Monolith

My body felt as though it had been slowly baked on hot tiles. The pain forced my reluctant brain to reengage with the world. The unrelenting sun’s rays penetrated my closed eyelids. I grudgingly opened one eye just a slit and saw it—the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Inside my sluggish brain, the title song from that movie, “Also Sprach Zarathustra”, began playing. It’s a tune that will repeat itself over and over in my head for the rest of the day. Most annoying!

Slowly, and with great concentration, I moved one hand over my forehead to create some shade from the blinding sun. Grit fell from my fingers, stinging my already suffering eyeballs. That was the last straw. I forced my protesting body into a sitting position. The movie soundtrack in my head paused momentarily because my brain was spinning faster than a centrifuge. It wasn’t easy, but I beat down the nausea, at least for now, and took stock of my surroundings.

The grit covering my body came from the floor of a rooftop patio that overlooked the distant ocean. I had apparently spent the night comatose under the stars. The muffled sloshing sound in my ears was generated by the incoming tide. I must have slept out here all night because not only was every muscle in my back aching but any exposed skin was peppered with mosquito bites. As I continued to scan my surroundings, I saw my shirt drifting on a sea breeze heading toward the water. My mind said, “Go after it,” but my body replied, “No way.” Next, I spotted my flip-flops partially hidden behind a flower pot. Finally, I was relieved to see that I was still wearing my cargo shorts. The only thing I couldn’t find was that damn monolith. The aliens who placed it here must have come and retrieved it.

I almost convinced myself of that scenario when a gust of wind caught a towel hanging limply on the clothesline above my head, forcing it to flap wildly. There it was, the thing that my alcohol-infused brain thought was the massive “Stargate Sentinel.” The monolith waiting to take me deep into space was nothing more than a normal-sized spring-loaded clothespin.

I was both disappointed and relieved. I had always wanted to explore space and go where no man has gone before, but I didn’t want to do it shirtless, wearing only cargo shorts and flip-flops. The swish of a sliding door behind me caught my attention while I was attempting to stand.

“Dude! Did you spend the night out here? You must have really been wasted. Why were you staring at that towel, anyway?”

I thought about explaining the whole monolith vision to him, but simply replied, “Just trying to get my head on straight.”

Taking painstaking care, I navigated around the patio furniture and headed for the open door. My balance was still not what it should be, and I almost fell on my face, attempting to step over the slider track. My stumbling Studer steps might have been embarrassing if I wasn’t so focused on finding the bathroom. Nature’s call had to be answered, even if it meant crawling on all fours. Fortunately, there was no line. I did what was needed and returned to the living room. It looked more like a dying room with people sprawled all over the furniture and the floor. It was time to leave.

I took one last look at the clothespin monolith before leaving. If there is one takeaway I have from this experience, it’s this: Never party with people who will abandon you on a rooftop patio to sleep it off. Once again, the music in my head resumed as the main door closed behind me.