From: m13079@mwunix (Mary Anne Walters)
Subject: Space
Organization: MITRE Corporation, McLean VA
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1992 11:57:24 GMT


I wrote this a few years ago and it's taken me this long to get up the
courage to post it.  I would welcome any comments to m13079@mwunix.mitre.org
and thanks!

Copyright 1990 by M. Walters


                           SPACE


     When he was five, Daniel would go out into the wheat fields alone.
He watched the wheat begin as short, scrubby plants, and then grow, day-
by-day, until it became a field of tall, gracefully waving stalks that
soared over his head.  Daniel seemed to need the wheat fields, and
he blended well with them, with his hair of wheat gold, his eyes brown,
and his skin tanned from the sun. In fact, he might have been called a
handsome child were it not for the chill of his gaze, the emptiness in
his eyes.  But it wasn't the wheat itself that Daniel craved.  It was the
space.  Deep within the fields, he fancied himself all alone in the
universe.  The gentle rustling of the wind through the stalks was a
buffer against all the daily sounds of the farm.  To Daniel, the farm
wasn't his home.  Deep within the fields was where he felt at home.  The
farmhouse where his parents and sisters lived was only a place he spent
time because he was a child and had no choice in the matter.

     The days he hated most were threshing days.  When the wheat was
harvested, all the space he needed was gone.  To most people, the
threshing created space--a vast, level emptiness.  Daniel knew better.
When the wheat was cut, he rose up above the wheat, no longer a part of
it, but an anomaly, like the farmhouse, and the barn, and the silo.  The
vast empty space was gone, and Daniel was forced to acknowledge the world
around him.  He was no longer part of an empty space, he filled space
instead.

     When he was twelve, the wheat field was lost to him.  He was moved
from the farm when his father, realizing that he would never be the
farmer *his* father had been, sold it off.  They moved to a nearby city,
and Daniel became confused.  He missed the unending wheat. The buildings
in the city crowded him, the row houses, the shops, the offices.  The
people hustled and bustled along sidewalks framing streets writhing with
cars.  There was no space, no empty space for him to become a part of.
So, Daniel found his own empty space within his head.  He spoke little,
if ever, and never seemed to hear the comments of his family or of
strangers (he had no friends to speak of, for they would have filled the
space he had worked so hard to empty)--

    "What's the matter, Danny? Cat got your tongue?"

     His older sister would rap on his head, "Knock, knock. Hello? Is
there anybody in there?"

     He would just turn his face up to her, blink his eyes once, and
stare at her (through her) till the intensity of his gaze, and the
silence, made her swat at him and say, "Oh get out of here.  Go outside
and play."

     Instead he would go inside himself.  There was a place that wasn't
space (not like the wheat field had been space) but that served his
purpose for the time.  Across the street behind his family's house was a
nearly vacant lot.  It was full of junk, weeds and garbage.  In the lot
was a car.  The doors were gone, the convertible top was missing, and the
windows had long since been broken.  The windshield was not gone, but it
was shot through with a fine, web-like tracing of cracks. When the day was
clear, Danny would lay on his back on the ripped upholstery of the car seat  
surrounded by the moldy smell of rotting material.  He would gaze up
at the sometimes blue, more often gray, of the sky and lose himself
inside his head.  He didn't think, really.  It was more that he achieved
an absence of thought.  The clouds would drift by, but he never saw
shapes in those ever-shifting patterns.  Insects buzzed overhead, but he
never spent an instant of conjecture on them either, never wondering if
they heard him or saw him or reacted to him in any way, like most small
boys have done.  Daniel didn't do anything, didn't think any thing, he
just was.  It was a comfort to him to be so empty.

     In school, Daniel always sat in the back of the room if he was given
a choice.  His teachers watched his eyes, and wondered about him.  Still,
he had a rudimentary capability to memorize facts, and this ability got
him through most of his classes.  Of course, any class requiring more
than a mere regurgitation of information snippets was a problem.  The
further he got into high school, the less well he did.  More than a few
Ds began to pepper his report cards, along with the occasional F.
Daniel's parents, fortunately, were so occupied by the struggle to pay
the bills and put food on the table that they weren't overly concerned
with something as minor as a D in English. "Try to do better next time,
Danny," was all his mother would say, and then she would smile and pat
his arm.  His father just sat in his chair and nodded.

     "The boy will never be no doctor.  Better he should finish with
school and go to work."

