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In a Nutshell

1.

“It’s all about death,” I say. “Nobody admits it, but it’s the truth. Death. That’s it. In a nutshell.”

“No,” she says, Allie says, “you got it backward, Jake. What it’s all about is life. Not death. Life. It’s all about life.”

“Okay, then answer me this. Answer me this. Where’s the Universe heading?”

“I don’t know,” she says, Allie says, annoyed. “How do I know?”

The trouble look. I’m no typical testosteroni, who fails to notice such femalities. I notice.

“The Universe is expanding. Infinitely. At an accelerating rate. What does that mean? Tell me, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

That look. Trouble. I do notice. Killing my chances?

“It means everything’s flying apart, that’s what it means. Stars, solar systems, galaxies, everything flying apart. It means all the matter and energy in the Universe are dispersing. At an accelerating rate. Life is energy. Energy is life. The energy is dispersing. Eventually there won’t be enough energy in any one location to sustain life. Life ends. Terminates. Vanishes. So it’s all about death. Death in an infinitely expanding Universe. Time’s arrow points directly at DEATH.”

Impressive, no?

Allie pouts.

“You’re so morbid, Jake.” Allie pooches her lips. “Why do you have to be so morbid?”

Allie is kissable to the max.

“Not morbid, Allie. Realistic. Everybody says they want the truth but nobody really does. Nobody wants to hear the truth. The truth is too…true. Too true. People want to feast on bullshit. And the million dollar question is…what?”

“I don’t know.”

“The million dollar question is, can man live on bullshit alone?”

“You’re so cynical.” And you’re so kissable. “And who cares about the old Universe, anyway?” And you’re so hug-able. “Your stupid scientists are guessing. They don’t know a thing. They’re only guessing. The next ones who come along will guess the opposite.” So bedable.

But not tonight. Padlocked.

“Cars run on gasoline, humans run on bullshit.”

Chastity belt.

“God, Jake. You’re too analytical. Way left-brain.”

“Wrong! Left-brainers are optimists.”

“Can’t you stop thinking so much and just enjoy life?”

Wow!

2.

He’s the best roomie I ever had and so fine, but why can’t he leave off the morbidity? All he ever talks about is dying death angst existential anxiety black holes the end of the universe…and I know he doesn’t mean it, not one word, he’s not the death type. He’s the life type. Why can’t he just admit it and enjoy himself? Maybe then we could become more than just new roomies, maybe we could get something going and who knows? he’s so fine and so smart and I just know he’s going to make it in the world and when he does—bam!—he’ll really be awesome, a top scientist or doctor or computer expert, another Bill Gates maybe, figuring out the future of the internet and all that good stuff. He could do it, I know he could. If he would just stop the morbids and get on with his life. Because even when his mouth says those stupid negative words his eyes crinkle up in a little smile that’s so cute I could just cuddle him to death. Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean…

3.

“In a nutshell,” I say. “Listen,” I say, “think about it this way, Allie. Think about it this way. Death can come at any instant. Death can literally fall out of the sky. There’s this dude standing on a streetcorner in Indianapolis, minding his own business, standing there waiting for the light to change so he can cross the street, and what happens? What happens? What happens is, a part falls off a jet thirty thousand feet up and bonks this dude in the head. That’s what happens. Pops his eggshell. Did you read about that one? Indianapolis. Another one is this. Here’s another one. A woman up in a Manhattan penthouse accidentally elbows one of her flowerpots, and down below a young mom is pushing her sweet little baby in a pram, not a care in the world. Splat. Did you see that headline? Okay, what about this one? What about this? There’s this geezer driving along on I-675, probably whistling and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and maybe thinking how great it is to be alive, to have lived so long and still be healthy and happy, and he passes under this overpass and it collapses and crushes his car. In Baltimore, I think it was. Baltimore. Who were these people? Folks like you and me, Allie. Folks like you and me minding their own business, innocent as Eden, and out of the sky falls death. Just like that. Living…breathing…smiling…dead. Just like that. Bug-goo on God’s heel.”

“Stop it, Jake! Please stop it. It’s such a downer.”

“I’m making a point, Allie, I’m making a point. It’s all about death. That’s my point. See, everybody knows it. Everybody knows that something can fall out of the sky at any second and crush them like a bug while they’re innocently going about their business. Everybody knows it. But they try to shut it out. They try to pretend it’s not there, that if they don’t look directly at it, it’ll go away. But it never goes away. What happens is, it cancers the organs, eating away and eating away until it destroys life. Or try this, try this. It’s like these coal fires I read about, a vein of coal underground that catches fire and slowly burns, burns and burns until suddenly it breaks through the surface, and it’s almost impossible to put out. Have you read about that? It happens, it happens. Hey! Allie! Come back!”

4.

Gee, it’s wonderful, just great. For a whole day not one D word. I was afraid he’d get into it with mother here. It would be so outrageous! But he never said the D word once. And mother was so impressed. “He’s handsome,” she said. “And so intelligent. Of course I’d rather he was your boyfriend than your roommate, but time might take care of that.” She gave me one of her little winks, which says she knew she was stealing the thought right out of my mind. Jake chatted with her like he’d known her all his life. Not like most guys, who are uneasy around parents, who don’t know what to say and act guilty, like the parents could read their intentions or something, which they usually can. Not Jake. Just as natural as you please, chatting away about everything under the sun. He knows so much about so many things! And him so young. It amazes me. Anyways he made a super impression on mom, and I think maybe…well, if he keeps acting like that, so natural and all, it makes him so attractive…maybe, just maybe…something wonderful will happen. I hope.

