The Broken Fence: Part 1
I wonder how painful it was. I mean, I know it was painful. I heard the screams. I heard her screams. I heard his screams. I don’t think they heard each other. At least, I hope they didn’t. I like to imagine there was at least some measure of mercy in the whole sick process. But, I wonder, was it more painful than this?
Jack went missing today. We were doing our morning garden walk, checking for growth. Before this, everyone was starting to talk about mindfulness. I never really paid much attention. I understood the concept; slow down, be in the moment, feel the air on your skin, listen to your breath. It was all about stress management, about letting go of the past, the future, about finding joy in the small things, in the present. But I never really got it, like, really got it. I guess I never tried. I think I get it now. Every sprouting bud makes me smile. Every green sprig is a victory for the day. I think it’s easier to be mindful when you only have the present.
So there I was, being mindful of the garden, sparing water only for those that really needed it. I looked up, and Jack was gone. Not wandering off. Not fussing about near the gate. Just gone.
He came back just before sundown.
A bug, a stomach bug. Salmonella. Food poisoning. Fucking mental. We could do anything, right? Put shit in space. Print artificial bones and organs. Create robots that vacuum our floors. But clean our food before we eat it? No, we couldn’t do that. How fucking basic.
I heard the bells again today. Jack heard them first, as usual. I was taking the week’s harvest inside, and he stopped in front of me, cocked his head. Then one-two, one-two, one-two, growing louder, always the same pattern, fading away, one-two, one-two, one-two. I’ve started to imagine it’s one of those ice cream trucks, a clean shaven bloke with a white paper hat, one hand on the steering wheel, another out the truck window holding onto the bell pull. Ding-ding, ding-ding, ding-ding.
How quickly normalcy has become insanity.