The Glitterer

Today was the day for aspens and birches. The sky was a perfect color, the color cheap art companies call “sky blue”. It is rare for a sky to be such a certain shade, as if it were the one, not the sun, that was shining the clear light.
The leaves were, accordingly, perfect little mirrors. Marilyn loved the way they reflected the light oblivious to its or any others color. The glimmer of the leaves glowed cheerfully and mysteriously.
She watched the leaves and the patterns they made in the wind all day and at night she watched the glitz in the sky. It was difficult for her to tear herself away, but she had to. There was another day coming and she needed to schedule. It was dangerous to watch leaves that long. There were plenty of other types of glitter.
The authorities did not prevent Marilyn from scheduling her glitter days. She had freedom of a good sort and took advantage of it. There was glitter everywhere, as she assured herself happily, and she would see all of it. If possible she would have it.
Whenever she thought that last thought she would collapse, because she knew there was no way to see it clearly. There was no way to capture it. Sometimes Marilyn would hate her tenuous and indefatigable illness. No, she would think next, I wish I could hate it, but that would mean hating glitter as well. Which would not be pleasant!
The authorities let her wander freely as an experiment once. This is the time that experiment occurred, and it was not entirely pleasant for anyone.
The morning was happening but Marilyn was too impatient for it. “Wait just a few more hours,” calmed the nurse.
Marilyn sank despondently into an armchair. The Wizard of Oz was playing on the crackly television set and Dorothy was singing “Over the Rainbow”. Everyone else lay in bed, oblivious of the time.
Marilyn escaped her room early and began her search for glitter in the town.
The sun’s too bright, she thought. I wish I could see it.
She did admire its effect as it slanted and crisscrossed the morning. Windows were miniature suns as well as watches and glasses. She looked at her own watch and inhaled sharply. People glanced at her and she smiled self-consciously at them.
Her watch was beautiful with its sun’s glimmer on it as if it were water, the hands were weak black glances in it. They had no shadows.
“Is your watch broken?” asked a pedestrian.
“No, certainly not,” assured Marilyn.
The pedestrian thought she was suddenly aware and disappointed that it was broken, that being a practical interpretation of her high-strung response.
He coaxed, “I work at a jewelry shop across the street. I’m not pressuring you, but we have much higher quality watches over there and discounts on some.”
“All right,” said Marilyn indifferently.
He nodded and walked away. The words’ meaning sunk into Marilyn’s mind. What beautiful glitter there could be in that shop.
There were gems inside as well as watches.
“Can I touch that diamond?” asked Marilyn.
“Of course,” said the one behind the counter.
She reached inside the glass cabinet and held the diamond, which eagerly filled itself with the dim yellow light of the shop.
Suddenly it was evening. Marilyn saw the light fading and the shop became slightly pixilated in the hazy yellow darkness. She admired the glittering ornaments and jewelry but knew she had to leave.
Marilyn realized then that she had not looked at the faces of anyone in the town. It was an odd day, she observed. Who was that person who came up to her and suggested she visit this shop? She did not remember him or her at all. It also occurred to her that very few people would allow her to touch valuable gems in their shop if it was unclear whether she wanted to purchase them.
“Are you still there?” she asked. It was too dark to see behind the counter now.
“Yes. Are you planning to buy something?”
“…No, I suppose not,” she tittered sheepishly. “I just like looking at them.”
“Yes.”
Marilyn didn’t know what to say after that.
“I’ll go now, then.” she said.
“Going back to the asylum?”
“I guess so.” replied Marilyn carefully.
“You could always stay here, in this town.”
Marilyn walked over to the window without answering. What a beautiful, unassuming place it was, with the apartment windows that reflected the street like mirrors and revealed nothing inside.
“This isn’t like something from that movie, is it,” she ruminated.
“The Wizard of Oz? No, not at all,” the voice smiled, “Though many people would like to imagine it is.”
She saw people walking slowly with stretched shadows. Without speaking, she opened the door. The chimes attached to it jingled metallically.
“Why don’t you stay here?” the shop owner asked again.
Marilyn didn’t reply. She walked dissimilarly to the others on the street, who moved like their own shadows exactly, unhurried and expressionless.
I’m not moving fast enough, she thought. It was similar to one of those horrible dreams where you move as if you are underwater. She wondered if it was possible to reach the edge of the town in time. She did not want to think about what “in time” meant.
Marilyn escaped. She returned to the asylum and fell asleep. She was punished for leaving early and no one ever realized where she had gone that day.