Caffeine for the Soul

Butterfly Effect

I hear everything, but only see an inky black. The amorphous form floating in that void beckons for me to reach out and grasp it.

Wanting to move, I can't. I'm restrained and yet I sense nothing is binding me. I try to turn my head left and right to ascertain my surroundings, but it's pointless. My brain is instructing the muscles in my neck to exercise, to swivel, but the message never reaches me. There is a gap in the communication between mind and body, and I don't like it.

Footsteps, mumbling voices, and the distant sound of cars passing on a street. Although muddled, my sense of hearing is working fine, but sight continues to fail me. I sense my chest moving up and down. It's a sign I am, in fact, alive.

Even though I cannot see the world around me, a movie begins to play on the back of my eyelids. I wish I could grab a a piece of paper and jot down what I feel. This would make an incredible story. I'd usually chalk it up to laziness. I'll remember it later and write it down. This time is different. I need to record these thoughts and capture these images, desperately. But, I can't. That gap in the conversation between brain and body affects the muscles in my arms, hands, and fingers just like it's affecting my head.

I sense movement, as if I'm becoming a puppet in a movie, my strings being tugged to play out my part. I dance around the set, unrelated objects passing by me. Everything is so surreal—a notebook, a paper airplane, an acoustic guitar—they must mean something, but what?

And then, I feel the fluttering wings of a butterfly alight on my nose. My real nose, not my puppet one. And light filters back into my consciousness. Once consumed by darkness, the room becomes an expansive space filled with daylight.

The surrounding voices become audible. A sense of clarity and understanding washes over me. "You're okay, sir. Please stay calm. Everything will be all right." A glint of sunlight reflects off his name tag. Joseph. The paramedics are stabilizing me, strapping me to a board. Unable to move anything below my neck, the most important part of me is awakening and in full motion.

I swivel my head and see the mangled twist of metal that used to be my car. And I realize in that moment, there is so much more to do. I gaze beyond the wreckage to catch a fleeting glimpse of what looks like a butterfly disappearing from view.

I whisper to it in the faintest voice possible, thank you.