Appathy

Okay. Nothing. It’ll do nothing.

“What?”

‘What?’ ? Did I say that out loud?

“Did you say something?” I did.

“Nothing. I said nothing.”

“Oh,” she turns down to her… I don’t know, quilt? I have no memory of her taking up knitting. “I thought you said something. Are you gonna go to the shops soon? We need toilet paper.”

“Sure, but first I’ve had an idea.” I say. Her eyes do a half-roll - she catches it but I catch her.

“Oh, really? Another one?”

Another one.

“Yes, my love, another one. It’s good. I know, I know, but I gotta say,” my eyes grow too wide as I say this and I can feel warm goop-y liquid swelling, “I think this is a pretty cool idea.”

Her eyes roll back over to me, they stop dead and squint slightly as if there is something tiny and inexplicable lodged between my own.

“Well? Let’s have it.”

My whole being stiffens up, ‘Neck straight! Shoulders back!’ - Jordan Peterson on cassette. Well, YouTube. (His talks contain much if not more - much more - of the information in the book. Or is it books..?)

“So,” I start, my legs crossed, my hands wide and landing at rest on either knee; I am the Buddha drooling, “It’s an App. Actually, it’s sort of an old idea, but I know how to do it now, I know what it is…”

“Oh,” she interrupts me but seems genuinely interested, “is it the ‘Quick Cup’ thing? The coffee app?” she asks, genuinely interested.

“No, not the coffee app. But that was a good idea.”

It was a good idea. She did like that idea. I liked that idea. It was a good idea. An app for ordering coffee - just coffee. And tea. You know, hot drinks. An app for ordering hot drinks. It is fair to say it could still work. A potentially billion dollar idea, maybe. Everyone drinks coffee. I had been scouting a private island off the coast of New Zealand.

“It was a good idea. It still is.” she says.

I know that she liked that idea but I’m surprised to hear her say it. I feel empty and cynical and here she is enjoying my idea. It’s that the idea is gone - well, not gone, never gone but, gone, sort of - that disappoints her.

“Well, what is it? What’s the App?” she asks, turning back down to her quilt.

“It’s an App that does nothing” I say and her face stays completely still, not even a twitch, “you might remember from a while back? I first had the idea nearly ten years ago now. I was just out of school and I told someone I wanted to make an iPhone App that does nothing and charge people fifty cents or a dollar to buy it. A gimmick, you know? A bit of fun. I thought people would think it was funny. I still do…”

She looks up at me with her eyes narrow, backing me into a corner, my rambing justification of a functionless iPhone application spitting at her like the hiss of a clawing cat.

“I think it could be an artwork, remember I said I wanted to get back into art? Well, Jeff Koons, well, he makes these balloon animals, makes them out of, like, shiny aluminium or something, and they’re huge, and he puts them out on display like greek statues, sometimes he has real greek statues, and it’s all just there, all over the walls and on the floor like vomit.”

She interrupts my stream of consciousness to deal a crushing blow:

“I think I prefer the coffee app, to be honest.”

Wow, okay, I hear myself say in my head. Immediately the wrestling begins.

Sure, I get that. It’s not as good. Well, is it? Maybe it is. Maybe she’s wrong. Five seconds ago it was a good idea. A great idea! It’s so simple. So… Clever. Yes, clever. It is a clever idea! No… No, it isn’t. Is it? Is it dumb? It’s dumb. Jesus, it is dumb! How did I think that was clever? ‘An App that does nothing’ !? Huh! ‘Get it?’ … But it is kind of funny. Hell, it’s very funny. Come on. Get it together. It’s a good idea. Never back down. Don’t let them win! Tony Robbins. Win - always win! Always now, never never. Destiny. Decision. Shape.

“I mean, sure, obviously it’s not as good an idea as the coffee app, the coffee app is king - maybe my best idea - but we both know I’ll never really be able to put something like that together. Something of that… Scale.”

She turns back down to her quilt, “Yeah, I guess so. But how would you make this new app - old app, or whatever..?”

She’s right of course, a fair question: How will I make the damned thing? Suddenly there are thoughts pouring in and I am released of all physicality, from the bonds of the Earth itself.

It’ll be a screen - a blank screen. Nothing on it at all. Maybe a colour. No. Well, maybe. Yes! Yes, a colour. Brilliant. And charge more money, too. Huh ha! Of course! Oh, the folly! Some stupid sum - a thousand - no, ten thousand! TWENTY THOUSAND! Charge TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS for an app that does nothing!

