He had always known what to do. His mind had been tailored over many years to seek the truth, to find the cause for the effect, to procure over-whelming evidence from rigorous analysis. Everything was orderly, everything comprehensible. Stories never satisfied the man. Stories were the inventions of the lazy, simple lies conflated to appease the masses. Stories were chaos. Yet somehow he could never find order in this situation, a situation in which he was bound and trapped by familial duty.
“What is it you want?” The man had asked Samuel the same question a hundred times before. “What is it you want?” He received the same answer a hundred times. Samuels eyes filled with tears as he turned his head towards the window. Outside the sun set slowly over the red-bricked terraced houses. Rays of light danced around on the shiny-sleek slated rooftops filling the room with a warm red glow. The man knew Samuel was in distress, he nearly always was. He had known Samuel for nearly eighteen months now and had seen him this way before, sometimes worse. There were good days and bad. The man loosened his tie and placed his coffee next to a thin leather-bound book on the solid oak desk. He noticed Samuel eying the book, almost urging him to pick it up in a desperate and giddy manner.
The small book felt unfamiliar in the man’s hands. It was nothing at all like the ones he cherished; books full of information and definitions that could be dissected and discerned through multitudes of graphs and charts. Books that for most of his life provided solitude through order and meaning. He flicked through the pages of the book with resignation and contempt. The pages meant nothing to him. Nothing but incoherent babble with no purpose and application. But when the man shot a quick glance back at Samuel he noticed something was different. The pain in his eyes had subsided and a mischievous smile spread wild across his face. Samuel bobbed anxiously back and forward egging the man on.
With each page the man read Samuel became more and more entranced, slowly drifting into a dream like state. Just as the man finished the sun disappeared over the rooftops and the room fell into a tranquil silence. The man was filled with a serene sensation of content and relief. He stared at the little book in his hands, mystified yet beholden. As he tucked the sleeping Samuel into his cot he was reminded of a quote he had heard many years ago in college about how all stories are lies, but lies that can reveal a deeper truth. As the man nimbly navigated his way out of the room he thought to himself perhaps a little chaos wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, chaos was simply order just waiting to be deciphered.
Tiarnan Spain ©