“Hey Backpack!” he called out to the girl with the backpack taller than she was who was walking through the streets of the city.
“Hey You!” she said back when she saw who had called her.
The thing is, neither one knew or had ever seen the other. Do you realize the odds against this? For a boy to call out to a person he does not know? To have the girl reciprocate such pathological behavior? And for them to engage in a conversation that is neither disingenuous nor unnecessary?
But theirs was no feigned familiarity. Only the greeting reeked of fat, but in this case was necessary to arrest attention and establish the parameters of the first conversation.
“I now believe,” he said, sitting down on a bench he hadn’t noticed until he felt the desire to sit, “there is no way to convince anyone of anything unless you are willing to kill yourself for it.”
“You’ve mentioned this to me before.”
“Have I? How could I? I’ve only just thought of it.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“It seems like it would be, and yet I can’t honestly remember ever thinking this thought before right now.”
“It’s just wording. Remember the first time you fell in love? That was the same thing.”
All the other people on the street were vanishing and took their time doing so. By that I mean they continued to be there without the desire to be there and therefore the boy and the girl were virtually alone.
“You’re right. But that felt so melodramatic in retrospect.”
“And this isn’t?”
“Yes. You’re right. But that doesn’t make it untrue.”
“Same goes for the love.”
They sat in silence for thirty hours after that. The girl with backpack kept the backpack on her back and did not shiver in the night. He did and she noticed, but she did not offer anything from her backpack to keep him warm because then she would have had to disturb her own meditation. Also, she knew she had nothing which would take away the shivering anyway.
When the thirty hours were up, he turned to her and said, “Do you have a sweater?” After that, she didn’t mind disturbing herself.
They decided to live together. They found a house with five bedrooms. He took two of the bedrooms to put his things: clothes, shoes, American novels, ski equipment, old birthday cards, four wristwatches, a hammer, pictures of people, three blank notebooks, grade school illustrations, a clock radio and a power strip. She took two of the bedrooms to put her things: a calendar, an ashtray, six boxes of grey envelopes, a computer, a box of chocolate, a porcelain pony, clothes, shoes, a scented candle (rain). In the remaining bedroom they put the bed and a lamp. The rest of the room was bare. In the kitchen was some Tupperware that had been left by the previous owners and three forks they found on the street.
Then they went on and lived lives that were mostly fulfilling. Today, the bedroom they share has many more things as do the other bedrooms and the kitchen. They see movies. They like eating dinner in the dark. They tell stories to each other about the things they do when they are not in the house. They don’t greet each other anymore because they have already said hello once and are in the process of saying goodbye, so it wouldn’t make sense. The girl still walks around with her backpack no matter where she goes. The boy still calls out on the street to other people from time to time, but so far nobody has answered back.
Sometimes there is silence for days.
“Hey You!” she said back when she saw who had called her.
The thing is, neither one knew or had ever seen the other. Do you realize the odds against this? For a boy to call out to a person he does not know? To have the girl reciprocate such pathological behavior? And for them to engage in a conversation that is neither disingenuous nor unnecessary?
But theirs was no feigned familiarity. Only the greeting reeked of fat, but in this case was necessary to arrest attention and establish the parameters of the first conversation.
“I now believe,” he said, sitting down on a bench he hadn’t noticed until he felt the desire to sit, “there is no way to convince anyone of anything unless you are willing to kill yourself for it.”
“You’ve mentioned this to me before.”
“Have I? How could I? I’ve only just thought of it.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“It seems like it would be, and yet I can’t honestly remember ever thinking this thought before right now.”
“It’s just wording. Remember the first time you fell in love? That was the same thing.”
All the other people on the street were vanishing and took their time doing so. By that I mean they continued to be there without the desire to be there and therefore the boy and the girl were virtually alone.
“You’re right. But that felt so melodramatic in retrospect.”
“And this isn’t?”
“Yes. You’re right. But that doesn’t make it untrue.”
“Same goes for the love.”
They sat in silence for thirty hours after that. The girl with backpack kept the backpack on her back and did not shiver in the night. He did and she noticed, but she did not offer anything from her backpack to keep him warm because then she would have had to disturb her own meditation. Also, she knew she had nothing which would take away the shivering anyway.
When the thirty hours were up, he turned to her and said, “Do you have a sweater?” After that, she didn’t mind disturbing herself.
They decided to live together. They found a house with five bedrooms. He took two of the bedrooms to put his things: clothes, shoes, American novels, ski equipment, old birthday cards, four wristwatches, a hammer, pictures of people, three blank notebooks, grade school illustrations, a clock radio and a power strip. She took two of the bedrooms to put her things: a calendar, an ashtray, six boxes of grey envelopes, a computer, a box of chocolate, a porcelain pony, clothes, shoes, a scented candle (rain). In the remaining bedroom they put the bed and a lamp. The rest of the room was bare. In the kitchen was some Tupperware that had been left by the previous owners and three forks they found on the street.
Then they went on and lived lives that were mostly fulfilling. Today, the bedroom they share has many more things as do the other bedrooms and the kitchen. They see movies. They like eating dinner in the dark. They tell stories to each other about the things they do when they are not in the house. They don’t greet each other anymore because they have already said hello once and are in the process of saying goodbye, so it wouldn’t make sense. The girl still walks around with her backpack no matter where she goes. The boy still calls out on the street to other people from time to time, but so far nobody has answered back.
Sometimes there is silence for days.
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