R. M. Foster

“How come she never got sad?”She did get sad, Booboo. She got sad in her way instead of yours andmine. She got sad, I’m pretty sure.”Hal?”You remember how the staff lowered the flag to half-mast out front bythe portcullis here after it happened? Do you remember that? And itgoes to half-mast every year at Convocation? Remember the flag, Boo?”Hey Hal?”Don’t cry, Booboo. Remember the flag only halfway up the pole?Booboo, there are two ways to lower a flag to half-mast. Are youlistening? Because no shit I really have to sleep here in a second. Solisten - one way to lower the flag to half mast is just to lower theflag. There’s another way though. You can also just raise the pole.You can raise the pole to like twice its original height. You get me?You understand what I mean, Mario?”Hal?”She’s plenty sad, I bet.””

“But he’d also gotten a personal prickly chill all over from his own thinking. He could do the dextral pain the same way: Abiding. No one single instant of it was unendurable. Here was a second right here: he endured it. What was undealable-with was the thought of all the instants all lined up and stretching ahead, glittering. And the projected future fear of the A.D.A., whoever was out there in a hat eating Third World fast food; the fear of getting convicted of Nuckslaughter, of V.I.P.-suffocation; of a lifetime on the edge of his bunk in M.C.I. Walpole, remembering. It’s too much to think about. To Abide there. But none of it’s as of now real. What’s real is the tube and Noxzema and pain. And this could be done just like the Old Cold Bird. He could just hunker down in the space between each heartbeat and make each heartbeat a wall and live in there. Not let his head look over. What’s unendurable is what his own head could make of it all. What his head could report to him, looking over and ahead and reporting. But he could choose not to listen; he could treat his head like G. Day or R. Lenz: clueless noise. He hadn’t quite gotten this before now, how it wasn’t just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed.””