There's Nothing There

I ache. Why do I always ache, deep down, in my spine, in the back of the pit in my stomach. I ache I ache I ache. Is this sadness? State of mind seems so whimsical, so suddenly swayed by little breezes, puffs of air caused by little words, ripples of drops of alcohol from days before; Washing across nerve endings, sending this hot ache through me. I sit and ache, and then I have to write. Words are never happiness for me. They are always lost, discontent, uneven, un-signifying. They are never what they should be, they never add up, like numbers of shapes, like colours or songs. That is the mood which makes me want to play with them, the only medium that will do for this ache. They pretend to mean it, but then shift away: they look pretentious, performing, perforated. Yet too solid for the space they were supposed to build… that something shimmering and aching and lost which smears itself across days and thoughts. And so it is that they seem to be the best way of getting at it.


“There’s nothing there.” He decided, looking rather disappointed.
“There will be. Just look, I’m sure there must be.”
“But there isn’t. I’m looking right now, and it isn’t, I can’t make anything out.”
“Well, according to this it is there.”
Getting exasperated, he replied, “you come and look then, I’m telling you there’s not!” He continued furrowing his brow, straining his eyes into the gap, persuading his mind to pick up on something.
“I’m reading about it here…” she continued rolling her finger across the mouse, hunched over a screen, neck out, her back to him. “…and it should be. You’re looking wrong; it is there. Something real, I’m sure. There is definitely something real.”
He stood up straight, hands on hips and looked around disapprovingly. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Just look for it!”
“It isn’t there! I can’t see it.”
There was a long pause in which he stared into the back of her head, into the scrunched half-ponytail as if she might notice his gaze and respond. He wouldn’t be pulling that expression if she could see him. The mouse rolled up and down the screen.
‘Look without looking’ she said, distracted by something on the screen. She spoke from lips which operated far away from the mind which continued scanning symbols on the screen.
“Do you want me to pretend that I can see, just to keep you happy?” his tone was getting increasingly tense. He pulled syllables out intentionally, like an elastic band; wanting them to snap; safe in the knowledge that elastic bands never really did. He was annoyed at himself for wanting to please her.
She sighed a motherly sigh, one that said ‘ohforgoodnesssakewhyareyousodifficult…’ It lasted about that long, too.
“Don’t sigh at me like that.”
“I’m not”
He pulled a face at the air as if he had an audience with whom he could agree on the ridiculous.
“Look, you can see something. Just put them back on.” She meant the black glasses, with pinprick holes for light to come through. Someone might perceive something outside of the usual forms of seeing or reading with blacked-out vision.
“What, on earth, are you reading?” Exasperation was getting the better of his patience for these silly games. These stupid ideas she was always putting on him, these ridiculous ideas about what could and could not be seen. How dare she make him look like such a fool with these -…“Look, for yourself! I’m not going to stand he like a plum any more, while you read out nonsensical instructions to me, if you’re so sure then you should be doing this. I’ll read to you, if you like, but I am not doing this any more!” His voiced had reached a full level of intensity, a couple of notches away from shouting and well into the region of wounded animal.
She looked up at him, wide eyed. ‘Hey..! Hey, hey, hey,’ she soothed, ‘hey… don’t worry, relax.’ She got up and walked over to him, wide brown eyes still focussed softly and fully onto his. ‘I didn’t know it would get to you so much it’s only an exercise; it’s not supposed to be stressful. If you don’t understand, it’s ok, I’ll ask someone else.’ She put his hand on his arm. ‘I thought you wanted to, what has come over you?’
Her eyes set deep into his were another world from the back of her head. He heard his voice echoing though his mind back to him, repeating stressed tones which overreacted the situation and sounded foolish, repeating themselves back like that. ‘I, don’t know what came over me.’ He smiled with half of his mouth. He laughed. ‘Sorry- I’ he smiled and stepped back into his jovial self. ‘Okay. I don’t know why- what that was- I don’t know why I suddenly felt so annoyed.’
She looked worried. ‘I’m not mad!’ he interjected, trying to sound jovial. He was making it worse.
She continued with a soothing voice which made it yet worse again- ‘I never said you were, it’s ok…’
He felt himself getting frustrated again and said, ‘I’m a bit edgy today, would you like something? I need something.’ Her gaze lingered before she turned back to the desk, ‘yeah, ok!’ she called as he went off into the kitchen.

When he came back in she said she’d figured it out; that it wasn’t something you could see in your mind by looking, instead you had to ‘sort of not look’ because it was not a thing, and that was the best she could do to describe it.

‘Try doing it when you dreaming.’
‘How can I do that?’
There was a long pause.
‘Hmm...’
And another-
‘Good point.’
And another-
‘I once heard that you could practice, and learn lucid dreaming…’ she smiled. A pause: ‘Yes. This is pointless isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ He agreed. ‘Things- life- ideas- I don’t know, whatever all this is getting at: it just ‘is’. There isn’t any way to see it clearly. Especially not someone who doesn’t even know what he is supposed to want to see. I’m quite happy with things as they are.’
She scratched behind her ear, delicately, with her slender fingers, gazing out of the window. She tucked a strand behind her ear and straightened up. ‘I’ve got another idea!’
‘No. I’ve got a headache. Nothing about this conversation has made any sense. Leave it alone now.’ He picked up a newspaper, and left.

Later, she wondered if the anger might have been the edge of the thing which she was after. She had to convince him to try again.