It's a long story how I got here, but mostly it's because of him. I shouldn't be saying this. It's supposed to be embarrassing. But it's hard to care anymore. There isn't much of anything up here... no scenery, no cities, no culture, no air. It's hard to hide. There's not much left now in the way of pretense or shame. And sometimes a person gets to wishing for a little intimacy, even if it only comes through the sharing of suspect thoughts.
We all don't have much to do up here. The two million dollars tossed into a governmental black hole in order to come here could have started me my own consulting company back home. Or it could have gotten me a nice house and a few boats. Although most likely it would have stayed in that savings account until I died, accumulating. Now it's nothing. And I have no house at all, just my square apartment. And I have no job at all, and I have no assets at all, but I do have my food, clothing and shelter taken care of by my government. And I have nothing to do now but surf the web, walk the perimeter, and lie down in bed and look out at the stars.
I could talk to the others, I could keep going to the chess games in the hall. But my motor's running out of steam. Most everyone here is in the same straits as me. Almost everybody's getting taken care of by the government. Either they're legitimate scientists doing legitimate research, or they're the colonists, the ones who paid big to be guinea pigs, the embarrassments, the forgotten, gathering lunar dust up here with no hope for an honest wage. We're on hold. They can't stop meeting our basic needs but they don't seem interested in sending us more resources or colonists either. There is no money going into the marketing of the thing. We're a book that only sold a thousand copies, and the publisher's giving up.
And I resist going back. The Trines, who used to come over every other night and made me laugh until I felt like I'd done a hundred sit-ups, left a couple weeks ago. They were visibly distraught about my not going with them. They worry about me. I don't tend to worry. I just want to stay.
It's very quiet here. Lots of time to think. Most of the time, I think about Keith. Not in the present terms -- I don't think about where he is right now anymore, whether he's at work or at dinner or with his wife. I don't think about him in future terms either -- not whether he'd ever leave her, or what I'll say to him when the party's over. I think in terms of the past. That's all that holds my interest now. Present, future, who cares? Look out the window to see the present and the future. There's one word for it.
One of my favorite memories is of the day I met him. I've never liked anyone so fast in my life. I've never felt that way about a client. When I saw him in the waiting room my first thought -- I remember explicitly, not just like it was yesterday, but like it was happening again right now -- was that he already knew me. Not that I knew him, not that I'd known him all my life, not that he was my soul mate... none of that... just the eerie feeling that I was familiar to him. It was in the pit of my stomach and the back of my head simultaneously, and it was something instinctual. So without thinking, in another split second I was introducing myself to settle the score.
And I expected him to return the handshake with warmth in his eye and a smile, but to see his expression, you'd think he'd never seen me before a day in his life. And he hadn't.
I feel like a baby up here, or an invalid, all my needs taken care of, no undue demands on my stamina or intellect. Maybe that's why I stay; he made me feel the same way. Not taken care of, and not unchallenged, or not usually -- but a peculiar type of infant or a cripple, next to him. I was always the hungry one. And he was Keith Wright, a client and an infatuation, and a stranger. He was very good at not meeting my needs. And what can I say, considering those needs were overwhelming, immoral and possibly criminal? He was healthy. I was not. A forevermore tragic turn of events, considering I was the therapist.
Now I have all my needs taken care of. I'm back in the amniotic sac. Where is he now? In the past, that's where, that's all. Where am I? I'm on the fucking moon. Right now.
And I'm sitting here with my one-button remote. Make that two buttons: Pause. Rewind.
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