Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

This time, maybe it’s you who’s missing the point. My not wanting to swallow an entire city hospital is just a sensible precaution.

If the hospital’s big enough, it might swallow you.

You’re hardly comforting.

Because you can’t be ill.

I can so be ill.

Then I don’t know what to say.

If you can’t think of anything, I can give you some things to say.

I think the best thing for me to say is goodbye.

And the next best thing?

There can’t be a next best thing. I have to go. I’ve a home. A husband, a child, they’re waiting for me. And if my son’s napping, then just my husband. Thanks for carrying up the bike. Goodbye.

Then I don’t know what’s so good about it.

Then badbye or just bye.

Yes, that’s probably just a goodbye.

Bye, then?

I wish we didn’t have to say bye.

We didn’t say bye. We said “badbye” and “just bye” and “then bye.” And we didn’t say these byes, only I did.

I mean I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye.

But you still haven’t said goodbye.

Then what I mean is I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye.

What you really mean is you wish I hadn’t and still didn’t have to say goodbye.

No, that’s not what I really mean.

Then what you really mean is you wish, after I said I hadn’t and still didn’t have to say goodbye, that I went upstairs and said my goodbyes.

Yes, that’s what I mean.

That’s what I said you meant.

And that’s what I meant when I said “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

And that’s what I meant when I said That’s what I said you meant.” Anyway — bye.

But that’s what I meant when I said “And that’s what I meant when I said ‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’”

Which is what I meant when I said “And that’s what I meant when I said ‘That’s what I said you meant.’ Anyway — bye.” Anyway — bye.

And that’s what I meant when I said “But that’s what I said I meant when I said ‘And that’s what I meant when I said “Yes, that’s what I mean.”’”

But that’s what I meant when I said “Which is what I meant when I said ‘And that’s what I meant when I said That’s what I said you meant.”’” Anyway — bye.’ Anyway — bye.” Anyway — bye.

Bye.

I go out into the street. Finally, it’s a nice day. Rains came, went; sun now. I say hello to my landlord, Next-door neighbors. Wave to Mrs. Evans behind her window. Mr. Sisler sitting on his stoop across the street. Rob’s boy walking their dog just before he goes to school. Mary Jane Koplowitz dumping her family’s garbage on her way to work. Children, workers, cyclists, pedestrians, mailman. “Howdy-do. How are you? I feel great. Lovely day. What a relief after so much rain. Hiya. Morning. Hope the good weather holds. See ya. Take care. Hope you have a nice day.” I walk down the block and say more of the same. “Hello. Morning. How’s it going? So long. Have a great day.” Friendly street. Living on it for years. People know who you are, what you do. What do I do? They know I do relatively nothing. Just about nothing. Nothing. They know. In other words, they also know what you don’t do. I don’t work. They know. No home projects or work for other people that keeps me home. They know that too. I walk, talk, read. I get up first. I have breakfast, wash, shave. Shower every day. No shower in the morning, then an evening shower. Then I go downstairs. Not after my evening shower, though I might do that too, but after I do all those morning things. I never bother checking the mailbox anymore, on the way out or when I come back. There’s never any mail. I’m waiting for the day the mailman says “Mr. Rusk, your mailbox is jammed full. I can’t stuff any more mail inside. Please take the mail out so I can have room to put new mail in. At least take some of the mail out so I can have some room to put new mail in.” That’ll be the day. Day I might even look forward to. Do I? No, though once did. But it’ll be a day, all right. What’ll those letters be like? Say it happened. And who’d write? Nobody. I know no one other than from the street and around the immediate neighborhood. No relatives, friends, old acquaintances. And I tell people who move off the block or out of the neighborhood “Just come back and visit if you want, but don’t bother to write. I never bother opening my mailbox, so I’d never get your mail. Only day I’ll open my mailbox is the day the mailman tells me it’s too full to get another piece of mail in, but that’ll be the day. But say that happened. I might only take out a few pieces of mail, or just one big one, to make room in the box, so I still might not get your mail.” And I pay all my bills by cash and personally and on time. So no need for mail. I’ve none. No need for it and no mail. And the mailman’s instructed not to put any junk mail in my mailbox. The instructions are on the building’s vestibule letterbox for the mailman not to put any junk mail into my mailbox. Or they’re on the vestibule mailbox for the mailman not to put any junk mail into my letterbox. One or the other. I’ll go to the library one of these days to look up the difference in the dictionary between those two. If there isn’t one, I’ll find that out too. A difference. Mailbox and letterbox. Both I get my mail in, but which is which? And if the vestibule box that houses all the tenants’ smaller boxes for mail is called a letterbox and those tenant boxes are called mailboxes, or vice versa, than what’s the box on the street called that people put their mail in? Not only people. Yes, only people. I was going to say “Not only people but children too.” But children are people too. Children are people, period. I don’t know what could have been on my mind when I started to say “Not only people but children too.” Caught myself this time. Other times also, but my mind’s particularly sharp today. Not particularly. Not even sharp. Mind’s just functioning a bit better than yesterday. Not even that. I can’t really tell if it’s functioning any better today than yesterday. Mind’s functioning better now than when I woke up today. That’s for sure, so that I can at least say. But now I’m at the corner.

I look around. No one I know here. People, yes, but no one I know to talk to when I feel like talking to someone. I look all four ways. Up the block I just came down. Down the next block of this street that I don’t think I’m going to continue on. Both ways along this avenue I’m now on. Though who’s to say where the avenue begins and sidestreet ends when one’s standing on the corner where the avenue and sidestreet meet? I’m sure plenty of people can say. I can’t. Not right now, at least. But all four principal directions, in other words. East, west, etcetera. No one I know. No one who knows me. There’s a difference there. Lots of people — Not lots. Several. A few, I’ll say, claim to know me when I don’t know them. Not claim. But they say they know me. They’ll come over to me or just stop me and say “Hello” or “Good morning (etcetera), Mr. Rusk.” In other words, that etcetera: all depending on the time of day in the time zone we’re in. If, for example, they say “Good morning, Mr. Rusk,” when it’s obviously evening, then I figure they’re joking or confused or even crazy or they made a simple word-reverse mistake, and I react according to how I feel at that moment about why they greeted me this way by my last name. If they use Mrs. or Miss before my last name, then no matter how accurate they are with the time of day, I ignore them or question them about the use of that conventional title of respect. But say they do say “Good morning, Mr. Rusk,” when it’s morning or close enough to it where I don’t think the greeting is strange. If I look at them as if I don’t know them — and usually when I look at them this way, I don’t know them — they’ll say “I know you but you don’t know me.” Sometimes they’ll greet me and immediately say that about my not knowing them, even though I do know them and they know I do. And sometimes when I know them and they know I do, though they’ll say I don’t, I’ll look at them as if I don’t. Why will I give them that look when I do know them and why will they say I don’t know them when they know I do? Couple of reasons, at least, that I can think of. But today none of that happens. So no one to talk to now unless I stop someone I don’t know and who I know doesn’t know me and start to talk to him, something I don’t like to do.