Imagination

Shelaine's the one who's blessed with imagination. I don't have it. When she was little she loved to dwell in la la land, much to my envy and dismay. If only I had the ability to imagine a little!

I tend to imagine things that could happen in real life but probably won't. Often these are centered around bizzare things I might do.

Last night at the New York Liberty v. Los Angeles Sparks game at Madison Square Garden I imagined myself running on to the court in the middle of play. I pictured myself making it undetected down the few steps to the courtside seats where Teresa Weatherspoon was sitting. Then I'd quickly run on to the court. But my imagination didn't take me to what I might do once I got out there: steal the ball, make a basket, disrupt play, perhaps. No, my imagination fast forwarded to me getting dragged off the court and being rejected from my season seat for the remainder of the season.

That wouldn't be such a terrible penalty for this season as I've watched one too many games where the difference of a few points has meant gloom rather than glory. But there will be other seasons. And my imagination doles out long-term sentences for its mischief.

My more typical imagining comes in the form of free-falls: diving into the orchestra pit at the Met from my seat in the highest balcony box; falling onto the subway tracks just as the train is coming; leaping off the stern of the cruise ship in the middle of the Aegean and getting sucked down in the swirl of the propeller wakes.

These are always followed with questions: "Will they stop the opera? Will I land between the viola and the tuba or on top of them? Will I have time to stow myself between the rails? Will my butt stick up too far and get caught in the mechanism? Will anyone notice I've dissappeared? Where does one float off to in this blackest of nights with nothing on the horizon?"

These imagined consequences keep my grounded. Holding on lest my concentration break for one brief second.

My brother was hit by a train. He was the imaginative one. A free-spirit, not dull and responsible like me.

I picture the after affect. He stands there triumphant having stopped a freight train speeding through the flatest stretch of Arizona with nothing more than his bare hand. And I am left broken in half.

My painfully strict imagination serves me well.