Sean Williamson
Christ of the Abyss
In India, in Russia, in Thailand. The statues are immense. My headaches have been bad and feeling worse every day. It is horrific to search: TALLEST STATUES. But still I do this. Even on the cracked display of my outdated phone, they put a weight on my heart. The Motherland Calls, Guanyin of Nanshan, Great Buddha of Thailand—they are giants and we are nothing.
Christ of the Abyss is covered with algae, submerged in the Mediterranean Sea. Christ of the Abyss raises his hand up toward the surface. He is horrific too. Something is rotting inside my skull. At the mall, Sawyer rides the escalator a million times in a blue coverall snowsuit. In the food court this black guy with a backpack asks an asian girl in a Finish Line polo what time it is. They are at different tables. His heel taps furious on the floor. Over and over he asks her. Finish Line takes out her earbuds and tells him, each time more polite.
Am I stuck in a loop? Sawyer picks apart a Pretzel Dog, ketchup sticky on his cheeks.
Teeangers everywhere go “ohhhhhhhhhhhh.” They join from every floor. Leaning inward over railings, looking up, good haircuts, young teeth. There is a terrible echo, all those kids screaming. The glass shakes. The floors crumble. I hold Sawyer’s hand. Security chases the kids away. My headache pushes in. Sawyer falls asleep on the way home. The Unisphere bobs above the tree line in Corona Park. Cars stuff in long lines along the freeway.
While Sawyer sleeps I lay back on the sofa and scroll. The apartment isn’t done yet. Boxes in the corners, shelves waiting to be hung. In the apartment next door they are watching YouTube videos about the Marvel Universe with the volume cranked. In India, the Statue of Unity stands twice as tall as the Statue of Liberty. How could that possibly stay upright? I chew my fingertips till I taste blood. In ten minutes I have to get Theodor from school. The Statue of Unity gives me vertigo. I scroll, a thin steel spike twisting behind my ear. There’s a photo of a scuba diver treading underwater right in front of Christ of the Abyss. Sunlight cuts down in rays through the water. The diver is close enough to touch the statue. I mean, it’s hard enough to get up for this, without thinking about what Jesus does at night, all alone down there.
Sean Williamson attends the MFA writing program at Sarah Lawrence College. In 2009 he started the indie production house World Wide Dirt. His debut feature, Heavy Hands was an official selection to the 2013 Raindance Film Festival (London). Sean is a Wisconsin native, but now lives in Queens with his partner and two sons. His work has appeared in, or is forthcoming at, Post Road, The Drum, Juked and The Millions.
Malasaña | Hudson, NY| Cargo Collective | Portland, ME | 2021