This week, I have a new story out in Clarkesworld Magazine called “Cameron Rhyder’s Legs.” It’s an admittedly unusual title, and one based on a true experience. My friend, let’s call him Arthur C, and I went to a Foo Fighters concert at Roseland about 1000 years ago. It was general admission, and being drunk and a little crazy, we decided to move as close to the stage as possible. Back in those days people used to mosh, i.e. slam their bodies together at high velocity, if the music was high-energy enough. (I’m dating myself: do they still mosh today? I haven’t been to a loud concert in a while.) So Arthur C. and I are up front, but off to the side, near stage right. And to our right, a few feet off the floor, is a VIP dais where a bunch of well-heeled folks are sitting at these small tables. And we’re dancing and singing along, when we notice that the young, attractive woman sitting at the VIP table immediately to our right is none other than Winona Ryder. At this point Arthur C. and I are quite drunk. I’m also pretty sure I was a wee bit more than drunk too, which amplified my reaction, when Arthur C. says, pointing over my shoulder, “Dude, that’s Winona Ryder’s legs!”
Now, it was loud and people were jumping around like crazy, but I’m pretty sure Ms. Ryder heard him. I nodded and pretended not to notice them, i.e. her legs. Nevertheless, he said it again and again, as if making sure I understood the ramifications of what he was suggesting. “But, dude, those are Winona Ryder’s legs!” Her legs were in fact mere inches from my face, and after a while his words became like a mantra, hypnotizing me. Those are Winona Ryder’s legs. Once this happened, I found it impossible to divert my attention from her legs, even though my eyes were on Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters. It was as if her legs had some Cosmic significance I had yet to discern. These were not mere prosaic legs, but the key to an entire dimension of thought and time I was not yet privy to.
So the concert ends and Arthur C. and I are walking home, through Times Square, when we look up and see David Bowie and Trent Reznor in a cab together. Or I should say, Trent Reznor driving David Bowie through the streets in a cab. Except this wasn’t an ordinary cab. It was on the back of a truck bed, and there was a camera mounted on the hood pointed inside. The front windshield was missing. As it turns out, they were shooting this video:
My suspicion that the night had some Cosmic significance was amplified even more. I remember telling Arthur C. that very night, “One day I’m going to write about this.” Dreams of the night bothered me for years, niggling at my subconscious. Well, it took me over a decade, but “Cameron Rhyder’s Legs” is my interpretation of that evening. I’m not sure if Winona Ryder’s legs had the same Cosmic significance as Cameron Rhyder’s legs do in my story, but I do know my story wouldn’t exist had not Arthur C. made such a show to point them out.
Here’s a teaser paragraph:
Five thousand young men and women crowd this music hall tonight, and one of them is the soul I must erase from existence. How many she has killed I cannot say. To suggest a number is a sin. How can we count those who no longer exist? I once had a family, a husband, eight children. A life and a future. But all this has been timelost, expunged from history. And so I will expunge her. Except I’ve no idea who she is. Or he, for that matter. In this Now, gender and dress make a difference.
Keep reading “Cameron Rhyder’s Legs.”
| Read the first novel of the Worldmender trilogy King of Shards free now when you subscribe to my newsletter. | Read Queen of Static now, the follow-up to the groundbreaking novel King of Shards. |
 |
 |
