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Chapters (40)
  1. also by simon van booy
  2. the presence of absence
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. the presence of absence
  8. Part One
  9. 27.
  10. 26.
  11. 25.
  12. 24.
  13. 23.
  14. 22.
  15. 21.
  16. 20.
  17. 19.
  18. 18.
  19. 17.
  20. 16.
  21. 15.
  22. 14.
  23. 13.
  24. 12.
  25. 11.
  26. 10.
  27. 9.
  28. 8.
  29. 7.
  30. 6.
  31. 5.
  32. 4.
  33. 3.
  34. 2.
  35. 1.
  36. [quick black]
  37. [scene change]
  38. Part Two
  39. acknowledgments
  40. a note about the author

What a relief it’s only your voice that can be heard as you crawl headfirst through tunnels of sentence. Emotion comes from your relationship to the words themselves, and the words in relation to other words. There is less of me here than you think. Maybe none. Maybe only a ghost hovering between each silent resurrection.

And though we may never be together in body, this book will ensure that we never part. That you and I, in this moment, are the universe in soft and difficult pieces.

24.

This story is mostly about her. The she I mentioned. My life partner.

(Who will you cast in the role?)

She is out there now, in the world. You might see her and never know. She’s walking around. Listen for her shoes on the concrete if you live in a city. Watch for the orange flash of her turn signal on a crowded highway. She was driving a white car the last time I saw her. And every Wednesday at a club she plays tennis, which to me has always seemed like a game of punctuation with the net as a sentence neither player dares to conclude. But, god almighty, she was good. Such a powerful serve. Grace and form on the return, too. She had it all. Unbelievable.

And she’s out there now over the top of this book, dancing without music like everyone else. She’s hair and teeth and painted lips sipping wine and laughing through the restaurant window.

To you, just some woman.

A face that moves.

A body that turns by itself.

But to me.

Life doesn’t start when you’re born⁠—it begins when you commit yourself to the eventual devastating loss that results from connecting to a person who to everyone else appears completely ordinary. This story is woven from the fabric of my devotion to someone who could be anyone to you, which is why you should cast your own hero.

Sex doesn’t matter.

Gender doesn’t matter.

Age and physical appearance don’t matter.

It’s in the eyes. That’s where you can tell. And, of course, by how⁠—long after they’ve disappeared from your life⁠—you somehow find a way to go on.

Loving them.

23.

You might be wondering where I am, where this voice is coming to you from⁠—even though there’s no sound and it’s your voice you can hear. Perhaps you would like to know which hospital? The town? If I’m still around, and if not, how many years have elapsed since?

None of that matters, because our lives are braided here and now by this sentence.