The young man—actually older than he looked—walked out on the stage. “The moment has come!” he said.
He enjoyed his little performances. In real life he was an assistant professor of English—another performing role. As a hobby he had taken the idea of role playing a step further, not actually to the point of real ‘magic’ but more of a game played as often and as thoroughly as possible. He was also half convinced that there was something to it—that somehow his fantastical attempts to attune himself to the energies in nature actually made a difference in his life. He found, for example, that he had become a girl-magnet.
He had noticed a new girl at the last meeting. She had come with a friend and the two of them had left so quickly after the meeting that he hadn’t had time to talk to her. But she was back again tonight. She was plain by his standards, but he wasn’t all that particular. Of course, she had a male with her this time. Drat. He hated trying to edge out male companions—it was usually more trouble than it was worth. He had done it—he could usually make the guy look boorish and himself sophisticated. But it often produced hostility on the part of the male companion and that would sometimes backfire quite spectacularly.
Let’s see, tonight it’s the circle of life. It sounded good and it let people think they were getting beyond the surface of things. He hadn’t actually decided what it was supposed to mean, but the possibilities were endless. He could probably even sneak in reincarnation if he wanted.
Not tonight, though, just the bland stuff. But mention ‘outer mysteries’ to make them wonder if there isn’t something more. If there were outer mysteries there must be inner mysteries. He’d better get working on them soon, just in case. But if he was doing outer mysteries, he could just explain all the stuff he already had worked out. Easy.
He went through it, then stood solemnly. One disadvantage, he thought, of being the guy in front was that he had to stand near this cat-wauling stuff they called music. But it was part of the patter.
He walked off the stage towards the exit, keeping an eye on the girl. Double drat! They’d picked up another guy. Oh well, better luck next time. He would certainly have other opportunities.
He went bar hopping that night, wound up with a somewhat bedraggled female who wasn’t all that attractive in the light, but it was nighttime after all. She seemed tired, and he didn’t bother to assure her that he would call her.
Saturday morning. The weekend, he thought. What to do with it. Grading papers, watching television. Maybe he’d skip the bars tonight. Lots of work to do, plus his paper to work on. Chasing tenure. He had two strikes against him—he was a white male—but he could at least play the game. If he could seem weird enough he might even stake out enough of a territory that he’d gain some notice. He wasn’t going to play the goddess game, that was for sure. Too many had gone that route; he wanted to at least seem different.
The weekend dragged on. Sunday came, quiet and somewhat depressing. He thought of the old joke about people wanting to live forever but not knowing what to do with themselves on Sunday afternoon. If he had his choice, though, he would certainly remove that part of the week. Why couldn’t they take an hour out of Sunday afternoon when they started daylight savings time? Nobody would miss it. There were far too many hours there already.
He took a nap, sleeping until awakened by the phone ringing. He woke up groggily, later than he had planned. Who could be calling him? Probably some student wanting help. He was tempted to let the answering machine kick in, but he decided to break the monotony. He answered the phone. A female voice! That was at least interesting, perhaps promising.
What was she saying? Something about ghosts? That was too weird. Now she wanted to put her friend on. A male voice. Drat. “Hold on, hold on,” he said. “Start from the beginning.” Eventually he started to get some sense out of them. They wanted to come talk to him about some ghost they claimed to be seeing. They thought of him because they’d gone to the Fellowship of the Daylight Moon and were impressed with what he said. Hmn, it was a mixed group, there was always a chance….
“Why don’t you come over to my place and we can talk about it,” he said. Bother, he hadn’t finished his papers for tomorrow. “Look, sorry I can’t do it tonight, but how about tomorrow night?…Great, say, 9pm? I’m busy until them, I’m afraid….Bring whatever you want….Fine, see you then.”
Well, that sounded interesting. Or at least would break the monotony. Oh, well, time to get to the papers. He worked on them, but half his mind was thinking about the ghost question. A dead girl, they had said. A bad love affair. He thought back to a girl he had known when he was a grad student. Annie was her name. The relationship had gotten way out of hand, and he had felt trapped. Finally he made a break for freedom, or at least that was how he thought of it in his own mind.
His big mistake had probably been to bring the new girl to his “special” place. He’d been trying to cool the old relationship but he wanted someone, and he could always score there….Annie had followed them, and made a scene. She’d even scratched him when he tried to calm her down. But of course he never thought in a million years she would kill herself in such a melodramatic fashion. Such unstable people should not be allowed outdoors without someone to take care of them. How was he to know that this would happen? It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. How was he to know? It wasn’t his fault….
After a while he realized his mind was repeating the same thoughts over and over. He sighed and decided to go for a walk. In fact, he had not been to that old place in a long time, since he’d heard she had killed herself. He decided to walk over there. Maybe the ghost would be there, who knows.
Some time later he arrived at the beginning of the path that led to the overlook where Annie had hung herself. He walked along the path. It felt very strange, like nothing he remembered from previous visits. He had to fight the urge to keep looking over his shoulder.
“Why am I here?” he thought. “I will turn around and go back.” But he kept walking forward. He was cold now, and his hair was rising up all over his body. He started trembling. He found himself moaning, saying, “No, no.” Each step seemed forced from him by some iron will outside himself.
He was walking toward a tree—the one he used to take girls to. It had a really good view across the bay. But there was no view, just clouds or fog or something that totally obscured the view. Someone had tied something to the tree with a rope. It seemed like a bundle of cloth…but as he got closer he saw that it was a body, a corpse, hanging by its neck. He could see the arms and legs dangling uselessly. The back was toward him but the wind was blowing the corpse slowly back and forth, and slowly around. He was getting closer even as he tried to stop himself.
Against his will he came up close to the hanging corpse, and it rotated so he was face to face with it. He was afraid beyond fear. He wanted with all his heart to be elsewhere but he had no choice. He had to look at that face.
It was the remnant of a face that had been discarded and left to rot. Skin seemed to cover it but it had been eaten away in places leaving…not bones, not skull, but nothing. He realized he was more afraid of the nothing than the ragged seeming flesh that still hung on the corpse. Suddenly his horror multiplied as he realized that he knew who it was. He wanted to get away but he realized that he was connected by some perverse desire to the remnant of the person he was seeing. He knew it was not love, not any happiness that connected them. He wanted what was there, while at the same time he hated it. If he could stop wanting or stop hating he would be free, but he could do neither. He had a dim sense that his being was too chaotic for him to be able to decide what he wanted and what he hated.
The face came closer, white, deathly. With eyes. Holes. Deep dark holes that grew bigger. His attempts to avoid those holes were useless and only seemed to bring him closer. He was falling into those holes. He could not stop himself. He fell and fell. It was dark all around him now.
Suddenly he realized that he was alone, not alone. He was there and Nothing was there too. And he was playing a game with Nothing. Nothing was taking everything of his that was nothing.
His PhD degree. Fashionable humbug. Nothing.
His friends. Conveniences. None that would die for him, nor that he would die for. Nothing.
His loves. Each one used and abandoned. Nothing.
He watched as his life was disassembled piece by piece. Gradually he realized that he could not keep any part of himself from being claimed by Nothing. His life was a vapor, a mist, so close to nothing that he could not keep it from being blown away.
He wanted to stop playing this horrible game. There was only a poor remnant of him left now, not worth saving. He looked around, trying to find somewhere to go. But there was no light. It was black. He was lost. He could not find his way back. Then he realized that he no longer cared. His life was nothing. He had to give in to that.
But surprisingly there was something thing left. Grief. The thought that he could have been different, that his life could have been more than a vapor. Somewhere along the line he could have connected himself to something solid.
His last thought was that grief was better than Nothing.