box (ship) was erected straight once again. Suggesting that we orient our positions more efficiently, we proceeded to find a compromise as we once again boarded this vessel of his.

This time, I was quicker to answer when he asked again where I wanted to go. “Clarity” I said. I wished to go to clarity.

He burst into laughter and proceeded to pick his nose.

After both endeavours were fruitfully completed, he asked for a real place to go to.

“Clarityland,” I said. He smiled and said he knew exactly where it was.

Proceeding to imitate startup car noises, as most spaceships usually do, we soon began our journey at a steady pace to my destination.

“So how’s your day been?” he asked curiously, after sneaking a peek back at my dishevelled beard and uncombed hair.

“Tough. Quite tough” I replied, heaving a weary sigh.

“Ahhhh, I understand” replied the wee lad, which I did not doubt.

“Does it help if I play music?” he asked with a glimmer of hope.

“I suppose. What kind of music do you have, my good man?” I asked him.

“All kinds!” he replied in excitement, as he whipped out my old tape recorder and handed it to me excitedly.

As instructed, I pressed the button and held the dead recorder next to my ear. I did not need to ask him where the music was. I already knew his answer. The best kind of music is the kind that we hear when we need it. And right now, Clair De Lune by Claude Debussy graced the silence of the ship.

We flew in silence for a while, with only the sounds of music in our minds.

“Do you have a car?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Wow,” he gasped.

Silence ensued for a while.

“Is it fast?” he asked.

“Only if I make it go fast” I responded.

“Why don’t you just floor it all the time and steer well” he asked questioningly.

“Well because I don’t want to run over anyone” I answered.

It seemed that my response caught him by surprise and he instinctively slowed down the ship a little bit, to contribute in some way to the protection of the society. I must remember to tip him for such a kind gesture.

Silence once again graced our ride, as he hummed the theme song to an old show that I used to be obsessed with, which was rudely interrupted after a few moments when he loudly announced that he would like to use the loo. Promising me he would be back soon, he leapt out of the spaceship into the depths of space, presumably to look for the nearest urinal establishment.

As I sat there, alone in his ship, I looked at his bare setup. His steering wheel consisted of an old Frisbee, his throttle an old, damaged flight simulator joystick, and his navigation display a series of sketches on the cardboard dashboard. I began to marvel at how little was required to make me happy in my youth, as I heard a door being shut and running feet as my driver leaped back into the box.

As we journeyed again in some length of silence, I began to feel heavy on the inside; a familiar forewarning of an incoming breakdown. Struggling to keep the windows of my eyes from exposing the condition of my soul, I leaned on his back and closed my eyes, hoping that he would not shake me off, as I remembered that he did not like being touched.

But he remained there, as still as a man with a sleeping cat on his lap. Perhaps it was how kind he was not to shake me off or the feel of his little beating heart that moved me, and I ended up gently wrapping my hands around him in a closed hug and staying there.

He did not turn around to push me away, nor did he turn back to face my face which was now streaming with tears. He just reached into his supply tub in front of him, took out our favourite bear and placed it into my hands in front of him.

Red still smelled like clothing detergent.

After a few minutes had passed, I felt my heart rate slow down as a wave of peace washed over me. Turning around he glanced at my shirt now damp with any tears, and excused himself as he stepped out of the ship into space, yet again.

Maybe I scared him off. I should have been more careful.

But he came back in a while holding one of my dad’s neatly folded shirts and asked me to take off my shirt so I could wear this. I told him I would rather not, but since he threatened to eject me from the ship, and since I was desperately eager to reach Clarityland, I quietly obeyed his request.

As I took off my shirt, I heard his little gasp as he caught sight of my many scars, which made him go quiet. But this was not his fight to bear. At least not yet. So I thanked him for the shirt and quickly put it on. He commented on how I looked a lot like Dad and got back in the ship, as we journeyed on.

“Do you have many friends?” he asked.

“Yes, we do, I mean... I do” I replied quickly, earning an arched eyebrow at my direction as a reward.

“Okay,” he replied.

“Do they like Speedracer?” he asked again.

“No, I don’t think they do. But I love it!” I responded earnestly.

“Which part?” he asked suspiciously.

“All of it. Mach 6 is still my favourite all-time race car” I responded in excitement.

“Ohh. I liked Mach 5 better” he responded, sounding disappointed.

“Ohh, Mach 5 is still super awesome!” I replied hopefully.

No response. Nobody likes a suck-up.

“Are we near the destination?” I asked, trying to restart our conversation.

“No,” he replied, sounding a little tired.

“Do you want to rest?” I asked him.

“Yes please” he replied and gently lay in my lap, as he struggled to stay awake.

I know the end of a journey if I ever saw one. Slowly getting up with him in my arms, I walked over to his bed and lay him down next to Red. Before getting it up, I gently leaned down and sniffed Red one more time.

Still smells like clothing detergent.

Getting up, I walked over to his ship and examined it. I must remember to bring him some more tape the next time I am here. He’s getting bigger and that box isn’t growing.

As I walked over the curtains and drew them close, I looked over at him lying down on his bed, fast asleep, and I envied him. I wish I could rest too. I wish the rent, my debt, my job and my worries would also go away into insignificance each time I closed my eyes.

I walked over to the door, taking one last look at the room and its sleeping inhabitant.

I may not have reached Clarityland, but I know what to do next. I am going to rest.

And perhaps, that was all the journey was ever about, maybe it’s best part.