Flash Fiction Entry #1

The Lights Are On

Tuesday afternoon I became invisible.

The bag boy asked, "Lady, can I get that for you?" When I looked up, he was following some big-haired woman with a baby.

A pinstriped worker bee nearly decapitated me with the coffee shop door. "Hey! I'm standing here,” I hollered.

The postman made no reply to my cheery, "Good morning."

A teenage boy jostled me unmercifully on the bus.

A traffic cop waved cars through the intersection while I waited to cross at the corner. Eventually, I abandoned police protection and walked to the beach the long way round.

For my afternoon repose, I chose a log after weighing advantages both philosophic and maritime. I was about to apply a smoked oyster to a saltine when a group of college students plopped themselves down in front of my log, showering sand on me in the process.

Oysters affect some people that way.

"Excuse me," I said. "I was here first."

The students paid no attention to my protest. They built a fire and put marshmallows on to roast while they distracted themselves with an off-key rendition of The Cat Came Back.

I'm not fussy about music, but I feared they would break into Kumbaya with very little provocation.

"Excuse me. -- Excuse me. -- Excuse me!"

They didn't even turn around.

"You there, boy. Boy? Young lady, excuse me. Now, listen here. Boy. You with the brown hair. Answer me!"

The brown-haired one turned at my final cry, but his gaze swept blankly past me. And then I realized. I was invisible.

How did this happen? Did I fade out slowly like the end of a movie, or pop off suddenly like a soap bubble too long in the sun.

Was it that first gray hair, or those last ten pounds?

I stumbled away from my carefully chosen log to another farther down the beach out of sight of the sea.

Over a dune, the ocean continued its relentless pounding of the shore. Out of sight, the ocean still teemed with life and power.

Power. Maybe being invisible wouldn't be all bad. After all, there always seemed to be opportunities for super heroes. I could become Invisible Woman and do general goodness for no particular reason.

As I predicted, the log-thieving kids broke into Kumbaya, in rounds, no less. Maybe I should wander back and poke sand down their throats. Not something a super hero would do, but villainy might be nice for a change.

I could become INVISO-BITCH and sort out all those who need to be sorted out.

The world's in a general state of disrepair.
The population's hopeless and in despair.
Who's never seen, but always there?
INVISO-BITCH, that's who.

Why hadn't I thought of this sooner?

First on my agenda would be to reach through car windows to snatch cell phones from unsuspecting yuppies. Who the hell are they talking to and why can't they wait until they get home to phone?

What on earth did we do before we could be instantly and constantly connected to every other living being? Was being out of reach all that bad? Plugged in, turned on, wired for sound, video, and instant messages. Here's an instant message. Shut-up already.

After yuppies, isn't it about time someone did something about those men?

Men who stare and whistle. Men who say yes and mean no. Men who think a penis gives them above average abilities. Gynecologists in general.

Men maybe a bigger problem than I first thought.

The thieving kids' bonfire looked cozy. I shivered on my log. I caressed my favorite blue sweater and wondered why was it invisible? Maybe under my clothes, I still had substance. Perhaps, if I threw off my sweater, someone would see me.

INVISO-BITCH may be transparent, but she's not stupid.

Walking back up the beach, no one called out or waved. No one asked if I needed a ride or a light. Even my shadow looked thin.

At my front door, I heard Henry making impatient mewling sounds on the other side. My hand stopped short of the lock when it occurred to me, do invisible people pay rent?

Will the landlord give my little beach house to someone else? Would I be forced to co-exist with brain-dead tourists, or dusty out-of-staters?

I doubt the landlord ever noticed me before, so how could he notice me now? Or not notice me. Would he hear me if I screamed? Would anyone? Should I put smiting landlords on the list?

Invisibility would be trickier than I first assumed.

I opened the door, and Henry bumped my legs and whipped his tail. He wanted his dinner. "Be patient, buster. I've had a hard day."

I fed Henry, all the while daydreaming about whether my super hero costume should be velvet or velour. The insignia was easy to draft. A single up-turned digit with the knuckles outlined in soft blue.

I sat on the couch. Henry hopped up on the coffee table. He stared at me with that laser-like feline concentration that has no equal.

"Henry," I said. "You can see me."

"Meow," he answered.

It occurred to me then, that I had never noticed Henry's fangs.

Was mutual oblivion contagious? Did it blow about on the wind like a virus? Had I brushed too close to a carrier and even now sat seething with indifference? Was there a cure?

I leaned back on the couch. INVISO-BITCH didn't have the answers.

"Oh Henry, " I said. "What are we going to do?"

"Meow," he replied.


I wrote this story one summer in Oregon at a prose workshop led by Ursula LeGuin. I've been searching for an ending ever since. Not sure I've found it yet.