     Some of his teachers tried.  Back as far as first grade, teachers
puzzled over Daniel as they filled the cards with comments like:

     "Danny should pay attention more in class"
     "Danny has a habit of daydreaming in class"
     "Danny seems to be in his own little world"

     Danny's empty eyes were disquieting, and they wanted to solve the
puzzle, but year after year those earnest young teachers who taught (tried
to teach) Daniel all made the same mistake--they thought he was building a
world of his own in his head.  Not so at all.  What Daniel was doing was
pulling back into the void, and emptying his head of the world.

     Finally the time came when Daniel did quit school.  He stopped the
pretense, stopped feigning interest in the world around him.  He
retreated into that void of his own making.  Through a friend of his
father's he got a job as a night watchman in a warehouse in one of the
large, impersonal buildings on the waterfront.  He was alone all night,
in the dark and comforting silence.  He slept during the day, so
interaction with his family was limited to stray moments in the kitchen
as the rest of the family gathered for breakfast and he prepared to crawl
into bed.  Within a few months, Daniel became even more withdrawn and
eventually there came a time when he decided (as much as the emptiness
within him was able to decide anything) to move to a small room in one of
the apartment buildings near the warehouse.

     To say the room was a minimalist's dream was almost understatement.
There was a bed, indistinct, rumpled and creaking, a lamp on a small,
scarred table, a chair that sagged in the seat from the pressure of too
many nameless people over the years, and a closet in which Daniel hung
his few shirts, pants and sweaters.  His underwear was folded neatly on
the shelf of the closet, along with his few meager toiletries, and the
pair of shoes not on his feet were aligned neatly on the floor.  There
was a small refrigerator, a sink, and a two-burner stove lining one wall
of his dismal little room, and a card table and two folding chairs where
he ate his dinner.  The shower and toilet were down the hall, and were
shared by all on the floor.  Of course Daniel still worked during the
night and slept during the day, so most times he had no meetings at all
with the others.  And Daniel was as happy as it was possible for him to
be, there, alone, in his room.  Life proceeded in an endless cycle of
work, dreamless  sleep, and infrequent shopping trips to the corner
grocery store where Daniel purchased cans of soup, loaves of bread,
chili, stew and the occasional bag of cookies.  If the truth be known,
these forays to the store where the only time Daniel ever came in direct
contact with other people.

     The store was open all night, and when Daniel chose to do his
shopping was often near midnight.  There were never very many people in
the store, and the few who were there had as much interest in interacting
with others as Daniel had.  The one constant was the check-out girl.  She
was a fragile, quiet girl, with dull blond hair.  She was saved from
complete anonimity by a pair of luminous grey eyes.  These eyes were so
remarkable, if for no other reason than they stared out from a totally
unremarkable face.  Her eyes shined, and there was as much depth of
feeling in her gaze as there was a lack of one in Daniel's.  She tried
everything she could think of to get Daniel involved in a conversation,
no matter how brief, but as the months dragged on the exchange rarely
varied.

     "Hi there.  How is your evening going?"
     "Fine."
     "Looks like we might get a little bit of rain tonight.  Do you have
your umbrella with you."
     "No."
     Oh, well I guess you must have a pretty short walk to work then, hum?"
     "Yes"

     On and on the monosyllabic answers to her leading questions
continued, "yes" and "no" in an endless, unvaried parade.  The seasons
changed from month to month, but Daniel's answers rarely did.

     One night, as Daniel entered the store, he saw a man at the counter.
The man had a gun and the girl was shakily stuffing bills from the cash
register into a crumpled brown paper bag.  Her eyes were now shining with
fear.  She darted a look at Daniel as he came in the door and gasped.  The
man with the gun whirled around, looked at Daniel as he stood placidly by
the door, waiting, watching, and snarled.

     "Now you just back away from that door, there, boy.  Do what I say
and do it now, or I'll blow a hole in you so wide this little lady will be
able to walk right on through you."

     Daniel stood still, staring expressionless at the thief, but
making no move to comply with his demands.  The man reached over, snatched
the bag from the girl, and turned to face Daniel again.

     "Boy, this is the last time I'm gonna tell you--get away from that
door.  I got what I came in for, and I'm just plannin on walking right out
of here.  Move, and move now."

