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Circles and Sam (1999)
["Circles and Sam"
was published in Fait Accomplit. Fait Accomplit
is a literary journal published by the University of Alberta Comparative
Literature Association. They publish stories, poems, essays, plays,
photos, and other printable creative works, while leaving the
copyright with the author.]
***
The first time Steve had ever really thought of circles as a frightening concept was when he was eight years old. Of course, he had not, at precisely that point in his life, consciously thought of what he had witnessed as circular, and, naturally, had not become possessed of one of those mythologically popular morbid childhood fears causing him to ruin birthday parties by wailing at the sight of carousels and, later on, discreetly avoid doughnuts and pizza at social gatherings. No, his slow but startling realization of the equation between futility and circles came later, assisted by his memory of an event of his ninth year—a memory which enjoyed membership in that elite of recollections which constitute the phenomenon of cerebral imprints that never degrade, never fade, the phenomenon which everyone experiences, which everyone marvels at, and which no one discusses.
Steve's storybook (as far as Steve would deign to use such a misnomeresque adjective) older brother, Alan, had taken him out to see a movie. This "late movie", beginning at 7:15pm, was pitched as a special treat to Steve, for it was not the childish matinee (and, as all wanted Steve conscious throughout, not the officially "late" movie of 9pm). Alan, eight years Steve's senior, was particularly susceptible to such outbursts of fraternal love—thus Steve's undying construction of him as storybook—and Steve was anything but unappreciative. In fact, Steve's admitted nerdiness was never verbally acknowledged in the elder's presence, for such was Alan's affection that an observation of that kind was sure to bring on physical wrath. Steve had, for this reason, prior to 6:30pm departure, overheard his mother reminding Alan of the positive side of verbal retribution, if not upper lips of the stiff variety, and other cheeks of the turned.
And sure enough, the Fates provided the two brothers with a few local yokels to make the variety of jabs which they appeared to consistently think funnier than the last time they were made. And, her pep talk fresh in his mind, Alan's love for his Mooms (this moniker being the result of the classic toddlerhood mispronunciation) superceded his disgust at anti-social behaviour, keeping his lip stiff, although his other cheek remained less than turned. As the two sat through the ever-delectable wait for the film to begin, Alan related to Steve his feelings about the recent non-event.
"I can't believe I didn't shut that guy up. Fuckin' moron. Man, you're already smarter than that guy. Of course you know that everything he said is idiotic crap right? Good. Don't ever forget that anything that comes out the mouth of someone that stupid really has no importance whatsoever, 'K? In fact, usually the opposite of the crap they spew is true. So you're the coolest shit on earth. Ain't that right?" Steve smiled hugely, nodded even more so, and said, simply, his eyes shining, "Yup." He never got tired of his brother's tirades against the common masses. Alan was smart. So smart, Steve knew, that he could use swear words comfortably, simply because his ability with language was so great he had nothing to fear, no one to answer to—except Mooms, of course. Steve was hugely flattered that someone as hugely smart as his brother loved him so hugely.
"I guess I'm just the better man for not demonstrating to that guy the reason for hiding his total inability to function in society in the presence of two men as fly as ourselves, eh?" Thanks to Alan, Steve knew that "fly" meant good, or something close to it. Steve also knew not to use the word until his grasp of it was complete. To do otherwise was "lame".
Steve's later memory of the film itself was largely eclipsed by Alan's whispered commentary on it. Steve knew why the film was crap, and why it was so good, and was content to keep that knowledge to himself.
Fortunately, the human trash heap had moved on while the brothers were inside the cineplex teaching and learning about popular culture and society. Unfortunately, Alan slipped on the winter parking lot ice as he closed Steve's car door, receiving a black eye from the exterior mirror. This was another thing to which Alan was prone. As long he wasn't seriously injured, though, he always just laughed it off. Alan was amazing that way. Dexterity, he always claimed, this time being no exception, was no longer a mandatory possession to get along in life. So he let out the grunt and moan he loved to utter, and lay on the ground as Steve was once again torn between loving worry and fond amusement. He then got up, brushed himself off, smiled hugely, and walked around to his side of the car.
"The chicks are really gonna dig this make-up, eh buddy?" he said, pointing to his unmistakable shiner. Steve laughed, then smiled and shook his head.
After a fun car ride home featuring a lecture about why chicks dig guys like Alan, the two walked into the back door of their suburban home to find Mooms reading in the living room, like she always, always was.
"Hi boys! How was the movie?" Mooms, as wonderfully always.
