In the Silence

In the Silence

“He is always recounting the story of the incident … or what is it?, experience?, in a completely different way. The first time he attempted to convey the important bits felt, contrived or unknown, almost as if he had never had to explain such a thing to another person before. Communication was never one of his strong suits. With words like, or phrases, perhaps, like ‘you know’ and ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’ all peppered throughout, the telling felt, less than genuine. He was less than enthusiastic about either the story itself or the telling of it.

“The second time the details of the … encounter were … encountered, a third party had heard the story as he told it but was now relaying the telling of the story. Eavesdropping rarely, if ever, courts consequence. Thus, the second time a depiction of the story was heard was through someone else who had had the story recited to him, firsthand. The people to whom this second-time teller relayed the firsthand experience told to him could hardly give two shits about the circumstances under which the … account had been encountered. For to care about such things that do not directly affect a person is to care too much, overall, about too many things. A person, assuredly, would die or cave in emotionally, from the strain of … caring so much.

“The third time the story’s relevance popped into the consciousness of those existing in or around the narrative, hushed the meaning of the story, as a whole, but did not diminish its purpose, per se. Or maybe diminish feels or connotes the wrong sort of sense of importance. The story is vastly unimportant, and yet, the thing, according to him and the way that the unfolding of its telling … unfolds, continues or forces itself upon willing listeners. He tells the story or transmits pieces of a greater whole to anyone who will listen, or more bluntly put, to anyone who can hear him. And so, there he was, sitting alone upon some public seating area surrounding a decorative park fountain, hijacking ears that he infected with his grandiose delusions about the time he was … bestowed upon with … privations, giftings of insight and grandeur. An incident unlike any other, as he put it this third time.

“How many times he has insisted that he tell a story about a story about a story, one can only wonder. A reasonable estimate, however, is probably somewhere far beyond daily. The question becomes, then, something about what the story actually is or means. He speaks with conviction, knowledge and intelligence, but it’s the silent bits, the untold details that shout out loudly to any would-be listener. What he doesn’t say, is what he really tells. If I knew the answer, I’d tell you now. Would you?”