     Daniel didn't move.  He didn't speak.  He didn't even look surprised
when the bullet hit him.  He staggered back against the rack of greeting
cards by the door.  Blood flowed from his neck, and the wound was ragged
and torn.  The girl screamed as the man with the gun ran from the store.
She rushed to Daniel, and held his head in her lap, brushing back his
hair.  Blood that poured from his neck stained her dress, and she held
her hand to his neck, trying to stop the flow.  She screamed again and
again, and again, and her screams were the last thing Daniel heard as he
slipped into the a void that, for once, was not of his making.


                            *******************

     When Daniel awoke, he was in the hospital.  His throat was heavily
bandaged, and tubes ran into and out of his body, assisting him in
performing all those functions that are usually performed unassisted.
There, sitting in the chair, was the checkout girl.  She sat staring at
him, and when her eyes met his, she smiled.

     "Hi.  Are you ok?"

     Daniel tried to answer, but the only sound that emitted from his
mouth was a hoarse, frog-like croak.

     "It's ok, the doctor said you might not be able to talk for a little
while, till the wound in your throat heals.  They didn't know what to do
with you, and no one at the store knew you, or even knew your name.  The
ambulance guys looked in your wallet, and got your address from your city
bus pass."  She blushed and looked down at her hands as they twisted in
her lap, folding and refolding her tissue.  "I rode with you to the
hospital.  No one else knew you.  No one knew who to call.  We still
don't." Again, she looked down, and in the softest voice possible she
said, "I told them I was your girlfriend so they would let me come with
you.  I didn't know what else to do, and I didn't want you to be alone."
She looked up from under her dull, blond bangs, her remarkable eyes very
bright.  "Was that ok? I thought you might like to have somebody here with
you, you know, when you woke up."  Her voice trailed off to a whisper, and
she looked into Daniel's uninhabited eyes, trying to guess what the
reaction might be to this confession.  Daniels gave no indication how this
news affected him, or if,in fact, it affected him at all.  She sat
 quietly, and watched Daniel as his eyelids drooped and then closed, and
 he fell into a sleep that was as deep and dreamless as any sleep on any
 other night of his life.

     The next days passed as an endless procession of doctors, nurses,
needles, bedpans and tests of all kinds.  Within a week, Daniel was ready
to be released.  He still didn't talk, hadn't tried.  It upset the doctor,
but Daniel never had been much of a talker anyway, so he was content
behind his wall of silence.

     When he finally got released from the hospital, he walked out into
the bright, mid-day sun.  Squinting against the glare, he turned to walk
towards the bus stop.

     "Yoo hoo, Danny, over here."

     A hand touched his arm.  He looked down at it as if it were a small,
alien creature, completely unknown to him and, therefore, not too very
important.  It was the checkout girl.

     "I waited and waited for you.  I called the hospital and they said
you were getting out today and I didn't want you to have to go home alone.
I brought my car, so I can give you a ride.  I'll bet you never expected
to go home in such style, did you?"  Her hand still on his arm, she gently
guided him over to an old, rusted, faded blue behemouth of a car.  She
unlocked the passenger side door, took his elbow, and steered him into the
car.  She closed the door.

     Daniel sat in the car, the old upolstery fabric reminding him of his
car, the junkyard car, that was the first empty space he found in the
city, so many years ago.  The girl slid into the car, and smiled at him as
she slowly pulled away from the curb.

     "I saw your address when the ambulance guy pulled it out of your
wallet.  I know where you live already, and I know you really can't talk
yet.  The doctor said just to be patient, and your voice will come back in
it's own good time.  He said your body knows when it's hurt, and knows when
it's healed. So, you just have to wait till your body is ready, and then
your voice will come back good as new."

     Daniel looked out the window, watching the scenery flow past him.
Buildings, and bridges, and even the occasional tree passed in front of
his eyes, but Daniel, being Daniel, barely noticed them at all.  The girl
babbled on, speaking a vast quantity of words but actually saying very
little.  She talked about the weather, and how worried she had been about
him, and how thankful she was he had been there the night of the robbery.

     The car eased up to the curb in front of Daniel's apartment building.
The girl got out of the car and walked around to help Daniel out.  She
grabbed his elbow and pulled him along with her into the building, up the
stairs, and to his door.  Daniel pulled out his key, unlocked the door,
and stepped into his room.  He would have closed the door in her face, so
accustomed was he to being alone, had she not laid her hand on the door
and followed closely behind him.

