Flowers for Flatboy:

The Memoirs of Aaron Abbot

-or-

(Self-Portrait of the Artist Formerly Known as Flatboy)

It's been several years now since that book changed my life.

It sounds so silly to write 'that book changed my life,' it's one of those

expressions people have invented to pay homage to pop-psych over pulp.

But the day that book fell into my hands, my life changed forever. Now

I just need to figure out why. I guess that's the whole point of these

memoirs... Dr. Schroeder told me that recording everything I can about

my life before, will help us figure out the root of my illness. I don't

see the point. I feel like I've adjusted pretty well, but Amy still gets

nervous about new things and she really trusts Dr. Schroeder.

Hopefully, whatever emerges will be able to help her.

Let me try to start at the beginning. I'm Aaron, my wife is

Amy. We named ourselves on the day we were married; our first day in

three dimensions. Our names are a tribute to the book that changed our

lives. Just as Edwin Abott Abott narrates through A Square - a play on

his own initials, my name has a doubled 'A' and Amy's has only one. We

owe a lot to that book and to whoever it was who dropped it on me at the

right time in my life.

For as long as I can remember, I could only see in my plane.

I guess on some levels, I must have been aware of things outside of my

plane but I just ignored them. I was always aware when my aunt would be

speaking to me. When she'd come in to leave food for me -- I would

always wave to her even though I couldn't see her.

I never saw my Aunt the way I can see people now. I could see

her one slice at a time. When Amy and I were in Graceland, there was an

image of Elvis painted on a ton of little hanging beads. Like the kind

they hang over doorways in movie-brothels. When they all hung together,

you could see the King playing the guitar, but each strand was only a

bunch of alternating colors. The way I used to see the world was like

watching these strands one at a time. To me, my aunt was just like an

Elvis filament.

My depth-perception is still terrible. For years, I never

used my left eye. It's not like I wore an eye-patch, or closed it... I think

my brain just ignored its input, or didn't focus it -- like the House of

Lords or something. My right eye was always inclined towards the wall

and narrowed to allow only a sliver of the world in at a time. I didn't

think about any of this at the time. Who ever thinks that the way they see

the world is his choice?!?

I only figured out that one-eye stuff, by trying to recreate

my old point of view in the lobby of our old building. I was mashing

myself against the wall and squinting all funny when the super walked by. That

guy never liked us after Amy flipped out in the elevator. Shouldn't

those things make sense to her? It's like pasta...how can a girl from a linear

existence have such an aversion to PASTA?!?

That reminds me of eating. My aunt would bring me food every

day and be real careful about lining it up where I could see it. When I

went back, I saw a stripe that marked my plane, all the way around the

room. I guess that's why she never missed when she needed me to see

things... I remember when she put that stripe in, but I thought she

painted the whole room. The rest of my room could have been yellow and

I never would have noticed -- I hate yellow!!! Hell, there didn't even

have to be a 'rest of my room'. Imagine how cheap it would be to build

housing for nuts like me. They could stick hundreds of us stomach to back and

we'd all think we were in complete privacy. That thought really freaks

me out! Did I share my room with anyone?

(Amy could have had an apartment in a wine-rack). To solve the

housing crisis in NYC, we need to make everyone just a little more

loony, and design buildings that are nothing but hallways...But back to eating.

It was always difficult for me to pick my food up and convey it to my

mouth. I needed mushy foods that I could pick up without bending my

fingers. Ustensils were definitely out of the question. I can remember

my aunt feeding me things before. I think she stopped when she stopped

talking to me. She must have decided that this wasn't just a phase. Or

maybe she was sick of 'enabling' my madness. Who knows. It's probably

reasonable to assume that someone will give up an obsession with funny

behavior if it means nothing but starches and water for years on end.

But like I said, I never understood that my existence was a choice. I had

no options. I'd spear whatever food I could see in my plane on the end of

my middle finger, or I could catch it between my fingers, making scissor

motions. Then I'd have to tilt my head back and try to maneuver some

part of the food into my mouth.

I could always handle flat foods, like pancakes, or bread, or

pizza... When I'd grab those, they could always make it into my mouth

within my plane. But once, she brought me hot-dogs. I I could see them

on the plate (she'd never miss the line), and they looked to me like red

circles. I reached out and scissored one of them. I could pick it up

and

move the circle up towards my mouth. But when I tried to drop the

circle

into my open mouth, the ends of the hot-dog I couldn't see bounced off

the

corners of my mouth and the circle fell and disappeared.

