Author’s Note: This morning, May 11, 2023, I awoke at 5:01am. An image of my mom looking out of our kitchen window onto the alley, in our brick row house in Queens, NY, appeared in that part of my brain outside my head by my right ear. The movie quickly started running so I had to get to my computer asap. This story partially details the source and function of my creative process and why I named my work My Own Realities. Once you have read this, you will understand.
This is a work of fiction based in fact.
Timmy was 9 years old.
Timmy’s mom was looking out of the kitchen window into the alley.
She and her husband and their six kids shared a small brick row house in Queens NY. It was a beautiful summer day and all the neighborhood kids were playing safely in the alley.
The three story brick houses were like fortress walls that kept any evil out of the alley and the kids were allowed to play freely without their parents hovering.
She subconsciously was keeping an eye out for her son Timmy to see if he was behaving normally, and so far this morning he had been.
Mrs. Oliver, Timmy’s mom’s best friend and next door neighbor, had told her the other day she saw Timmy go behind some bushes near the back of her house while the other kids were playing.
Mrs. Oliver said Timmy had suddenly gotten a blank look on his face and he started talking to no one. She said that lasted just about two minutes and then he returned to playing.
This morning Timmy was playing stickball, spud and ringalevio and acting just like any other 9 year old.
The next day all seemed well, but then she noticed Timmy break away from the kids and come inside the back door. She listened for his footfalls on the steps leading up to the kitchen, but they never came.
She went to the top of the stairs and she heard Timmy talking to himself. He was in mid sentence.
“....freak accident, Bobby swung the broom handle the kids used for stick ball and lost his grip, and it went into Penny Burke’s left eye. Blood was all over the place.”
Timmy’s mom heard the backdoor open and then she returned to the kitchen window overlooking the alley and Timmy was back playing with the other kids.
She cried as she thought her son was a psychopath. After she was married she learned that her husband’s family had a few instances of severe mental illness with some of them being institutionalized for life.
Was Timmy planning on gouging Penny Burke’s eye out? Does he want to? Does he want blood all over the place? What nine year old stops playing with his friends, comes inside, and details a graphic horror scene out loud? Not a normal and healthy one she thought.
She wrote down everything Timmy had said and called the pediatrician to ask for advice.
When her husband got home she told him all about it. He wasn’t much help and simply said: “Yeah, Timmy has always been a little off, I’m not surprised.”
Over the next few days a few more moms reported similar behaviour near their bushes and Timmy’s mom witnessed two more incidents standing at her basement steps.
But the next encounters were actually funny or sweet. No eyes were lost the next two times. She realized that he was telling some kind of stories.
She wondered where he had read them.
She and her husband approached him one night and he denied it completely. He had tried his best to keep this a secret.
They asked him where he was reading those stories and he said he didn’t know what they were talking about.
They made an appointment with a psychiatrist and Timmy and his parents attended the session.
Psychiatrist: “So Timmy, your mom tells me that sometimes you stop what you are doing, and find a quiet hidden place and start talking to no one or to yourself. Your mom has heard some scary things when she has overheard you. She said it seems like you are living in your own reality. Can you tell me what is happening during these moments?”
Timmy was so nervous, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Timmy said, simultaneously lifting his right hand and moving it in circles near his right ear.
“There is a part of my brain outside my head, over here, by my right ear, and sometimes things appear there.”
Psychiatrist: “What types of things?”
Timmy: “Like right now, I have had an image of an old lady I saw on the train for a while now. She is sitting there, just like she was when I first saw her. Sometimes they are just feelings, with no form yet.”
Psychiatrist: “Is this like a picture?”
Timmy: “No, they are never like pictures. It is like a movie camera is recording her, but she is waiting.”
Psychiatrist: “Waiting for what?”
Timmy: “Waiting for me to tell her what to do.”
Timmy’s parents and psychiatrist locked eyes in concern.
Timmy went on and suddenly gushed about this because he had kept it a secret for so long.
“I am the old woman, and the bus and the seat and other passengers all at the same time and can feel all their feelings and think all of their thoughts. It is like I am really there and not in my own body anymore.
Along with that old lady I have another spot where a dead guy is floating in the Central Park Reservoir. Like the old lady, it is like a movie camera is rolling, it is not just a picture, and the scene is waiting for me to tell it what to do. Even though he is dead and cold, I am him as well and am dead too when I want to be. There’s another one where this girl from a long time ago when girls always wore long dresses, even in the hot summer. She is on a bike near a beach and pedaling, but she is not going anywhere yet. She is waiting for me to tell her what to do.”
Psychiatrist: “All at the same time?”
Timmy: “Yes, and I am the dead guy, the reservoir, the girl, the bike, the heat, the old lady, the bus, all at the same time and can leave myself and actually be them or those things, up here in the part of brain that is outside my head by my right ear right here.” He puts his hand by his right ear again. “But I can come back to myself anytime.”
Psychiatrist: “How long has this been happening?”
Timmy: “Forever.”
