The Object of My Desire

In which the author finds the perfect THING…

I loved it.

It was perfect.

And there was nothing else like it in the world.

It fit perfectly into my hand, like the curves of my lover. The surface was some combination of black and matte silver that seemed to change depending on the angle you held it at. It was metal, but felt more like a wetsuit, or the skin of a gecko.

It inspired confidence. Holding it deep in the pocket of my coat I felt somehow invincible…no, not invincible…but infinitely capable. Like I could accomplish any feat, or answer any question with little thought or preparation. Like my skin was an impermeable protector of the perfect fathomless machine inside of it.

But without arrogance. This was not some cheap steroid. It didn’t turn me into one of those lunkheads at the gym. No, this feeling was the one of the ultra successful businessman, with overseas bank accounts that will keep him in Italian shoes and Beluga caviar for the duration, should anything go wrong with the daily job.

A cool confidence, like Steve McQueen in “The Great Escape”, (or in real life, for that matter).

All of that from this simple, harmless little device.

I had been searching for something for a long time. There was a hole that I couldn’t seem to fill. Money, objects, love, learning, food, accomplishment; I tried fitting everything into the hole yet the depth never diminished. Always this hungry maw deep inside my psyche somewhere inaccessible to my conscious mind.

For in my dreams I found fantastic, incredible, and unlikely things that filled the hole, sated the desire, and gave me the confidence of being complete. All of which were lost upon waking. Sure, there were unintelligible chicken scratches on the pad of paper on the bedside table, and there were recordings of bizarre streams of thought that set random sparks off inside my head. But never was there a clear waking image of what the hole wanted.

And now I had it.

And I loved it.

And it was perfect.

By Christian Jacobsen. All rights reserved.