Alan, "Great, wickedly yet subtly ironic. Most of 'em probably missed that though." The boys walked into Mooms's lamplight. Her face, from love to anguish.
"Alan! You told me you wouldn't! Not again! Why do you lie to me?! …" The shiner. The boy who cried wolf. Car keys revoked until no phone call came for a fortnight. He should have rolled that guy. This somehow, became circular to Steve, sometime after high school graduation. Mooms felt bad, but he still should have rolled him.
~~~
This memory without a half-life was what caused Steve's Wednesday morning literature lecture on Sam Beckett to be like scholastic swiss cheese. Whatever anyone said, good ol' Sam always made Steve confused. Not, of course, because Steve didn't understand. Oh yeah, he knew why Sam wrote about two people going out of their ways to find various ways to do nothing. At least, enough of why for his own satisfaction. Enough of why to go on a personal internal tangent, replaying the movie incident under Beckett-gelled light. Of course, Sam had reached the bottom line. Great. Way to go him. Steve could appreciate that.
What confused him was, well, what a crappy bottom line. Like, the only way to reach that line, fully, and go on living, is with a psychological mechanism. That mechanism could be selectively blind optimism, or a bitter jading. Still, what is the point of finally realizing that there is no point? Steve knew that there are lines that you just don't cross. Questions you just don't ask. Not because of some don't eat-of-the-fruit paranoia, but because of a why-even-do-that-to-yourself pragmatism. It was thus that his continual internal negotiating mechanism kicked in. Being a consciously self-satisfied academic, and loving it, Steve really had a distaste for people who lied to themselves, or went out of their way to be out of reality's way. He was proud of his ability to, say, see Schindler's List and not get really really upset. He was really not impressed with people who said that they refused to see that film because "it disturbed them" or something lame like that. "I mean, really, come on people" he would think. Getting disturbed by stuff like that is like writing Waiting for Godot. It's like not rolling the guy. It really doesn't get anything done. But hey, Steve thought, what's the point of getting anything done anyway, right Sam? Fuck that.
Sam Beckett was a circle man, Steve thought as he walked away from the lecture. Why write about there being no point? To reveal the no-pointed-ness of existence? Steve laughed to himself. Circle, man, circle. It's all bad, he thought. That's what Alan would say, he thought, and laughed out loud. He saw some people getting in the elevator on the third floor of the Tory building. He took the openish staircase in front of the elevator down two floors, and saw them get out. He laughed, then smiled and shook his head. He watched them start walking up the staircase that he just used. Like, a lot of people. He stopped. He watched, his brow creased. Another elevator came down, stopped, opened. More got out and went up the stairs. Steve screwed up his face, scratched his head, and left the building. He stopped again, turned around, re-entered, waited for another descending elevator. He joined the group, ascending the stairs. Fourteen floors later, he was about to follow them into an elevator, sporting a lit up down-arrow. He became afraid, stopped. He shook his head, snorted, and got in. Everyone looked normal. Normal looked weird. Two girls were talking about an exam they had just written. Elevator stopped. Disembarkation. Stairs. More head shaking. Steve left. He did not come back. Ever. He had just seen that circles were everywhere. In fact, Steve realized, any line ever drawn had been and would be bent into a circle.
Steve went home dazed that afternoon. He joined his aged mom in the living room, sat on a sofa chair. He picked up a romance novel. "Circle had lived in Circle all of her circle. She had been born, raised, and circled in Circle. It was all she circled. She was brought up in a circular circle of a circle, and she was thus very circle. She had never dreamed of being circle, although all her circle there had been a circle circling up deep down inside her circle." Steve thought of going crazy. Of screaming, standing up, screaming, walking several paces, screaming, running outside, screaming, running to the ocean, and screaming his last breath in bubbles. Instead he turned his head to face Mooms.
"Is my dog ready?"
She looked at him with a gaze full of maternal care and devotion.
"It lacks a cock."
Steve went back to his book.
Alan entered the house, having driven up for the long weekend for a visit. "Hey folks! How's the coolest family on… Oh my god…" He looked from Mooms to Steve, and from her to he. The two of them looked up at Alan. For the first time in his life, Alan noticed the look that had always been in his mother's eyes, a blank, imploring look, as if she wanted to be taken for a walk, but would never, ever ask, let alone go. Now Steve gave Alan that look too. Alan screamed.
It cost the city a fair bit of money to tow the car out of the harbour. The crane operator received a paycheque, most of which he spent on video lottery machines. Steve's and Moom's places in the round asylum were publicly subsidised. |
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