There Is No Asphalt

 

Mary had a day off, so she laced up her rollerblades again and headed to the nearby skatepark, where she liked to spend her free time. You could often run into interesting people there – not only skateboarders, but sometimes even a homeless guy or two, with whom she enjoyed engaging in philosophical debates about life and the world.

That day Mary felt strange. As if something was about to happen. She couldn’t quite describe what. She just felt it – a peculiar tingling, as if everyone on the street was watching her. Paranoia? That feeling only grew worse when a dark car drove past her. News reports were full of stories about missing people and strange circumstances. What if today it would be her who disappeared? On her way to the park, Mary turned around several times to reassure herself that it was all just in her head, that no one was really following her.

Relief came when she passed through the gate of the skatepark. She sat down on a bench for a moment to catch her breath. When she looked around again, she noticed a young man she had never seen before. On his lap was a notebook, and in his hand a pen. As soon as Mary looked at him, he quickly averted his gaze and began scribbling furiously.

Yet she didn’t feel afraid of this stranger. He seemed… different. He was dressed all in black and wore dark sunglasses. His expression was slightly cocky, but at the same time he looked rather shy. Mary got up from the bench and walked over to him.

“Are you following me?” she asked.
“What? Why would you think that?”
“Oh, come on. I saw you. You were staring at me.”
“Wasn’t it the other way around? I saw you staring at me too.”

Mary smiled and sat down next to him. She glanced into his notebook but couldn’t make sense of it. Just lots of numbers and equations, and a few little doodled figures. Either he was some kind of lunatic… or a genius.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I don’t come here much.”
“I know, otherwise I’d have noticed you. By the way, I’m Mary. And you?”
“Everyone calls me Mouse. Probably because I always slip through everywhere.”
“And I’d guess also because you’re a genius.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Mice are clever. And judging by your notes, I’d say you’re the same.”

Mouse laughed and closed his notebook.
“It’s not rocket science. I’m just… working on some kind of video game.”
“Ah, so you’re a programmer?”
“Something like that,” he nodded with a mischievous smile.
“Well, I wouldn’t have guessed it at first glance. I always thought people like you would be in some basement full of computers, only waking up after dark.”

Mouse looked at Mary, and their eyes met for a moment. But to her, it felt like that moment lasted an eternity. Everything around her seemed somehow… unreal. As if reality itself had frozen. She shook her head to rid herself of the thought and to hide her embarrassment.

“Sorry, I’m not really good with people…”
“Neither am I. Most of my… colleagues think I’m a weirdo,” Mouse smiled faintly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“When you’re skating, are you sure the asphalt under you is real?”
“Of course it is. I’ve taken some nasty falls on it.”
“But what if the asphalt is just an arrangement of numbers creating the illusion of reality?”

Mary started to get lost in the conversation, and suddenly she felt very uncomfortable.
“You’re really a nutcase…” she stood up from the bench, ready to leave the park.
“Marx?” Mouse shouted after her. “The pistachios you love so much – what if they actually taste different?”
“Go to hell!”

Marx snapped angrily and disappeared from the park. But Mouse’s words kept echoing in her head. Why had she gotten so mad, when she had been asking herself those very same questions? Maybe it scared her to think she might actually be on to something. Maybe it was the glimpse of a truer reality. And how on earth did Mouse know her nickname and her love for pistachios?

Suddenly she felt the urge to return to the park and apologize to him. She turned around and hurried back. But Mouse was already gone. Damn. How would she ever find him again? Tomorrow? Or maybe never. What if she had just missed a chance that fate itself had placed in her path?

Mary sat down on the sun-warmed ground and looked up at the sky. The sun was slowly setting again. But what if the asphalt was really just an arrangement of numbers creating the illusion of reality? With her eyes closed, she placed her palms on the ground. For a moment she felt her fingers sinking through the concrete, blending into the surroundings. As if she were only a weak link in a vast system that was trying to spit her out because she didn’t belong there.

But what if, at this very moment, she was simply in a deep sleep – one she was only now beginning to wake from?