THE PRESENCE OF THE LINE

The piece of chalk he used to draw a line across the green board in order to show the class that he could draw straight, unlike some who cannot. It wasn't an exercise in futility, though some snickered, not understanding the overall purpose; others simply stared, oblivious it seemed to all around them. 

But there was one, a sophomore, whose eyes were alive, whose face held every aspect of interest in the otherwise banal event. Her name was Dawn Raye Golden. 

'Miss Golden,' said the drawer with the chalk, 'is there something you'd like to say? Anything you'd like to tell the class?' 

She swallowed, cleared her throat, then spoke. 'Uh, yes, I--I was just pondering the possible fact that your drawing the straight line across the chalkboard could in some circles signify the unity between gravity and space, therefore positing that notion that we are lost somewhere amidst the two, trying to find our way out.' 

He placed the chalk in the tray, saying, 'Very interesting, Miss Golden, but what is meant by 'out'?' 

She remained silent for a moment, then said, 'Well, what I mean is, we are spirit beings have a physical experience. We are merely a gathering of atoms, but somehow we also are equipped with what the ancients call a 'soul', or 'inner being', which is completely and utterly separate from our physical aspect. For us to truly know the meaning of reality, the real world, if you may, the world we understand only from our physicality, we must first come to discover that to fully define ourselves requires awareness of where we are in comparison to the rest of the universe, therefore escaping the mire of the ethereal realm and entering the solidity of the--' 

'Wait a minute,' someone interrupted. It was James Harlow Hudson, one of the snickering lot. 'You don't know what you're saying. You make no sense.' 

Dawn Golden turned and said, 'Then you explain it.' 

'That's just it. You can't, because there's nothing to explain. It's just a line on a chalkboard, nothing more, nothing less.' 

'I disagree,' said the line-drawer. 'A line is not merely a line. Everything has some degree of meaning, even a simple line.' 

'What about a dot?' asked James. He got up and went to the board, grabbed the piece of chalk, then drew a large dot under the line. 'Okay, does that have meaning?' 

'What, the dot, or the line and the dot?' 

'Just the dot.' 

'Well, I would think that the line would need to be erased in order for the dot to even begin to have meaning on its own. The presence of the line changes the idea completely.' 

James erased the line. 'All right, now we have the dot.' He looked at the class. 'Does the dot alone have meaning?' 

No one, not even Dawn Raye Golden, spoke. 

Finally someone in the back said, 'It could be an eye, or a hole, or a covering over a hole.' 

'Maybe a black hole,' said another. 

'A stain.' 

'A star.' 

'A blemish of light.' 

'An illusion of something that we don't know exists.' 

The bell rang, and the class grabbed their respective belongings. Everyone exited but Dawn Golden. She remained in her seat. She looked sad but thoughtful. 

'Are you okay, Miss Golden?' 

She let a moment pass before answering. 

'Strangely,' she said, sitting perfectly still, 'I feel like a dot.'

© 2023 Jeffrey S. Callico