“Yeah, but..”

“Sure, the current model isn’t perfect, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s for people who have vision — a vision of the future — forward thinkers that know that the only way to live and look is forward, you know? And like I said, the next model — the next five models! — they’re going to knock your socks off, and people who don’t get in now might not even have a chance — not a chance! — to get in. There you’ll be, sitting right here on your porch, iced tea in one hand and this thing in the other, knowing that you’ve got something wonderful coming your way. Knowing that because you accepted this invitation of membership today you set yourself up for a lifetime of sunny days.”

“…”

“It’s like this: do you like having things to look forward to? This is a real question, not one of those hypothetical mumbo-jumbo deals that you hear on the street. Do you like knowing that you have something great coming you way?”

“Well, I-”

“Of course! you do. And why wouldn’t you want to have that feeling everyday, right? For just a small annual processing fee, and of course the incredibly modest account creation service charge, you’ll live every day like it’s Christmas Eve! Every day! Sure, this may not seem like it solves all your problems right now, and it doesn’t — it’s not designed to! — but I know that doesn’t bother you because you’re a real forward thinker, a real visionary.”

“I mean, yeah, I usually-”

“Exactly! Because you’re smart enough to know, you’re smarter than that neighbor over there”

“Bill?”

“-Right, Bill. Go ahead and wave to that guy, smile big too. Wave your neighborly wave knowing that he’ll never get the one-up on life that you’re about to get right now. Because this is a limited time membership and we just can’t allow everyone to join? Then everyone would be in line waiting for the next version — the next great! version — of this thing on the horizon, and that just wouldn’t work. Only you have the strength and courage and vision to see how important this moment is. The moment where you put your foot down and say to the world, ‘today is going to be the first day of my future. Yesterday was yesterday, and tomorrow is coming no matter what, and so today I say to you, world, here I am, living and breathing, and there’s nothing you can do to stop that.’ Am I right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think-”

“No no, enough of that, let’s just sign this thing and give each other a grand slap on the back, right buddy! OK then!”

“OK”

“I’m telling you, buddy, you’re a special one, a real forward thinker. You won’t regret it. Today is the first day of a long series of realized tomorrows. You just wait and see.

“Yeah, I can’t wait un-”

“Right, exactly. Now, what was that neighbor’s name again?”

“Bill?”

“Right. Bill. Well now, I’m just going to go over there right now – march myself right over there – and tell that Bill how he’s no where near as forward a thinker as you are..”

It’s my turn to cook dinner tonight. I went into the kitchen earlier and it’s a mess. Becca must not have cleaned up at all. When she cooks I always clean up after her. That’s our arrangement, one person makes a mess, the other gets rid of it.

She must be out for a walk, she’s never around anymore. I understand needing space, but it’s getting a little lonely living in this apartment. I never thought one bedroom would feel like too much space. When we moved in we were always bumping elbows.

I’ve been reading up on Buddhism lately, trying to understand my place in all of this. There’s a section I read last night that talks about compassion, and how you can’t really listen to someone unless you love them. Maybe that’s all Becca does these days, love me. Maybe she’s trapped in that listening-love space.

The book also goes on to talk about space, and how ultimately there’s really no such thing. That since we are all connected – are really all the same thing – that space between objects is an illusion. A flower is in the clouds is in the soil is in my breakfast cereal is in me. So maybe Becca isn’t far away from me as much as I’m distant from myself.

Wait.

Myself. My self.

“Becca?…”

Why isn’t she here? When was the last time we talked? Why don’t I know this?

A sound I’ve been hearing all morning isn’t going away. I thought it was outside but maybe it’s not. I’ll check all the rooms.

The bedroom looks horrible. It’s messy and cluttered and so dark with shades drawn. The living room is no better, dirty dishes piled without structure, stacks of unopened mail falling from the coffee table onto the floor. The bathroom – the answer is always in the bathroom.

I see it right away, black permanent marker on the medicine cabinet mirror directing me to “open NOW.” Inside, one large prescription bottle with a note taped to the top.

“Take this to forget”

Of course, now I remember.

floating in my father’s weightlessness

peeking sheepishly over his shoulder

to watch the world ebb away with lullaby cadence

sleep, whispering its secrets in my ears

my limbs unravelling to begin their subtle sway

like fields of underwater wheat

caressed by deep, gentle currents

floating. out to sea, out past the horizon

past the fingertips of gravity

to where sea and sky press together, quietly and softly

and promise to hold each other forever

and suspended there, wrapped in cloud-cotton blankets

i reach out my little man’s hand, and

pat-pat-pat my father’s back

to tell him, ‘thank you. thank you.’