today, he attempted to think about nothing. That was the goal. To get to zero in the brain.
Two hours ago, he had eaten an edible to help ease this line of nonthinking. It had been covered in chocolate.
His cell phone rang, and he didn’t answer it because it was his mother, and why would he want to talk to her? She had showed up in his life lately, along with his father, after many years of a reasonable, healthy distance. The decades-long unspoken agreement to keep to their own corners of the country somehow spontaneously collapsed: they had moved to New Orleans—who knew why? Certainly it wasn’t because of a sincere desire to build an emotional connection with him and his family. Closeness was not their thing, his parents. But there they both were, every other week, sitting in his living room, expecting him to offer them a drink. To cater to their needs. While they got to know his wife and child, whom he would rather protect from them—if he could, he would have built a wall to separate the four of them. And now everyone’s talking all the time. Chitchatting. Wasn’t it enough that he had to see his mother for dinner on a regular basis? Did he really have to take her calls, too?
He turned his attention back to the sun and the vibrant bright pink that surrounded it. To get to zero was not exactly correct. What he was seeking was an absence of a consideration of women. He didn’t want to have to care anymore about what they thought or felt. He’d spent his whole life caring, in contrast to his father, who’d spent his whole life not caring. He didn’t want that life any longer, though. He wanted nothingness. A flat line in the head.
Except for his daughter, Avery; he would care about her forever.
Next, his wife texted. He saw her name, but did not consume the comment beneath it. There were dozens of texts in a row from her to which he had not yet responded, and if he waited long enough, perhaps he would not be obliged to do so. He thought: If a text disappears from sight, does it even exist anymore? It becomes just a thought someone had once. I’m really on to something, he thought. He made a small fist in the air. I need to keep staring at this fucking sunset for five more minutes and I know I’ll have it all figured out. Don’t leave me yet, sunset, don’t you dare die on me, little spot of orange and pink, not when I’m this close to figuring it all out.
The phone rang again, and it was his sister.
Except for my sister, too, he thought. This plan for not caring, already gone awry.
He always wanted to talk to Alex, because she was not just his sister, but also his friend, and also, they had both survived that house in Connecticut together, and it was a natural instinct to accept her hand when she reached it toward him, although maybe he should have waited a beat longer before picking up, because the mother-wife-sister communication trifecta could mean nothing good, and there’s no better way to ruin a sunset than picking up a phone call. But it was Alex, and he loved her, so he answered, and she was so breathless with the news about their father’s heart attack she sounded nearly joyful, which anyone else might have found inappropriate but he didn’t, he was on her team, and she was on his, and by the time he was done talking to her, the sun was gone, and he found himself in tears.
There was his moment of clarity. Because while he would have liked to erase the thought of women, perhaps more than that he would have liked to erase the thought of his father. And now that seemed possible. At last.
Nearby a woman was paused, post-hike. She stole looks at Gary, at his long legs, at his tight, sweat-stained T-shirt, at his emotion-filled face with its sizable, striking nose, at his dark curls dampening his forehead. He’s crying, she thought. Is that touching, or is that a warning sign? She couldn’t tell. Then she looked at his enormous hands. She saw no ring.
She thought to herself: If I ever have to meet another man online, I’m going to jump right off this cliff—I can’t do it, I can’t, not anymore.
The woman was a Pilates instructor; she offered private training