A Philosophy of Ruin
Page 20
He wondered, if he had had another chance, how far back in time he would have had to go for things to turn out okay in the end. Long before he met Dawn, that was obvious. Back before he chose a profession. Maybe if he could go far enough back to significantly alter the life of his mother, maybe to her childhood, where he could try to stop the world from inflicting itself on her the way it had—that would probably be simpler than trying to change whatever it was within her that made her feel life’s offenses so keenly.
He lay down for a minute in the rocky dust, curled up, closed his eyes, and tried to make it so. He figured it was worth a try—it seemed like such a simple impediment to overcome: merely time and space. Why be here, now, when he could just as easily be there, then? But nothing happened. He was still, somehow, tethered to this place, maddened by the boundaries of his perception.
When he stood up again, it was freezing. He began to shiver.
Could he turn back? He realized he didn’t know which way back was and couldn’t see his tracks.
Eventually, if he tried to stay pointed downhill where he could sense an incline, he would hit a stream or a river, and if he went far enough in one direction along it, it seemed to follow, he would eventually hit a road.
Forms suggested themselves to him in the dark; he thought perhaps scrub bushes or cacti, but when he got close they dissolved and he walked right clean through the space where he thought they had been, his hands out in front of him like a sleepwalker.
His feet blistered, his pace slowed. Not knowing what to do, he sat down on the ground to think this through. He tried to warm himself with thoughts of love and kindness. He called out to his father and then to God.
Just then, in the space of one second, the cloudbank that was covering the moon rolled away, and the light that fell down like gray gauze was startlingly bright compared to what had preceded it.
The light allowed him to see what lay before him, which was, in fact, nothing. Just more flat desert floor, rocks, scrub, stretching out into the gloom.
Exhaustion embraced him.
Clouds moved back in to smother the light.
On the horizon, he thought he might have seen two pinpoints of light—maybe headlights—but maybe he was imagining it, and anyway he couldn’t tell which direction they were moving, if they were moving at all.
He told himself a story. In this story Dawn was driving toward him. She had figured out exactly where he was, and she would pick him up and get them the hell out of this place and they would just keep on driving, keep driving clear through into another life.
A great peal of agony racked Oscar’s body and he was flattened onto his back. And then in an instant the pain was gone entirely.
He kept his eyes open, trying to find some stars.
“Like this?” he said out loud through chattering teeth.
Name one reason why it couldn’t end like this.
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Acknowledgments
The author would like to thank the following for their guidance, friendship, patience and love, as applicable: Alexander Chee, Judith Frank, David Burr Gerrard, John Glynn, Carol Kaplan, Claire Labine, Clem Labine, Eleanor Labine, Matthew Labine, Morgen Labine, Danielle Lanzet, Rose Lenehan, Ariel Lewiton, Roger Mancusi, Rose Mancusi, Tom Mancusi, Vincent Mancusi, Rick Morgan, Jessi Olsen, Felipe Serpa, Tom Paul Smith, Analuz Vizarretea, Joy Watson, Monika Woods, Kyle Lucia Wu, and the staffs of Hanover Square Press and St. Bartholomew’s Church.
ISBN-13: 9781488098635
A Philosophy of Ruin
Copyright © 2019 by Nicholas Mancusi
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