A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (27 page)

She answers. I ask her what is up. She says that nothing is up. I ask her what she is doing. She says that she is doing nothing. I ask her if she wants to do something. She says okay.

Meredith and I have never been more than friends, and since college, when she
’
s been in L.A. and I
’
ve been here, we talk only on the phone. She
’
s up visiting for a week, is staying just off Haight.

I pick her up. We walk down to Nickie
’
s. It
’
s small, full of bodies, sweltering.

“
Should we be dancing?
”

“
I have to drink more,
”
she says.

and after drinking at the bar, pounding like in a prom limo, we dance. Clumsily, bumping into other people, sweating profusely, immediately. The crowd is tight on the small floor, and we are forced to dance close. Looking for space, we edge toward one corner, under a speaker. It
’
s deafening, whatever it is (Earth, Wind and Fire?), the bass is massive, invasive; the bass knocks loudly and then just pushes like floodwater into our brains and then is everywhere, forcing out all thinking; it brings ten suitcases and sets up in the master bedroom; it rearranges the furniture; the bass
vibrates through our heads, adding a sound track to synapses, to everything stored there, to remembered phone numbers and childhood memories. We let our bodies
get
closer and of course the only place to look is down, where Meredith
’
s body is gyrating, her parts becoming bigger, smaller, bigger, smaller—

We leave the bar; we
’
ll go to the ocean.

The drive to the ocean is long.

By now, the baby-sitter
’
s done with whatever he wanted, has left on his basketed bike and is back, at his hideout, telling his friends about it. They are having a good laugh. He is showing them the Polaroids—

No, Toph would find a way. He
’
d pretend to be asleep or dead, and then, after Stephen fell asleep—after gorging himself on everything in the fridge—he
’
d come up behind him and bash him with something. His bat. That one we just got, the metal one. He
’
d bust Stephen
’
s head in with the bat, and when I get home he
’
ll be a hero, tired and bruised, but a hero and happy and he will not blame me for leaving, will understand.

me: Whew! That was close!

he: I
’
ll say!

me: You hungry?

he: Now you
’
re talking.

Meredith and I park and take off our shoes. The sand is cold. As we walk toward the water, bonfires burn up and down the beach. Close to the waves, glowing from the headlights behind us, we set down a small towel and sit, lean into each other. But something has happened to our momentum; we were about to fall into the guiltless pleasure-taking that we had worked hard for earlier, that seemed inevitable only twenty minutes ago, but now we are here and it suddenly feels forced, silly between us, friends who should know better. And so we talk about our jobs. At the moment, she
’
s working in postproduction for the television reprise of
Flipper.

“
Really?
”
I say. I did not know this.

“
It
’
s better than it sounds,
”
she says.

But she wants to be making movies, wants to have a whole studio, wants to be producing more and better movies, weird stuff, have a kind of collective, something like Warhol
’
s Factory, all these people around—

“
But you know,
”
she
’
s saying,
“
it could take five, ten years to get anything like that together. And it
’
ll cost so much money... I mean, even if I started right now... it
’
s the waiting that
’
s the killer—the waiting to be wherever you plan to be. The groping through the days, the temping or postproduction on
Flipper
—
“

“
Everything takes forever.
”

“
Right. To know exactly what you want to be doing, to know exactly what you
’
d make, given the means, given some time, all the projects lined up, the body of work, have it all mapped out— who will be involved, what the office will look like, where the desks will go, couches, hot tub...
”

“
It should be easier.
”

“
It should be automatic.
”

“
Instantaneous.
”

“
Every day a world-clearing sort of revolution, a bloodless one, one more interested in regeneration than any sort of destruction. Every day we start with a fresh world—or, better yet, each day we start with this world, the one we know, and by nine, ten a.m., we
’
ve destroyed it.
”

“
You just—
“

“
I know. I just contradicted myself. So okay, there would be a certain amount of destruction, but it wouldn
’
t be at anyone
’
s expense, or against anyone
’
s will.
”

“
Right, right, and...?
”

