Mr. Universe Comes A-Callin’ is a creative non-fiction work inspired by true life events that served as a slap-upside-the-head reminder from Mr. Universe to author Stace “Spot on Chaos” Freeze as to why she started Bubbles and Chaos in the first place: To creatively share experiences and knowledge she’s gained since she’s started this Special Needs/Complex Needs Mom gig.
Originally written in March of 2017, this two-part piece first appeared in another iteration of Bubbles and Chaos, but did not make it back into publication after the site’s re-imagining and migration to new hosting in October of 2017.
We have decided to backdate this piece to reflect the original time frame of when it was written. **Edit: We’re still figuring out this blogging gig. We’ve decided against backdating this piece.
Today’s date: 10/10/2018.
Where to start? Where to start?
I had been drafting and outlining for weeks. File folders were stuffed and overflowing. My desktops (digital and real-world) were a mess. There were possible guest interviews in the works and product reviews to be done. Then, of course, there were the more general pieces that needed edited and published–the digital dumpster-fire fodder first drafts I’d tossed aside in creative tantrum. Yes, there had been plenty to do. The site’s lack of content was definitely NOT been due to a shortage of ideas. And yet…
None of it felt…right.
And then Mr. Universe dropped in.
The other morning, Mr. Universe came a-calling quite unexpectedly during a focus session. Being a creature of habit with a general distaste for Mr. Universe’s spontaneous nature and his sick, sadistic, and seemingly constant insistence on pushing me out of my comfort zone and straight into the line of fire, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him. I hoped to get rid of him asap.
“Yeah, uh, hey. Nice to see you and all, but I wasn’t really expecting company. Trying to, you know, work on stuff,” I explained, nodding towards the kitchen where my makeshift office in all its disastrous glory was currently set up. My laptop’s finger-smudged screen glared angrily back at us from the table top, seemingly just as annoyed with our pop-in visitor.
Universe breezed past, snorting as he tossed a quick glance my way, and headed straight to the kitchen. He poured himself a generous cup of coffee, lit a cigarette, and slid into a seat at the head of the table. He settled well into the chair, leaning back all comfy-cozy. From his “Zero Fucks Given” expression and his nonchalantly-blown smoke rings, I gathered He clearly had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon.
He snapped a single digit into the air: Wait for it…
I cringed, hesitant to read the incoming text message:
I need to talk to you.
Oh shit. This can’t be good.
Moments later, the phone rang and I answered. Her words jumped cadence and came rushing forth at me in a tidal wave of violent sobs. They slammed and churned into each other, unintelligible statements gurgling and drowning in a sea of fear and anguish. I strained to pick up what she was putting down. I struggled against losing myself in her moment.
Blood test. Positive. Down Syndrome.
Somewhere in the background, as I was being wrenched backward through time and space, I heard Mr. Universe call out to me.
“You start,” he stated, his voice cold and matter-of-fact, “at the beginning.”