It started with the buoy. It was a gift from a friend who went to Portugal, and apparently it was a Portuguese type of thing to buy. At first we let the ball gather dust by the television, then, after our friend clued us in, we discovered that they were traditionally hung from the ceiling when not used in the ocean. So up it went over the couch. When we had visitors they would avoid sitting directly below the thing because it was so fucking huge. Also, when the door opened, it teetered to and fro like an ancient trap waiting to crush some clumsy tomb raiders.
After that the giant buoy looked too awkward hanging all by itself. At first we tried to hide it with a few smaller ornaments, but its size was impossible to avoid. You felt its magnitude the instant you entered the room. It was ridiculous.
We hung up some lanterns and tried to make the best of the situation. At night all we had to do was flick on a few switches and it looked like you were staring up at the Milky Way galaxy. Only the Milky Way looked like a smudge of snot compared to our glowing cacophony. Constellations of baubles would wobble around if the door was opened or shut. Sometimes we would get drunk and just watch our ceiling. We would just sit there, drink, and watch our fucking ceiling for hours and hours. It was like we didn't know where the hell it even came from. As if we just woke up one evening after a nap and a fireworks show appeared in our rafters.
Sometimes my wife would ask if I added some extra ornaments. I found myself asking her the same thing. We both assumed it was an inside joke, as if the other secretly added more to our collection while the other was out of the house. Only, I never added anything new after our tenth or eleventh lantern. Maybe she got a kick out of confusing me, watching my reaction every time the ceiling seemed to grow and bulge with new trinkets. Or maybe, I would wonder on days when I was especially drunk and looking up at our masterpiece, maybe the ceiling was growing by itself. We created the perfect environment, and now, like a mold, strings of lights and bottles would just sprout from the rafters.
Each week the collection would grow immensely. The rafters seemed to groan and creek with the burgeoning amount of baubles and charms. If there was even a tiny earthquake it seemed as though we would be squished under the wires and chains and potions. One day I asked my wife to maybe stop it with our collection. She gave me a weird smile and said she thought we had enough a long time ago, but that I seemed to enjoy it. I didn't know what to say.
Every night the ceiling produces more glowing lights, more bells and balls and buoys. We just sit there, with a few bottles of wine and beer between us, and watch. It sparkles and shimmers above us and we are helpless to take our eyes away.
