Neutrino Factor

Fuck you, she said, fuck you, was the last thing she said to me—bitch, I wanted to say.

That was all she said, that was your only response—that’s it, all you’re going to tell me?

I didn’t respond. I didn’t say bitch. I wanted too; I was still high and so tired. She peeled off me in disgust, rough like Velcro, left our bed, left a mark on my chest—naked, taut, scantily threw on some clothing, her stiletto’s, her naked breasts I caught from the corner of my eye, for a moment I thought and in that moment of thought her shadow slammed the door, most of her belongings draped over her arm and mostly naked, her descent with those red shoes sounded like marbles rolling down the stairs. She was drunk, pissed, and horny, I couldn’t stop her—I didn’t want to. I heard the door slam and that was it. I went to sleep.

Why did she leave? What did you say? Did you argue?

Sure, we argued. We always argued. Doesn’t everybody argue? Isn’t that how the world goes round?

That doesn’t tell me why she left?

She let because I wouldn’t take the pill. I was tired and I wouldn’t take the pill.

Take the pill? What pill?

What are you fucking stupid? The pill, they come in two colors, yellow or blue. Why do you think young girls like old fuckers like me?

Why?

I can’t believe you—two things, money and the pill and I only have the pill, and I didn’t let myself get out of shape and dumpy—that’s helpful too. You should look in the mirror yourself and maybe make better diet choices.

That crack was uncalled for; I could pull the rug out from under you if you keep that shit up.

I was her first choice that night and I thought she had just simply moved on. I was too tired. Long hours these last few weeks trying to finish up the novel. I needed to sleep; I needed to keep my mind focused. I needed to be alone, focus on the plot. I need to get you off my ass and get this book done.

Well, the plots about to thicken Einstein.

What you mean?

Her husband called, her mother called her sister too. They’re looking for her; nobody has seen her and that brings me here to you. And anymore derogatory remarks and you and I are going downtown. One way or another you’re going to finish this story and then find my number one editor and get her back to the office.

Pfaff, downtown—yah right. Don’t you have anything better to do? I know I do, Sleep.

And that’s why I’m here. To get to the bottom of this story so I’m going to ask you again, what was the disagreement about, and don’t tell me the pill? You must have some idea where she was going.

Okay—okay. She always dreamed of this place, dreamed of returning there. When we first met, we did a lot of things. Snuck out for lunches. We tussled like kids, play fighting in the grass and I would pin her down. My hands gripped around her wrists, my legs straddled her tiny abdomen, she was on her back and I could have, but I didn’t. She didn’t care about grass stains or weeds in her hair. It made her all the more attractive. I was afraid, her husband, my girlfriend, I tried to avoid her, but I couldn’t. I was steel she was a magnet. We played like children, I forgot how old I was. I forgot about time. I remember the first thing I asked her, are you a model? She told me—would I be here if I was? She told me she was a princess in the land she was from. I didn’t understand. It was Ceylon. She never spoke of politics and I didn’t ask. She kept telling me how beautiful it was there, the beaches, the sand, the elephants on the beaches. She wanted to take me there. She wanted to spend the rest of our lives there, but I didn’t know, I didn’t know.

Didn’t know what?

It’s hard to explain. I want to get the story right. Torn between fact and fiction and the sublime. Theory, I remember it the first time like this; I think what I’m trying to say is this, we went there.

Where?

To the beach. It was nightfall.

The beach? What beach? The beach in Ceylon?

No no no—gimme a second, it’s not called Ceylon anymore. Hasn’t been for decades. I’m trying to find the words. It was a local beach. Its was night fall, soft light in the sky. The beach silent and empty it was always that way, silent and empty. I took the yellow one. The surf gently rolls up against us, gentle with a silent voice letting us know it was still there. The turtles, the baby turtles hatching, climbing from the moist damp sand in all directs, hundreds or maybe thousands of baby turtles scurried towards the moon as if it were calling them to the surf. It was gibbous, the moon in a soft blue almost dark backdrop. The turtles scurried like they new something bad was about to happen. She said it was silence, the known, the known—the unknown is what’s happening—softly in my ear she said this, Silence is waiting. Persuasive, I sensed its presence, its properties, its magic. The birds picked off the turtles one-by-one and there was nothing I could do. It was like we weren’t even there. The surf never changed, its tempo the same, the feast awakened, the exclusion principle, that's how I felt, we are here we are not, peace with no peace, silence moves in and out of silence, we are here we are here, we are not and the turtles—a calling, a danger, and the activity of awakening to no rest. She asked me how I felt about the unknown? Seabirds overhead too many to count, foxes, wild dogs, racoons all around us in their occupation, feasting on this silence of new birth, as if we belonged, somehow, we belonged in the surf somehow in the known, in that silence unknown. I wasn’t ready for that, I wasn't ready but here we are, and it's morning now. The crack of the amber horizon, some dim light, the surfs same tempo rubbed against us, our bodies, the turtles all gone, the sky empty—nothing but silence, moist blonde sand, and the surf. Are you known, are you unknown? It is all I heard the surf asking.