At first my Aunt was really pissed at the mess I'd made, but

shen she put them back on the plate and saw the trouble I was having,

she

turned them for me. Once I could see a long red capsule shape, not a

circle, I could scissor that and easily maneuver it into my mouth. That

day, I learned to love hot-dogs, but then I never got them again. Maybe

it was too much of a pain for her to orient the food in my plain. More

likely, it was the whole tough-love, food boredom strategy. I wonder if

she actually beleived that one day I'd snap and say: "Bread again?!?

forget it, I'm going for sushi." But who am I to make fun of the

ridiculous things people can start to believe?

If anything that would have driven me to leave my plane of

existence, it would have been the loneliness more than the food. I

can't count my Aunt as an acquaintance of mine. I never saw her in full, and

to this day, have only seen picures. It took me a long long time to

even want to go back and see that room again. But when I did, and saw that

stripe, and saw the front of the TV I'd always heard. Those objects

with which I was so familiar, I could finally see them head-on! When that

book first fell into my hands, I couldn't put together that I was in the same

room. I didn't understand that much. I wanted to climb into the

television. I wanted to climb into everything that day!!! I don't make

those mistakes anymore. I really do think I'm pretty well adjusted to

the 3D world I'm living in. It must be more of an adjustment for Amy

though.

She never really had to interact with objects in her past

life-line. The most contact she would ever have had was to bump into

something and then recoil from it. Even I tend to think she must have

been a little more than eccentric. She doesn't understand yet that her

former life was caused by her own mental illness. She just thinks it

was some kind of miracle. I don't know how to handle that really. The

only reason I was able to help her at all was because I was just as crazy as

she was-- well almost anyway.

I don't know why I was so shocked that Amy couldn't read. I

should have been a lot more shocked that I could! This is one of the

few clues I have that I wasn't born with the delusion of a 2D existence. I

know for sure that I don't remember anything before I went nuts but I

sure as hell didn't learn to read that way. When that book fell into my

hands, not only did I break all the rules of my existence by grabbing it, but I

knew how to read it. That's something I'd like Dr. Schroeder to explain

to me.

The only rational explanation is that my Aunt, or maybe even

my parents (if I ever had any) taught me to read, then something must have

happened to drive me into the plane. Did my parents leave me? Did that

make me scared enough to retreat from reality? Maybe my retreat into

the plane was a subconscious attempt to always know where I stood. Some

kind of early trauma may have scared me that much. It's always made some

kind of allegorical sense to me that I didn't ever want to be blind-sided by

life. That's just not possible when everything you deal with is in your

plane. Just back yourself against the wall, and nothing but noises can

change, they're the only thing.

I didn't put much stock in noises though. With the TV going

all the time, I couldn't ever understand what I was hearing. I can't

remember a time when I tried to respond to my Aunt. But the minute I left the

plane I could communicate pretty well. I wandered into some kind of a

restaurant and ordered food. I ORDERED FOOD! Within hours I could read

and I could speak. Two skills I don't remember acquiring.

If it was a trauma that sent me into the plane, it was a trauma

that pulled me back out. Like I said, that book changed my

life.

I've been through hypnosis before. To try to go back to the

time when I think the first big shock must have been. I haven't really

figured anything out though. It must have been pretty severe to be

buried so deep and locked up so tight!

But every time I start to think like that, I realize how much

worse Amy's life must have been. She was driven into a line I A

one-dimensional existence! Who knows how many years she spent

slithering around the world on her side; arms outstretched; trying to drag herself

along like a snake. Whatever it was that drove her over the edge must

have occured earlier in her life than mine did; before she learned how

to read. It's also buried deeper in her mind. She's scared of her past.

Amy refused to go under hypnosis with me. She also refuses to admit

that we both used to be crazy. She prefers to think that we were just

granted this life in 3D because of our responsibility in the lower dimensions.

She really thinks this warped world is heaven!!!

Best of luck Dr. Schroeder, I hope this helps you. Really I

hope it can help my wife, but I'm not all that confident. Only time

will tell.

 

Aaron.