Body Mass
This story appears in the print edition of The Colby Review.
Last night 200-350 people were involved in what is being described only as a “body mass.” A mix of drivers, seemingly unknown to each other, synchronized a stop along a stretch of 66 somewhere between Newt and Green. They exited their cars at the same time and proceeded to pile onto each other. The pile-up grew in size, becoming sphere-like. Due to the lack of knowledge about the body mass’ density, authorities are unsure of the exact body count, though they speculate that the density is “quite legitimate” given the propensity of the body mass’ momentum as it has taken to rolling. The mass is still rolling, but authorities have worked to ensure the general public that there is no threat. However, many who have witnessed the mass as it rolls through residential neighborhoods claim to have seen it “absorb” other bodies and subsequently “expand.” A multitude of voices comes from the body mass. Those on the surface are the loudest. A priest, a contractor, and a cop have been trading jokes. Others, with better places to be, either complain or cry to the crowds who have gathered at the roadside. Lost are the voices at the center. Cartographers and storm chasers alike have begun to track the mass in hopes to predict its path. There are resources available online. They are live.
James Harken, 53, a contractor from nearby Tremble Bay, was one of the first to join the pile up. He was driving a blue 2003 Chevy Silverado down 66 when he felt the urge to stop. He slowed. As momentum moved him forward, against the grace of his breaks, the cars in his periphery stayed with him. He choked on his bile. Car doors slammed in unison. James lay face down, arms linked with an off-duty officer, Jennifer Harden. Though the two did not know each other, they formed an important surface link on the human mass. James liked how Jennifer smelled. James raised his eyebrows when Jennifer refused to speak to the microphones.
Rhonda Tall is deep in the middle. Known to many as The Angel of Derby Shore, Rhonda stepped from her kitchen and onto her deck with only thoughts of Rice French on her mind. Rice is the birth father of Red French. The two have never met. Rhonda found Rice. Rhonda has a case completion rate of 95%, most of whom are biological parents. She smiled in the sun before it was shade. Rhonda was curious. Too curious to remain on the surface of the body mass. Before burrowing into the center of the mass, Rhonda, a poet in her spare time, had this to say:
Bodies hold the whole mass intact, and it is bodies which ink out the inside. Each is isolated but inseparable. There is a delicacy in their braiding, their brave relating. Somewhere within, enemies are touching, friends are fondling, lovers are learning to live with the smells of others. The mass travels with an unpredictable patter. Its centers of gravity are many and shifting. There is often splatter. Patterns predicted are never correct. Nothing has been established better.
In summation: People were driving on the highway. Everyone stopped. They exited their cars. They piled up. They formed a mass. The mass formed a gravity. The body mass began to roll. It subsumed people as it went. People want to see it. People want to know about it. No one knows what will happen. The possibilities seem endless. There are fans waiting. They may be in the wrong spot. Some people worship the body mass. Some people hate the body mass. Everyone knows about it. No one knows what will happen. Everyone is dead or alive. Loved ones are concerned. People on the surface are alive. Those within, no one knows.
Jon Conley is a poet from Cleveland, Ohio. Find him online at conjonley.tumblr.com.