If Ink Were Ants
“If the ink of my writing morphed into ants, would they march along with my thoughts?” ~ Jarod Kintz
Wooden bookshelves protrude regally from my wall. The wall’s deep purple stucco contrasts starkly with the boards’ glossy white granules. Atop the shelves, several volumes rise in lofty columns. The columns tremble. A strange commotion ripples through their pages.
Sprawled upon one such page, I feel the parchment beneath me shuddering like the earth beneath a wild stampede. Before my incredulous eyes, the typed letters before me quiver, totter… morph into ants! The ants march to and fro across the page, ravenously following thoughts of quarks, hidden dimensions, and string theory. I am in Brian Greene’s scientific novel, The Elegant Universe. I want to join the ants and delve into the author’s thoughts. Instead, I reflect on my memories:
Awe overwhelmed my middle-school mind. My hand, a bottle cap, everything, was composed of not only atoms, but of smaller quarks, which were not static points, but oscillating strings. Everything in my life might be controlled by infinitesimal, interconnected loops… the universe, a mind-bogglingly large space, might be only one of an infinite number of universes. After studying cosmology at an extra-curricular astro-camp, I was certain: I wanted to be a theoretical physicist.
I haul myself out of Greene’s novel and observe a stream of ants spilling from Pride and Prejudice, Gone with the Wind, and Crime and Punishment. I join their ranks, revisiting scenes of ballrooms, Civil War battles, 19th century St. Petersburg. Again, my thoughts wander:
As a sophomore, I loved venturing into the worlds of historic characters. AP European History quickly became my favorite class. I obsessed with particulars: Queen Elizabeth I and her rumored romantic interest in Sir Walter Raleigh, the infamous schemes and bizarre execution of the Russian monk, Rasputin. Studying history was like reading a novel, and I was determined to uncover the plots. I aspired to become an historian.
As we vacate Crime and Punishment, the ant before me halts jarringly. I pitch forward precariously. My arms whirl in a windmill-like motion. I plunge over the ant’s back into another novel.
An ant nudges me from the left. Another from the right. All around me, the ants careen spasmodically – here, there, everywhere! As I listen to the thoughts swirling about I deduce the cause of the chaos: the little creatures cannot decipher my Latin copy of Carmina.
I remembered translating Catullus’ poetry, analyzing his dysfunctional relationship with Lesbia. Wishing to grasp Catullus’ motivations and thought processes, I realized that it would be fascinating to study psychology.
I squeeze beneath Carmina’s cover and spot my ceramic teddy-bear bookend looming above me. Struck by a sudden impulse, I scale its towering form and settle comfortably between the figurine’s ears, my legs dangling over its eyes, and survey my bedroom. Around me, my books pitch and heave mightily as ants swell from their covers. A black sea of scuttling limbs, the ants pour out of Atlas Shrugged, A Long Way Gone, Star Trek, Harry Potter, and Dickens novels, and dozens more. They surge toward the center of my room, billow beneath my bed, and… disappear. The boisterous, animate rabble of thoughts vanishes, leaving behind the whisper of empty pages rustling blankly.
I withdraw from my daydream and scrutinize my college application. The old, but now more pressing, question batters my brain: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I contemplate my bookshelves and the stories that have shaped my identity and aspirations and am struck by the power of ink on paper to persuade, inform, and inspire. I select the English option from the application menu. My future might be undecided but surely pursuing my passionate interest in literature is the best way to fill its pages. I eye my copy of One L.
Perhaps an English degree will lead to a J.D. in law…