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August 12, 2005
Greatest American Short Stories
I'm a Rastafarian. I'm in a Starbucks, in the back, by the restroom. I've been here for fourteen days. They haven't noticed. Which seems weird, I guess, but whatever.
The staff here wears headsets by which they communicate with one another and all of the other Starbucks employees on their corporate network. This helps them to run their business more efficiently than previously thought possible. They are very busy - It's no wonder they haven't noticed me, what with all the constant chatter and numbers and flashing lights. The manager has a full bodysuit which is apparently connected to some sort of virtual reality apparatus. During the day, she moves around the dimly lit back room, lightly swiping the air here, hiking her leg up there. It looks like she's dancing. It's beautiful and absurd.
I believe we are in the Last Days. These are the Last Days and soon, something will happen that will change everything. I believe that the ghosts (which are real, they are here, they've always been here) are going insane. They have been driven mad by the radiation in the air, in the spaces between radio towers and car antennae. And they are upset and insane and they will leave this place soon for Somewhere Else. When they do leave, the earth will be dried out and hollow. Because the ghosts are the only ones left who are taking care of us, who are looking over us and helping us to understand this place. They are the ones who give us music and fire and mystery and passionate love. Now, they are tired and crazy and they can't hold on to the spinning world any longer - they're leaving. Without the ghosts, we are so fucked. For instance: Who will help us find our way to Heaven when we die? The ghosts won't be there to show the way, and the dead souls will sink to the bottom of the ocean floor. It's Prophecy.
I drink a lot of coffee and huddle under the table at night to keep warm. It's really pretty comfortable. I have a home out there in the woods, but I think I'd rather stay here, it feels safe. At night, the golden street lamps shine in through the big plate windows. I've been reading the Bible and the local newspapers and keeping myself mentally prepared. Sometimes, past midnight when the parking lots are quiet and the logging trucks have driven away, I can hear the ghost voices outside. It's a very high, thin frequency, but I have been blessed with good hearing, Jah Liveth.
At first, I couldn't hear beyond the carrier wave signals, but after a few nights of concentration, I began to perceive a definite pattern of sounds. Now I can hear it: The ghosts are weeping and singing to themselves. I can't make out what they are singing. It gets a little louder (and lasts a little longer) every night. I can't see the ghosts, of course, but when I hear them like this, I picture them blind, drifting into one another, with arms outstretched, wailing, looking for comfort, or reason.
I think one day soon, the ghost voices will carry on into the sunrise and won't stop until they've stopped for good: Prophecy. And the staff here won't come in to work. The networks will be silent and the trucks will sputter and when this happens, here is what I will do: I will walk out of this Starbucks, shield my eyes against the sunlight and cross the parking lot into the woods.
posted by dana at August 12, 2005 12:54 PM
