How Heavy the World

J’Cer held the world in his cupped hands, outstretched to me.

“Take it,” he instructed.

I reached out with one hand and scooped up the globe – and scrabbled, snatching at it, as the world began to totter to the floor.

J’Cer caught it with his foot.

“You didn’t tell me it was heavy,” I accused.

The wrinkled gnome stared at me unblinkingly. “Only the moon is light,” he responded, “only the moon and a fool’s head.”

I glowered at the robed midget, but held out both hands this time to receive the world. Cradling its weight, I asked, “Now what do I do with it?”

“You juggle it without hands.”

“Without hands?” I scoffed. “How do you juggle without hands?”

J’Cer rolled his shoulders in a wave-like motion.

“I can’t do that.” I extended my arms to hand the world back to my tutor. The spindly midget clasped his hands behind his back and said calmly:

“The world cannot be put down, once taken up. It cannot be tossed away; it is too heavy to be held for long. You must juggle it.”

Then the wretched creature turned and walked out of the room.

“Wait!” I called after him. “What do you mean I can’t put it down? You did.”

But J’Cer was gone.

The world was growing heavier and heavier in my hands. I braced it against my body, but it felt like the ball was growing larger by the second even though it remained the size of one of the blood oranges J’Cer grew in his atrium. If I didn’t do something with it, I would certainly lose it.

Never think when you must act, had been one of my first awkward lessons. I released my grip on the world and let the sphere roll down my forearm. Twisting and ducking and contorting, I guided it up to my shoulder, rolling it just behind my neck. Strangely, the weight seemed less as it moved along my arms and back, and as long as I kept it shifting my hands were free to do. But as soon as I plucked the globe off its track it grew heavy again until I sent it back in its spiraling path.