multiple personality ken
Originally uploaded by nyresolutions.
Bubbles floated outside her building like computer generated schools of fish. A wall of mirrors bounced window-shaped beams into elegant angles of mote and light. Park closed her eyes again. Sunday morning in SoHo was bright. Her hermit corner apartment had been a dance studio before she moved in, several months ago, almost a year. The tired floor still bore the scuffed signs of the many overweight hopefuls who had dreamt their way to the city years before her. She had kept most of the furnishings intact, bringing only her bed and electronics, adding a small stove and fridge to the changing room, nothing to the showers. Her groceries came delivered and everything else could be done on her laptop. During her rehabilitation the empty days filled up easily, much easier than one would expect. Sleeping, waking, walking. She had practiced her walk in front of the silver expanse of mirrors, the cloaked piano always mute. That had been the hardest, not the voice or the gestures, but that hipless shuffle, that heelless trot so effortlessly and universally internalized at the onset of basso voce and fuzzy tummies. She sometimes wondered if, when she finally did dare to leave the building, the doorman would think she was someone else, a boyfriend, or a brother.
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