notice that something huge and strange is happening, and for about another quarter second, just before I cease to be, I’ll know that I hadn’t made a mistake, that I’d gotten it all exactly right.
So, that’s my whole story. And there’s nothing left to do but wait for the bigger nothing.
Probably you still don’t agree. But you would if-hmm, I almost said “if you were honest with yourself.” Well, what with everything else I don’t also want to put you down, but it’s true. Just look around a little, check out the world a bit, and it seems as obvious as a = a. The average person just wants to Huh. Serendipity. Just while I was typing this bit, about the average person, I noticed a headline on my news screen:
Bridge Demolition Provokes Soul-Searching in Akron
AKRON, Ohio-Its official name, the one on maps and signs, is the All-America Bridge. But so many people have jumped off since it was built 32 years ago that it sometimes goes by a less-welcome nickname: the Suicide Bridge.
Now the City of Akron has decided to do something about it, and plans to use more than fifteen million dollars of federal aid to destroy the bridge.
Since the bridge was built in 1997, 468 people have died leaping from the bridge to their deaths in the Little Cuyahoga River Valley below. Police are called to the bridge to save would-be jumpers roughly twice a week. Neighbors below say bodies have damaged roofs. Four years ago, the city spent over a million dollars to build a safety fence, but this was circumvented by over sixty further jumpers. Mental health officials say the All-America Bridge has become a “magnet bridge”: one with a reputation for suicides, therefore drawing more troubled people to try to jump off it.
In approving the measure, the city has prompted a sometimes emotional conversation about suicide and mental illness, government spending, and Akron’s image and future as it continues to remake itself and adjust to a new economy without the thousands of tire manufacturing jobs that once led people to call this the Rubber Capital of the World.
You could Google the rest, but you get the idea. And, really, who could be more representative of the general run than someone, anyone, from Akron, Ohio? Although I admit that four hundred and sixty-eight people is a hard- to-believe statistic. I mean, you’d think they’d have that many every couple of days. You’d think that by now the entire population of Akron, along with a large percentage of citizens from the neighboring communities of Cottage Grove, Barberton, and Cuyahoga Falls, would have taken the opportunity to jump. I mean, just typing the word Akron a few times has depressed me so much that I’m close to hanging myself right now with my mouse cord and not waiting around for the twenty-first. So why pull the thing down? If anything, you’d think the town fathers would just build a designated suicide platform up there, and put up bleachers and concession stands and sell tickets so that at least they could reduce the deficit. Or, if they absolutely insist on keeping their taxpayers alive, why not just work on making Akron less depressing? Although I guess that would probably cost more than a million dollars. A trillion? Infinity? Who knows?
So anyway, basically, they want it even if they can’t ask for it. And I accepted the responsibility to give it to them. I didn’t want to be the villain (But y’are, Jed. Y’are!), but without villains nothing happens.
And that’s the whole reason. I’m not doing this because I’m frustrated or enraged at my co-workers or any of those postal things, although I suppose I’m as angry as the next gink. It’s not because people are no damn good, although I’ve always had a deep faith in their awfulness, even before watching that toddler-in-the-microwave clip on Rotten Video. It’s not because I think the real world is just some collective hallucination or alien holographic projection or veil of Maya or whatever. If only. Nope. The reason, the only reason, is that I spoke to the babies. That is, I met the unborn. All of them. I listened. And they don’t want to be here. And I’m the person who’s in a position to do something about it.
So, I have reason and opportunity. Do I also have the right?
I don’t know. But I do tend to think that’s a meaningless question. The only point is, like I say, I’m in a position to do it, and so I have the duty to do it. I didn’t want to be the villain. Nobody does. But some are called PING. Ah. My imaginary internal alarm’s telling me it’s time to check in on that second domino.
Hmm. I’m almost afraid to look.
Okay. Not almost. I’m terrified.