“
Let
’
s say that every day, every morning, millions of people, on cue, take the whole stupid thing apart, all the cities and towns, with hammers and saws and rocks and bulldozers and tanks—whatever. Shake the Etch-A-Sketch. We just converge on the buildings like ants, then wire the things and knock them down, knock everything down, every day, so the world, by noon or so, is flat again, wiped clean of buildings and bridges and towers.
”

“
I have dreams like this, where we move things.
”

“
Yeah, yeah. And after the taking apart, when the canvas is blank—
“

“
Then we start over. But not start over in the Rome-wasn
’
t-built-in-a-day sort of way. Not even in the rebuilding-Germany sort of way. I mean, we wake up, tear the world down to its foundations, or below that even, and then, by three in the afternoon, we
’
ve got a new world.
”

“
By three?
”

“
Yeah, two or three, depending on whether it was winter or summer—we
’
d have to have enough daylight to enjoy
it.
I mean, I think we could do something there. Like, imagine, if a hundred million people, or more, way more—I mean, worldwide, there
’
s gotta be two billion people like us, right?
”

“
Two bil—
“

“
Yeah, so you take all these people, and you spread the word that from now on, every day we create everything from scratch.
”

“
You mean, like a more just and equal—
“

“
Yeah, sure, more justice and everything, but as much as that, all the political and economic reasons to do it, I mean, beyond that, really, is the feeling of—I mean, imagine walking among the ruins, you know? Wouldn
’
t that be phenomenal? Not ruins like dead people everywhere or anything; I mean, just ruins, like things disassembled, cleared away, so every day you
’
d be left with just a bare, pure landscape—you
’
d have to have lots of trucks and trains to haul it away, up to Canada or something—
“

“
And every day you
’
d start from scratch, and everyone
’
d get together and say, Hey, let
’
s put some buildings there, and, um, over there, let
’
s have a five-hundred-foot stuffed hippo, and there,
in front of that mountain, a huge fucking, uh, something else.
”

“
Sure, sure. But you
’
d have to be able to accelerate everything, have everything be a bit easier than it currently is, in terms of construction and everything; you
’
d need, like, huge robots or something.
”

“
Sure, robots, of course.
”

“
I
’
m dead serious about all this.
”

“
I am too. I
’
m with you.
”

“
We can do this.
”

“
Sure.
”

“
We have to get people interested.
”

“
Everyone we know.
”

“
Even the flakes.
”

“
John.
”

“
Right. Good luck.
”

“
I know. You know what he was talking about tonight?
”

“
You saw him?
”

“
Yeah.
”

“
I owe him a call.
”

“
He was talking about how he had just taken some test, an aptitude test, to tell him what kind of job he should have, so he could be told what to do with his life—
“

“
Jesus.
”

“
It
’
s brutal.
”

“
We need to change him.
”

“
Inspire him.
”

“
Him, everyone.
”

“
Get everyone together.
”

“
All these people.
”

“
No more waiting.
”

“
Means through mass.
”

“
It
’
s criminal to pause.
”

“
To wallow.
”

A.H.W.O.S.G.

147

“
To complain.
”

“
We have to be happy.
”

“
To not be happy would be difficult.
”

“
We would have to try to not be happy.
”

“
We have an obligation.
”

“
We
’
ve had advantages.
”

“
We have a platform from which to risk.
”

“
A cushion to fail back on.
”

“
This is abundance.
”

“
A luxury of place and time.
”

“
Something rare and wonderful.
”

“
It
’
s almost historically unprecedented.
”

“
We must do extraordinary things.
”

“
We have to.
”

“
It would be obscene not to.
”

“
We will take what we
’
ve been given and unite people.
”

“
And we
’
ll try not to sound so irritating.
”

“
Right. From now on.
”

I tell her how funny
it
is we
’
re talking about all this because as it so happens I
’
m already working to change all this, am currently in the middle of putting together something that will address all these issues, that will inspire millions to greatness, that with some high school friends—Moodie and two others, Flagg and Marny— we
’
re putting something together that will smash all these misconceptions about us, how it
’
ll help us all to throw off the shackles of our supposed obligations, our fruitless career tracks, how we will force, at least urge, millions to live more exceptional lives, to {standing up for effect} do extraordinary things, to travel the world, to help people and start things and end things and build things...