     When he got inside the room, and looked around his small, empty room,
the slightest frown crossed his brow.  The room was no longer quite so
empty.  The worn and sagging chair had a brightly colored cover over it.
The small table was painted a cheerful, incandescent blue.  A small vase
of flowers sat on a very white, very lacey doily in the center of the
table.  The chairs had small, neatly made cushions on the seats, tied
around the chairbacks with ribbons.  Daniel wandered around the room,
 putting his few belongings away in their usual places--the shoes on the
 floor of the closet, the brush and other hospital items on the shelf.
 He took the torn and bloody shirt he had been wearing when he was shot
 and, not seeming to notice the state it was in, hung it up in the closet
 with the few other shirts he had there.  The girl looked at him, her
 brow creased, her mouth pursed, puzzled.  She sat, looking down at her
 lap, where her hands twisted around each other in nervousness.

     "Danny, why would you want to put that shirt in the closet?  It's
 nothing but a rag, now.  You might as well just toss it in the trash.
 I'll be happy to go to the store with you later and help you pick out a
 new one if you want.  I know it will be tough for you to say what you
 want till your voice heals." The girl watched him.

     "Well, what do you think of the place?  I cleaned it up and got a
 little paint and the fabric from a decorating store.  I made the cushion
 and the bedspread myself.  It only took a few hours but it really
 brightens the place up, doesn't it?  Do you like it?"  Daniel didn't
 answer her, but she rushed on.  "Oh I know it must still be difficult
 for you to talk, but it really does help the room look more cheerful and
 homey doesn't it?"  Hoping for at least a nod, she looked back at
 Daniels eyes.  He just stared, with that same slightly puzzled
 expression he had the night of the robbery.  Rather than try again, she
 just looked down at her hands again and stared at them for a time,
 gathering her resolve.

     She looked up from her endlessly turning hands, looked at Danny,
 with her eyes full of something he couldn't see, but anyone else would
 call pleading.  She got up from the chair and came over to where Danny
 sat.  He looked at her as blankly as ever, and waited.  Mixed in with
 the pleading in her eyes was frustration over what to do, how to handle
 the situation, and still get what she wanted.  What did she want?  She
 was as clueless as Danny was about what she wanted.  What she thought
 she wanted was maybe love, whatever that meant,  and perhaps a sort of
 warmth.  What she really wanted was what every other person who had come
 into even the most insignificant contact with Daniel had ever wanted--
 she wanted to solve the puzzle, to know the mind of Daniel, and to see
 something behind those frozen, lifeless, hollow eyes.

      She sat on his lap, brushed the hair from his eyes, and kissed his
 lips as softly as possible.  Daniel reacted not at all to this, still
 looking at her (through her) as he always had.  So she took his hand,
 and led him.  She sat him on the edge of the bed.  She undressed him,
 and then undressed herself.  She mistook Daniel's looking through her as
 acquiescence, and with the slightest push of her hand on his shoulder
 she pushed him on to his back on the newly made flowered coverlet.  She
 stretched out over him, kissing his neck, his cheek, his eyes, his
 forehead.  She kissed him, stroked him, took from him with a desperation
 that she couldn't explain even to herself.  Throughout it all, Daniel
 lay still and silent, staring at the ceiling just over her shoulder.
 The only sound he made, and that was an involuntary sound, was when his
 body betrayed him and he came without his mind even realizing it.

                             *****************

     She lay next to him, her head on his chest, toying with his hair,
curling it around her fingers, then releasing it. She blew on the hairs,
and watched as they moved under the soft force of her breath.

     "So, what are you thinking about?"

     He didn't move. His arm lay still on the bed, not curling around her
back, not stroking, not anything.

     "Space," he said, his voice still croaking and harsh.

     She smiled, and looked out the window at the stars shining in the
black velvet sky.

     He looked out the window, too, and said, "Empty space" as he drifted
back into that deep and essential silence that had surrounded him through
all of his life.

     She raised up on her elbow, and looked back at him, putting her face
directly in his line of vision.  She looked into his empty eyes, still
hoping.  He looked through her, on to the vast expanse of space that
surrounded him--that filled him.  So he never saw the tear roll down her
cheek; and he never heard the door close behind her.

     And he didn't miss her at all--not then, not ever.

                                         finis.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

--
--Mary Anne  
"What we have once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all
that we love deeply becomes a part of us."  Helen Keller
                                                 [for Alexander]
Xref: sparky alt.prose:1129 alt.religion.kibology:3556 alt.sex.stories:1432 alt.alien.visitors:5898