5.

“In a nutshell,” I say. “Here it is in a nutshell, Allie. Say you make it through life unscathed, say you’ve led the good life, the big house, the SUVs, the boat, the vacations to the Caribbean and Europe, the cute little bambinos who grow up into winnerhood—the whole bit. But then what? Then what? Have you thought of that, Allie? What comes next? I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you what comes next. It happened to my favorite granny. I was there. What a woman! A libber before the invention of libbers. A jazz chick running with the cool dudes. A wild woman. But then what, then what? Then the body started going, here came the varicose veins, the skin got slack and pulled away from the flesh, liver spots cropped up like red fungus, the spinal cord bent, the hair turned grey and then white, tooth problems, gum problems, unsteady on her feet, swollen legs, osteoporosis showed up, oh and here comes diabetes, and now she falls and breaks her hip, and does that shakiness and flat-face mean Parkinson’s? and I bid you welcome, arrhythmias, and come on in, diverticulitis. Finally bedridden, trapped. Granny gets to lie there and feel her body melting, cell by cell. There goes another neuron! And another! Pop goes the glia! But her mind is clear. That’s the beauty. Her mind is clear so she can see, feel, think about the gangrenous process, so she won’t miss a single episode in the great soap opera called The Decline and Death of the Body. Atrophy, bed sores. Marinated in memories and the weird sweet-sour odor of decaying flesh. And now—still another wonder! Another wonder! Could that be emphysema at the door? Emphysema come to pay its respects to this sweet little old lady who hasn’t taken a puff in forty years? By golly, I believe it is! Emphysema! Which means granny gets to poke oxygen tubes up her nose. Think of it! The privilege! But not overmuch, not overmuch oxygen because with the lungs as with muscles and mind it’s use-it-or-lose it. So now granny’s granted another pleasure, the pleasure of struggling for breath. Isn’t life grand, granny? Isn’t it splendid that a life well lived ends so splendiferously? Isn’t life a marvelous design? Isn’t it delightful to end your days in joy and wonder and beauty, in a sweet-smelling warehouse for withered wonkies? With a demented roomie who wails away the night? Does she complain, granny? Moan and groan her fate? She does not. She does not. Sweetly smiles and suffers in silence, but her bony clutching hand narrates its own story, as do her smothered eyes. Granny Buried Alive in Hospital Bed! At the very end, her mind wanders away. Wanders away. It takes oxygen to keep a mind on track. No oxygen, no mind. Then granny herself goes away. My granny. Shrunken, pallid, tissue-thin, bruised. A human being? A corpse. Granny? Corpse. Granny? Corpse. Grannycorpse.”

“God, Jake, that’s so sad. So depressing. But it’s not the end. You’ll see your granny again. You know you will. You can look forward to it. A reunion of loving spirits.”

“No oxygen, no spirit.”

6.

Poor Jake. He’s so down about his grandmother. He must of loved her so much. That’s why he seems obsessed with the D word, that’s why he’s so morbid. I knew there had to be a good reason because in his heart there’s so much joy, I know there is. I already know my new roomie. What can I do to help him through this difficult time? How can I help my friend? I wish I could hold him tight.

“You must of loved your granny very much.”

“I did, Allie, but that’s not the point. You’re missing the point. Granny is just an example of the longdrawnout painful slide that awaits us all. Unless of course we go suddenly like the baby in the pram or the old guy in Baltimore. Allie, the point is, what’s the point? What’s the point? Life is not about life, it’s about death. Eventually the energy in the Universe thins out so much it can’t sustain life, and meanwhile individuals go suddenly, caught with their consciousness down, or they suffer the slow maceration of their own flesh. It’s a process without meaning, Allie. A process that leads…where? Where?”

“We don’t know, Jake. Nobody does. But—

“Nowhere, Allie. It leads nowhere. It makes zero sense. Camus had the problem right but the answer wrong. Camus said every thinking man has to decide whether life’s worth living in a meaningless Universe, and if not, he should act accordingly. Camus answered yes to life, but maybe he was noofy. Because what’s the point, Allie? What’s the point?”

He’s so handsome in his suffering. Should I throw my arms around him?

“You’re grieving for your granny, Jake. That’s why you’re so down. It’s very understandable, it could happen to anybody. I’m sure when my Nana passes over I’ll be totally crushed, I’m sure I’ll be so hurt. But life does go on. Time heals all wounds. I know your granny would tell you to get on with your life.”

“Granny is just an example, Allie. An example. Nothing more. I’m not grieving for granny. I’m grieving for us all. For you, for me--for mankind. Don’t you understand that?”

“No you’re not, Jake. You’re grieving for your granny. But you’re building it up into something bigger, something that it’s not. You’re trying to make a philosophy out of it. Granny is not a philosophy. Granny is granny. Why don’t you just admit to yourself how bad it hurts to lose granny?”

“An example, Allie. An example. Don’t you know what an example is?”

I’m going to do it! I’m going to throw my arms around him!

7.

Am I a genius, or what?

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