Climbing On by Jessica Kahn (Issue 1, 2019)

Climbing On

by Jessica Kahn

2019, Issue 1

She tumbles upwards, unknowingly drawn to the sun. It’s unsurprising that she doesn’t register her cells stretching and compressing to push her closer to the light. She doesn’t register anything. She climbs her entire home, getting imperceptibly closer to the sun each day. One day, she will reach the top of the roof, but it will not matter to her. She’ll grow stronger, and stretch higher. Her goals, although entirely centered around her wellbeing are not selfish in the traditional sense. Working only for herself, she strives to survive, but not at the expense of others. She isn’t certain that there are others to survive at the expense of, but if there were, she would not strive to compete with them. That would be distinctly out of character. No, she has always craved stability through balance. She competes only with herself. And so she tumbles upwards, day after day, lusting after the sun.

She shines brightly in the glistening light, using only the sense of it to continue her winding journey to the source. Since she began, she’s grown strong and resilient. Climbing has made her large, but stable. She twists and turns, familiarizing herself with every space in her home, becoming ever more sure of her objective. Her beauty, although abundant, is not her primary concern. She does not have a primary concern, but if she did, that would most certainly not be it. She does not put effort into being beautiful, although there are those that do. She does not think any less of them because of it. She does not think of them. They do not think of her, either. She has never thought of anyone else, and nobody has thought of her in quite a long time. She directs all of her effort into her own growth, her own goals.

She never speaks. She has never tried to, and never will. If she did, which is exceedingly unlikely, there would be no way to know. Nobody checks in on her, and she does not miss them. She fares well on her own. She rolls down hallways and inches up stairs, gracefully moving closer to the sun. She has tried to use windows as a shortcut, but lacked the strength to open them. Because she could not use the windows to move closer to the sun, she used them to pretend. Pressing herself to the glass, she feels light bathing her for hours at a time. She uses a great deal of energy bumbling around the south side of her home, reaching for windows to hold. Because of their shape, windows are difficult to cling to so she has a specific method she must use. To approach the windows, she grasps onto the exposed brick close to the window frames, working her way up and around, and eventually over the windows themselves. Then, with unimaginable elegance, she allows herself to fall in front of the window, eventually landing on the windowsill. It’s an intense process, and it consumes a great deal of time and energy, but it’s well worth the effort. Draping herself in front of a window, she is able to bathe in sunshine, and able to be satisfied. Unfortunately, she can only rest until the compulsion to carry on with her growth overcomes her once again. After a certain amount of time in front of any one window, she eventually falls out of the light and onto the floor. Lying in the shadow of her past achievement, she once again sets out to find a place of limitless sun, where she can glide along, and never encounter a shadow.

Her home, although old, protects her from violent storms, so she has never left. She is not yet strong enough. Her home is tall, and it once sheltered many like her, as well as many that were not like her. These creatures interacted frequently, and all of their interactions looked the same. They considered themselves a community, but really they all just shared her home. The creatures each inhabited different parts of her home, spending most of their days in only a few rooms that they each considered their own. She was the same way once, because she was not yet large. There was a time when she would not have left the room she spent her time in, because it did not make sense for her to do so. As she became larger, though, she began spending time in her room and the hallway, then her room and the hallway and the staircase, then her room and the hallway and the staircase and the other creatures rooms. She never visited the elevators, as they were too dark to be comfortable. The old creatures used to bask in the light, but only for short periods of time. They made a hobby of it. Unlike them, she uses the sun to propel herself. She’s never once questioned the importance of sunbeams bursting through windows, nor closed the shades in an effort to limit the light. She treats the sun as her sole reason to exist, and spends each moment trying to move closer.

She doesn’t think about the old creatures and they don’t think about her. Although one of them brought her to her home when she was young, and nurtured her for years, she does not have the capacity to feel grateful. Her Caretaker is not offended by her lack of gratitude, and never was. There was an understanding between her and Caretaker. Her sole responsibilities are and have always been to grow and seek light. She has never failed to do what was expected of her, and although nobody expects anything of her anymore, she continues. She’s outgrown the space that Caretaker gave to her, and it wasn’t ideal to begin with. She does not resent Caretaker for raising her so far from the sunlight she seeks. They had an understanding. Caretaker’s role was to facilitate her journey and prevent her death. Placing her in direct sunlight was never one of Caretaker’s responsibilities.

Caretaker gave her the gift of life, and when she was complimented, her admirers spoke to Caretaker. She did not mind, though, and Caretaker appreciated the praise. Almost every creature in her home was a caretaker of some kind or another, and sometimes they would bring together the objects of their attention to interact. These interactions were usually short and had little meaning, but the caretakers thought them extremely important. Now, the creatures, and those like her, had all left. She was the only remaining inhabitant of her home, which is what makes it hers. None of the old creatures claim ownership of her home or any of the rooms inside anymore, and if they did she would not care. It is likely, though, that Caretaker would limit how far out of her room she could search for sunshine, but she would not mind that much either.

Reaching out to the light, she lifts her thin fingers skyward. She moves with a languid motion, gracefully and accidentally splaying her arms open, haphazardly leaning into the sun. Her fingers blend seamlessly into her arms, which blend equally as well into the rest of her. Her fluidity of motion depends heavily on the blurred lines between her appendages; she does not appear to have hands, or a torso to speak of, perhaps because of her constant upwards stretch. Every part of her branches out and up in a beautiful, steady extension of the self. Her movements have no sense of urgency about them, as she does not care when she reaches the light, only that she gets closer to the source. She does not understand that she will never reach the sun itself, but if she did she would not care. She would only want to move towards it consistently.

She breathes deeply, taking in the air around her and sending it out, slightly changed. The old creatures used to breathe too. Caretaker sometimes worried that she did not breathe as deeply as she was supposed to, but these fears were baseless. When she was young, an expert reviewed her to put Caretaker’s mind at ease. Caretaker continued to worry, but was less open about it, sometimes performing her own examinations, just to be certain. In fairness, Caretaker was right to check on her breathing; after all, anything that does not breathe will cease to live. Caretaker worked tirelessly to ensure that she would breathe easily and well, taking in a great deal of air, frequently, and sending it out, slightly changed. Caretaker wanted what would be best for her, but was selfish. Her survival was what would be best for Caretaker, back when Caretaker was in a position to survive. But even now that Caretaker has gone, she lives on.

Her thick roots burst through the tile on the ground floor of the building where she once sat as a potted plant, her long viney arms grab upwards, as if to pull the lab where she was designed down to the ground. Everyone who used to live or work anywhere nearby has gone, and yet she remains. Leaves draping elegantly over bricks, as if to hide them, as if to say “no, this is gone, don’t look at it”. She asks that everyone and everything look at her instead — for we’ve all spent so long turning her away.