Sunday, January 13, 2013

The Pavement


Actually, that very morning I had resigned myself only to meet everyman for the rest of my life, and began to apply the appropriate measured steps toward this reality.  But I was at the corner of 14th and Bismark in the drowning light of a rainy day when I was approached by a man.  He wore a long damp dark cloak with collar turned up and a hat with a downward brim.  I saw an unlighted cigarette in his mouth and as he closed the distance between us he began "Can I-", I was already drawing my lighter from my pocket, shielding it from the rain.  As he continued his lips did not move but the cigarette wagged up and down like an imploring puppet and when I could almost feel his breath I heard: "Can I crack my skull against yours?"  When everything stopped I looked into his eyes and saw a gaze as sure and steady as if there had been nothing in their sockets.  Then there was a strong thunk and bright white and that was all.

Revivified by the same gray rain of dawn, I was surprised to find myself in the same place. I thought I was lying on the ground, and as the first passerby walked on without question or surprise I quickly tried to rise up and then brush myself off and then attend to all those people I was thinking about. But I lifted my arm, it would not move.  I tried to shift my leg but it did not budge.  And then I felt another passerby.  He stepped on my face, and I felt no pain. The sole of his shoe was as flush with the contours of my head as if it were the same as the flat pavement of the sidewalk. And then a woman stepped on my ribs, but again, it was as hard as concrete. I looked up at the people walking on and around me, I can see them, and I found that I was in the firm ground of 14th and Bismarck where I had met the man last night.  As the sun rose, so came the wave of people skittering over my body on their way to everywhere. Sometimes they stop for conversations near me and I can hear everything and what a pleasure it is. But nothing like the pleasure of this stillness—the strength of this unflappable inertia. 

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