Psychiatrist: “Do you ever think of hurting anyone? Your mom told me about the stickball story and Penny Burke losing an eye.”
Timmy: “That was a cool one! It is still there and I can play it whenever I want! Penny is my friend, I would never hurt her.”
Psychiatrist: “What do you mean play it?”
Timmy: “Sometimes these things go away and vanish. But other times, like with the stickball story, the characters start to move. That one started with Bobby Geeashoo standing at bat waiting to be pitched to. That was in that part of my brain when the school year ended. Then one day, I made Bobby move, and I knew I had to get it out.”
Psychiatrist: “Go on. What do you mean?”
Timmy: “Once my brain yells action, camera starts rolling and I feel the need to say what is happening. It is like I am out of my body and not myself anymore. I am directing and controlling everything in the scene. I am the characters, and everything else in view in the scene, all of it, and I feel like it is real, just like I am sitting here talking to you. It is real to me and in three dimensions when it happens. I can go there anytime to any of the scenes. It is like they are waiting for me. Once it is rolling and the characters start moving, I just say what I am seeing play in that part of my head. It is like a director said action finally.
I am the characters, the scene and I am also making the characters do and say what I want.
I asked the lady at the library and she said I have schizophrenia, just like Dad’s uncle Pat had.
I find a spot to be by myself and tell the story out loud until it is done. Once the characters start moving, I have to report what I am seeing out loud. I am just reporting, like Clark Kent in Superman.”
Psychiatrist: “Then what happens?”
Timmy: “Nothing. But the movie is always in that part of my head from then on. At first I thought everyone had this part of their brain outside their head, but when I mentioned it, the other kids looked at me funny and said I was looney tunes, like Bugs Bunny. So I keep it to myself.
Now the lady in the other room is there all of a sudden. She is brand new. She is dropping her cigarette over and over again, like she did when she told us to come in here.”
Psychiatrist: “That’s my receptionist.”
Timmy: “That’s great! Now she is dropping her cigarette and I hear your voice saying ‘That’s my receptionist’ over and over again. I hope it turns into something. When they turn into something it is the best feeling in the world. It is like I am floating in a bright light in a calm peaceful place, even when Penny Burke’s eye was destroyed.
So now up here, (waving his right hand by his right ear),
Old Lady on the bus,
dead guy in reservoir,
young girl from a long time ago in a full dress on a hot summer day pedaling a bike to nowhere, and
your receptionist dropping a cigarette with your voice in the background.”
Psychiatrist: “All at the same time?”
Timmy: “Of course.”
Psychiatrist: “Doesn’t that get confusing?”
Timmy: “No. Doesn’t everyone have many parts of their brain doing different things at the same time?”
Psychiatrist: “No.”
Psychiatrist: “Do these things or images ever tell you what to do? Bad or scary things.”
Timmy laughed: “What? No! They only do or say what I tell them to. They never talk directly to me. Like a puppet show, right? The puppets could never talk to the person holding the strings. Then he would just be talking to himself.”
Psychiatrist, turning to Timmy’s parents: “How are his grades?”
Timmy’s mom: “Always As in Math and English, Bs in everything else. He refuses to study everything else.”
Timmy: “Math and English are great. It seems like you can make everything else up and I am good at that.”
Psychiatrist: “Any behaviour problems at school or at home?”
Timmy’s mom: “Teachers and classmates and siblings love him. He is very positive and helpful.”
The psychiatrist asked Timmy to go and sit outside his office by the receptionist and he went.
Psychiatrist: “I would like to see Timmy once per week. Does he ever write these down? If not, buy him a tape recorder and teach him how to use it. When he needs to speak these stories or episodes, tell him to just make sure he records it and bring the recorder and tapes when he comes.”
Just then the receptionist burst in looking freaked out.
Receptionist: “Dr, sorry to barge in, but that little boy just said he sees me in part of his brain outside his head dropping my cigarette over and over and there is also a dead guy floating in the Central Park reservoir and some girl on a bike….”
The psychiatrist interrupted her.
Psychiatrist: “It’s ok, don’t be scared. He just has a very active imagination. I think he’s harmless.”
Timmy’s parents were relieved and Timmy, after a few more sessions, never felt weird again about the part of his brain, outside his head, by his right ear, where things suddenly appear that sometimes become movies that he creates and then reports on.
He started recording them, and today, as an adult, he uses voice recognition and a word processor to capture them.
True story - That girl on the bike is still waiting to be told what to do almost 50 years later. She is still pedaling to nowhere and looks exactly the same as she did when she first appeared to him at age 9.
He can’t wait until that part of his brain yells Action! for her. He has been waiting a long time to see where she is headed.
Penny Burke lives a full life. She still has both eyes.
Timmy never forgot his mother thinking he lives in his own reality.
When he was older he realized all of these stories were his own realities, plural, and hence, the name of his writing collection.
You can read and watch many of Timmy’s realities on his website.
My Own Realities . com
www.myownrealities.com
Excellent. Well done.