I can see it in their eyes. They’re thinking, “Hey, look. It’s the dimension-jumping guy!” “Come on, dude who isn’t bound by time or space—show us how you can project your physical form across the planes of existence!” It’s true, when people look at me, all they see is the ghostly aura that remains here on earth while my body is shot clear across the cosmos to a parallel world.
But Dennis Myrie is so much more than a guy who can effortlessly slide between the many simultaneously occurring dimensions of the known universe. For instance, I also play the banjo.
Yes, I have the power to telekinetically generate my own wormholes, and yes, I can move through said wormholes in order to access an infinite number of locations across the space-time continuum. But that’s not who I am. That’s just what I do. Who I am is a recreational painter and model train enthusiast. But do my coworkers ever want to know about that? Of course not. All they seem to care about is whether I’ve subverted the laws of quantum physics lately.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the occasional interdimensional leap. But my penchant for exploring the multiverse can no more adequately describe the whole of my character than could my Facebook profile or my somewhat extensive knowledge of North American marine birds. Did you know the black-footed albatross has a highly developed sense of smell, uncommon among most birds? See? I’m full of interesting information like that.
The annual charity walkathon I coordinate for the local Rotary Club raised almost $10,000 last year. When I was 5, my parents discovered I was allergic to peaches. And before you interrupt me to ask about the time I watched the entire span of history from the Big Bang to Armageddon as if it were a single instant, it may interest you to know that I’m a middle child.
If people would simply take the time to look beyond the mind-boggling, utterly fantastic surface, they’d find a unique and complex individual who also knows a little German.
Here’s a perfect example of what I have to deal with: I’ve been hanging out with the same group of guys down at McNeilley’s Pub for almost 10 years now. Boy, have we had some crazy times. Once, I got so drunk I threw up coleslaw all over the bathroom floor! But do they call me “Dennis the Drunken Menace,” or “Nine-Shots Myrie”? Nope. But you mention one time six years ago that you’ve seen an alternate earth where people eat sound, and for the rest of your life you’re known as “Dennis Myrie, That Guy Who Can Travel Between Dimensions.”
All I want is for people to judge me on the strength of my character, and not on whether I’ve actually watched myself be born.
Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s not like I dimension-hop professionally. It doesn’t make me any money and I’ve never been on TV for it. Sometimes, when I’m really putting a lot of energy into my tomato plants, I swear I forget about the whole moving-as-if-by-magic-between-planes-of-existence thing myself. Just plumb forget! The whole thing is really more of a pastime, like my pen pal correspondence or the Civil War diorama I’m working on.
I just don’t understand this obsession people have with my dimensional travel. It’s gotten to the point where, when I meet a woman, I don’t even bring it up until the sixth or seventh date. I’m sick and tired of lying in some beautiful lady’s bed, all the while thinking, “Did she just sleep with me because she likes me, or because she thinks I’ll take her on a spellbinding journey through the fabric of the cosmos?”
Personally, I’ve always thought of myself as the guy you can count on to have an extra tent around you can borrow. Or “Mr. Chili.” That’s got a nice ring to it. I wouldn’t mind at all if the folks around here greeted me with a fine, “Say, Mr. Chili! What’s cooking?” And I’d say, “Not much. How ’bout that photon shower in the fifth dimension last night?” And they’d say, “Oh, don’t bore us with that stuff about the other dimensions, Mr. Chili. Tell us again about your quick-and-easy trick for making dip!” And I would tell them. I’d tell all my friends.
Gosh darn it, the whole thing just ticks me right off. It’s so like people of this dimension to focus on one little thing instead of getting to know a person for who they really are. After all, it’s incredibly close-minded to reduce a man down to one tiny detail of his life, especially one that doesn’t even effect who he is in the slightest.
The floating orbs of consciousness I hang out with in 9-D would never do that.
