I remember first reading High Fidelity by Nick Hornby, with its many top five lists, and all the girls who’d broken the main character’s heart, and all the albums he’d bring with him to a desert island — and, I don’t know, play them with a sharpened palm frond.
I love this idea, not the palm frond — the five things. What if there were just five things to focus on. That’d be so much easier.
Wait. That for sure is true. Okay. One down.
1) I am usually not certain of anything.
Let’s keep cheating.
2) Pie. This is an easy one. No one is uncertain about pie. Pi, on the other hand, is a different story.
3) Mostly, we are doomed. Collectively and individually. By a lot of things. By our ineptitude, by the global economy, by inequality and randomness and the ever-present specter of fear and regret. By our youth, by our age, by our geography and our class, by our genus and phylum and species. There is no getting around this.
4) You can miss someone forever. You there, who listened to NPR jazz in the back of your parent’s SUV with me. You there, who is the last one to truly remember how slow I used to walk. You there, who buried me in red fleece blankets. Unshakeable, this past. I can’t eat a grain of rice without thinking of my students. I can’t see a motorcycle without thinking of Kompheak. My heart lives in pieces and places. With Oriana in Costa Rica, with my grandmother in Tonawanda.
5) Memory is a luxury. Without it, without remembering, without missing, there’s just now, and you can only be certain of things — really certain — looking back. And nothing can stop doom, not really, not forever, but while it lasts, memory bends time. And when you link your story to mine, we form a chain of memory, unbreakable, unrepeatable, pi in story form.
In my dream, on my desert island, under the stars, we whisper it. We tell it. This whole big story chain.
You are all here, as we fall asleep, as we think about what we know for certain. Just five things. Just two things. Just one.