VII

The Nothing Man walked to the Nothing Woman, a virus in their souls

A memory of nothing, only a sense of what was

He and the vagrant young men moved along a line of sickness for a homeless meal

The Nothing Man in his rust cap

His pulled-up collar frayed at the edges

The Nothing Woman in white poured warm soup in the cold November Rain

The line of men touched their lips to the small bowls and drank from her kindness

The Nothing Man stood near...he sensed his nameless lover in the summer garden when she said Idaho...

 

"Come," she said. "Just you and me, we can float to Idaho. See the hills and valleys from above. Our spirits in eternal love. We'll sing each other's name, and listen to it echo forever young in the cold, pure air."

He laughed. "You know, I will fly to Atlantic City tomorrow with my bachelor friends. Play Taj Mahal. When I come back we will marry, and float our souls to Idaho."

 

 

 

 

 Virus VI

He wore a rust coloured cap. His wool collar was pulled up high to keep away the rain, to protect his neck from the cold. The nothing man stood in line with other nothing men where they waited for food. The shelter fed the viral young, their memories stolen in fever and weakness. All they had was a sense of what once was.

 

There was no spirit inside to hold up his soul

...no spirit to hold him above the sickness and madness

The nothing man moved one step ahead with the other nothing men. He thought he could see inside their heads. See the jangle of nonsensical thoughts. See the rancour of life scolding the deafness of weeping death. 

He saw a human face in the distance...and wondered if she was the fiance he once knew. He wondered if she too was lost in the fever, the weakness, the viral void of a nothing woman. 

He watched her in her kindness. Her white robe  made him sense what once was, what should have been. That time not so long ago, when he grew his hair long, his beard nearly touching their souls.

Like the lonely dancer in Atlantic City, he watched through the lure of a smoky window on Main Street...

 

Virus--Old Men

On a cold November night, under a growling hidden moon, two old men sit on a balcony--on old plastic chairs. With short breathes they smoke long cigarettes and drink beer from cold brown bottles. 

They've been neighbours, but not for long. Since only the last few months when they discovered what they had in common was what they once had, and lost to long nights and cold beers. The wives they divorced and the grown children they hadn't spoken to in years.

With a virus in the land, the residence allowed seniors to socialize outside. A mystery virus that spared the old, that stole the memories of the young. 

Hard drops of rain bounce off the balcony railing and land at the feet of the men. Sometimes a wind gust blows water onto their laps but spares their cigarettes and never touches the bottles of beer.

Through the blackness and the rain they see into the park. Under a bright lamppost they see a young man sitting alone on a bench. His rust coloured cap pulled low, the collar of his coat pulled up high. Every night they see him, but have never spoken of what they believe. That he is a viral young. That he is lost. That he has no memory, only a sense of what was.

One old man takes a deep drag from his cigarette and draws down a large gulp of beer. He says to the other man: "My boy's name is Ralph. Named him after his grandfather. He'd be about forty now. Last I heard he joined the navy. Haven't seen him in years."

"Sure," the other old man replies."I got a son about the same age. Don't know what he does. My daughter, last I heard she lives on the coast. I think she teaches school. I couldn't make it for her wedding day."

The men drink more beer and watch the rain turn into wet snow.

"You think that young man sitting in the park wearing the cap is all alone?" One man asks. "He sits there night after night, and winter is coming."

"Probably got the virus. Doesn't remember nothing. He probably has got lots of people, just can't recall them. They'll probably come out with a cure soon. Wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Yeah, probably."

The two neighbours feel cold and get up from the old plastic chairs. They walk like old men to the warmth of their apartment and turn on the TV. They watch a forgotten movie from when they were young and fall asleep at opposite ends of a black couch...like a long limousine.