I gleefully leapt out of bed a second before the alarm yelled me awake. I stumbled to the toilet as my blurred vision cleared. I washed my hands and looked up, momentarily, as I always did, before flicking the shower on. But I stopped and turned back to the mirror, turned away, shook my head and turned back. There was no me looking back at me, just the yellow tee-shirt I’d slept in. I stood back and my silk boxers were suspended above the black and white tiles. Yes, the floor was there but no legs. No arms. No head. I looked down and I didn’t exist – just pyjamas, bathroom, window, blue sky, tweeting birds, rumbling traffic … everything normal except me.
I touched my arm and it was there. I slapped my leg and it was there.
I suppose I should have been upset, disoriented, alarmed, but all I felt was mildly confused. Maybe the magnitude of the moment was too much to absorb properly.
I took the tee-shirt off and there were just boxers floating in the bathroom. No body. I squatted and rose and so did the boxers.
This was something that happened in fantasy comics but here I was, in my own private fantasy. Or was it private? Was everyone else invisible through some global malaise – Covid, 5G, political correctness, gender misalignment … I don’t know. More importantly, how do I test it? The answer was immediate.
I left my shirt off and went out to greet my neighbour, Gladys, always up to get some early-morning gardening in before it became too hot.
“Good morning, Gladys.”
She looked up at me, looked around and back at me with a frown.
“How are you, this morning?” I asked and she stared right through me.
“Where are you, Mister Philip?”
“Can’t you see me?”
“You hiding down your hedge? You making tricks on me?”
“No, Gladys. I … I think I’m invisible.”
“Yes, course you are. You smoking happy weed, Maori Jawana?”
“No, I think I’m …”
“I think I’m hippopotamus, huh. Lots a’ water, good sleep. You be fine.”
“You’re probably right. Thank you.” I really needed to know the full story, so to speak and just had to take the risk. Looking back, I realised I didn’t even wonder how long the invisibility would last or what would happen if the rest of my life was like this.
I took my boxers off, walked to the mailbox and greeted Sean O’Reilly, across the road.
“Holy Mother a’ Mary!” he said, stopping dead in his tracks. “Talking undies …”
“What?”
“Aye, I tort dat scotch was off, last night. Better have another one to check.”
He was gone and I was invisible. All of me. To everyone. So, I couldn’t go to work as a suit without a head wouldn’t go down well. I phoned in sick, grabbed my keys and wallet and set off on this exciting adventure. This was too good an opportunity to pass up and so what could I do invisible that I hadn’t been able to before? The answer was obvious.
I enjoyed the looks of passing motorists as they ogled at a driverless car cruising by. I passed a cop and sped up, past the limit, and then stopped as his flashing, screeching car caught up and parked behind me. In my rear vision mirror I could see him approaching more cautiously than usual. He stood silently beside my door, probably rethinking his usual script.
“Is there anyone there?” he eventually asked. I smiled, determined not to snigger or snort. He circled the car as his torchlight probed every window. He grunted and circled again. He tried a door. Locked. He tried another. Locked. He grunted, scratched his head and called a tow truck. In some twisted logic, he must have assumed that a driverless car had got itself there but wouldn’t go any further.
As soon as he disappeared, I drove off, desperate to make the most of this opportunity. I headed into the centre of town and parked. I smiled silently at the looks I got as a wallet and keys floated along.
In my favourite bookstore some were amazed to see books extracting themselves from shelves and their pages flipping over. Some left the shop. Then someone bumped into me. I dropped the book, grunted and the wallet and keys left immediately.
I tried on clothes at the men’s shop and I enjoyed the puzzled looks as various sets of clothes paraded around without a human inside of them. Then I tripped on a step and the bodyless attire crashed to the floor, making unmistakably human noises. I stripped and fled to the park, my ultimate destination. Under a huge elm I crouched to get my breath and felt the excitement rise. I left the keys and wallet in the hollow of a branch and ventured out on a long-anticipated expedition.
The first time I was arrested, at sixteen, was when climbing the forty-foot cenotaph, a dare that we all tested but none completed, a testimony of the local cop’s vigilance. This time, however, I didn’t need the cover of darkness and took my time, finding foot-holds between the bricks.
Then, just as I was two hand-spans from the top, I saw my hand. I looked down and saw my foot as yells came from below. Then more yells and then the police and fire vehicles.
The next day’s headline was: Mayor’s Naked Dash To Top.
This story is from the amazing book, My Whispering Teachers.