My vision swipes back and forth like elevator doors in light-speed and she appears again with the rest of the room. My body is tingling but completely still, my eyes wide and staring more into her than at her. I feel sharp and alert, how a hunter must feel crouched down in the brush. I repeat everything to her, all the words that flooded my mind, and every now and then her lips purse, or one eyebrow will raise, or her whole head will tilt gently back and forth, her eyes narrow and a soft hum will score my voice.

Finally I breathe and she looks up from her quilt, the needle poised in wait.

“Well… It does sound interesting.” she says, and looks back down again, jamming the needle effortlessly into the quilt.

Interesting? The word rings in my ears. My legs unfold without me and I notice my back has slumped over again; head down, neck arching. I’m sweating a little. I slump down lower and wipe my forehead clean. She has disappeared into her quilt and I disappear into the couch.

So? So, what? Of course she’s not as excited as I am. It’s not that exciting. I’m excited because it’s my idea... Yes, it’s a fun idea. It may even be a good idea. A great idea. But she knows you. You know you. She’s heard all this before. You knew it even as you were letting the words fall out of you like vomit. You knew it would mean nothing. It isn’t real. Besides, you don’t even care. I don’t even care. Me. It’s all me. It’s all just me in my goddamn head! …The coffee app was genius. -OK, calm down. Maybe not genius. But it was good - it was damn good. I know it and she knows it. I don’t even know where I kept the book, the little black book with all the notes. There were pictures and plans, diagrams full of elaborate speculation and analysis, numbers and hard data scribbled over pages and pages of that little black notebook. Do they still sell them at OfficeWorks? I had everything I needed right here in this room.

… And I still do.

“What?”

‘What?’ ? How does she keep hearing me?

“Did you say something?” Uncanny.

“No, nothing. I said nothing.”

“Are you gonna go to the shops? We really need toilet paper. And Moochy needs litter.”

“Sure. But I just want to say that I think an App that does nothing is a good idea. I just want that to be clear.”

“Sure, baby. It’s a great idea. There’s money in my purse.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“I know.”

Not once does her attention deviate from her knitting, from her project, her idea. I push my shoulders back and attempt to straighten my neck. I get up off the couch and find my ripped and haggard old wallet and my keys. I grab her purse with the money and I put the money in my wallet. Nothing more is said before I leave the room.

Out walking I watch my feet and attempt to miss the dividing lines between each pavement of cement. Thoughts come flooding in: pictures and plans, little movies playing exactly the future I truly know, the way you know your own name, I have in store, and it plays over and over, every day. This plan or that, the plan itself doesn’t matter, only the movie. An app for ordering coffee, an app that does nothing. Too many ideas, infinite movies - all just one lucid dream wrapped in one perfect picture of a house with rent paid in full.

Half way down the street on the corner an old man with thinning white hair is riding a bicycle around in circles. He does not stop as I approach him and as he circles back around toward the edge of the pavement it looks for a moment as though we might collide. He beats me by a few milliseconds. I get a little farther away and I look back and see the man has taken off, the back of his shirt puffed out like a parachute in the wind. I stop for a moment to take in the vista of the purple afternoon sky fading away and the guy riding off into the sun-setting horizon of our street, and I spot it. Tiny from where I stand but unmistakable - undeniable.

Could it really be?

I look left and I look right and without making any sudden movements I step forward with my shoulders back and my neck straight toward what I already know is there. I get only more sure with every step and when I am standing over this unfathomable reality, I feel a tingling sensation all over and sweat forming above my eyes. I reach down and pick up the little black book, exactly the sort they sell at OfficeWorks, and flip through the pages. Something falls out. A loose strip of paper. I watch it dance on the breeze down to the cement. The book is completely bare. I put it away in my pocket and before reaching down for the loose strip I look back up to see if the old man is still in sight. He’s gone.

I reach down. I can see words, a few numbers and what looks like a signature printed and underlined. The paper is a very light shade of blue. As my hand gets closer it trembles and the tingling sensation grows stronger. I pick up the check and immediately the sweat in my fingers seeps through the paper. I see the check has been made out to no one. The signature appears illegible, the date is for several weeks ago and the ‘memo’ simply reads: ‘With Love’.

The check is for twenty thousand dollars.

Transfixed, I stare a hole into it before I look up again for the old man, for anyone or anything to explain. He’s gone - long gone by now and who knows if he’ll be back?

I collect myself, wipe the sweat from my head and pocket the check. I look left and then right and, walking backwards first then turning away from the horizon, make my way down the street.

I think about the shops and the toilet paper we need at home and the litter for Moochy. I know there was something on my mind only minutes ago but I cannot for the life of me remember what that was. Something to do with a phone. I’m sure it’ll come back to me. But I sure hope I never see that old man again.