One

November 7, 2005

One

If there was a right way to tell this, I would probably begin by telling you where I’m from, what my name is, and why I’m here. And most importantly where I am. The truth is, there is no right or wrong way to tell this. Nor is there a simple, comprehensible explanation. So don’t expect to understand it, just accept it. Everything will become relevant at its due time. Everything will become clear at its due time.
One of the first things they teach you in writing class is that fiction HAS to make sense, and that reality – in turn – doesn’t. Fiction has to have an explanation of some sort, however crazy it may be, things can’t just happen. They can’t be there just because that’s where they happened to be. Whereas in reality, things that don’t make sense, happen all the time. Such is life.
What happened to Marcia that morning was real.
If we choose to believe a certain group of scientist-philosophers of our time, it’s not real anymore, thus: was real.
This page you see is real. The chair you’re sitting on is real. The people and/or walls around you are real – they exist. Whatever exists is part of the universe – what doesn’t exist, isn’t. Whatever is behind the wall you see, doesn’t exist and so, doesn’t matter. If you can’t see it, it’s not there. And you are the center of the universe.
Somewhere in the universe, at 11:30 PM twenty years ago, a couple was having sex in a car at the end of a street. Above the car, there was a huge branch attached to a tree next to them.
On the tree trunk there were four letters and three symbols: AD + PM = heart.
Amanda Delvet. Phillip McCain. Love. She was twenty-two. He was twenty-four.
Amanda got out the car crying and screaming. Phillip ran after her, tearing the picture in his hands into a million pieces….

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