Maybe if I don’t look it won’t have happened. Maybe it’s all just a fantasy… maybe it can’t happen, things like that don’t happen, things stay the same, there’ll still be things, there’ll still be coffee and Japan and mornings, another season of Battlestar Galactica, there’ll be parrot fish, crimson sea slugs, Fluffernutter sandwiches, snow Jed. You’re getting maudlin. Stop. Get a grip.
I called up the price feed and scrolled down… slowing… there it is…
Chix, chix, chix. Xkimik, xkimik. Ay, dios. Oh God, oh God. It’s not true, it’s not true…
But it is. It happened. I did it. It’s happening, it’s happening. Todo por mi culpa. All my fault. Oh my God, ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod, OMG, O, O, O. Ya estuvo. It’s done. There was that numbing swell again, like I’d inhaled a chestful of chilled helium. And there was just garden-variety terror, of course, and even a smudge of-well, I don’t know if I’d call it, exactly… would I call it doubt? Cancel, cancel. It’s done, Jed, it’s done, even if I, even I, can’t believe it’s really happening, it is, it is, it is, it is Breathe.
Whew. Well, it can’t be helped.
Okay. It’s getting late, so I’ll take a last question from the house. If the Game works so damn well, why don’t you use it to show you how to avert all these horrible eventualities and make the future great for everybody?
Answer. I have. This is it.
Well, that’s about it. And, like I Hang on.
Okay. I noticed I’d thrown up a little in my mouth and managed to choke the bolus of sour mush back down into the right tube. Okay.
And, like I say, you want it. Search your feelings and you’ll find you crave release. Just like this mutilated dog I knew one time, you want it even if you can’t ask for it. You’d thank me, if you could, for building us all a bridge out of Akron. And at least now you know. That is, you know all there is that’s worth knowing, that the world won’t end in fire, or in ice, or with a bang, or with a whimper, or even with a shrug. Just a click.
Very, very sincerely,
Joachim Carlos Xul Mixoc DeLanda
(2)
Marena’d texted me while I was in the middle of writing my Dear Doomed World letter. She said she was back from Belize, and she was in her house, and I should come by. Wow, now what? I thought. And what do I tell her, besides nothing? I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist, though. She still had a hook in me. Well, let’s say a harpoon. And she knew it. Beeyotch. Anyway, I hadn’t even been to her house yet, so I guess it was on my bucket list. Okay. I got the tanks into self-maintenance mode. I had some Fluffernutter and, just for clarity, a shot of tsam lic. It was basically the same proportional combination of the same two molecules as the drugs that Jed 2 had buried in Oaxaca, except that they were now synthetic, of course, and each with a few pairs of hydrogen atoms added for ease of absorption. It rocked.
I cleaned up and even got out a sort of nice gray summerweight Dormeuil jacket. Wait, is that a moth hole? FUU-oh… it’s not. Just a speck of something. Polonium-210, probably. Whatever. I slipped on the jacket. Ahh. Now I’m an adult. Actually, since the unpleasantness at Disney World, I’d kept the garment all stocked up with my wallet, backup wallet, glasses, Purell wipes, SightSavers wipes, Q-tips, Twist-Em ties, Theraputty, Krazy Glue, grandessa, mandatory medication, optional medication, Adderall, OxyContin, Klonapin, clotting spray, wound dressing pads, blue Pilot Rolling Ball, Post-its, ToothTowels, Go-Between Plaque Stix, red astronomy flashlight, two competing telephones, the Gerber Suspension Butterfly Multi-Tool (which I much recommend), my real passport, my Warren-provided fake passport, nine blank checks from three different banks, about fifteen thousand U.S. dollars in premagnetic twenties, and a little nylon coin folder with twenty-five Krugerrands, which at the moment represented another seventy-five thousand, one hundred and two dollars. And a few other things, because, you know, one never knows. I checked the three working tanks again-I’d had Lenny replace everything after the Disney Die-off-and the apps on my phone that link to the tanks and the tank cameras, and then used the other new app to set the alarms and house cameras. I got my feet into a fully charged pair of Sleekers-just to show my support for
