Distance: An Introduction

The Stages of Distance

1. The distance is denied: "No Distance lives here, you must have the wrong number."

2. The distance is realized: "Huh...I wonder what that look meant."

3. The distance is bargained with: "How about one hour? Twenty minutes?"

4. The distance is accepted: "The time has come for drinking and crying and singing 'I Started A Joke' at karaoke."

You may be asking yourself, Gentle Reader, what is distance? And how do I know if I have it or not? To answer the second question first, shut up. To answer the first question very indirectly, read on. Below are examples of statements/problems/occurrences that have passed across my desk, illustrating situations where distance is questioned. I have also provided answers. Confused yet? I hope so.

I have lost my child (in WalMart):
No.
I have lost my child (to The Suicide Life):
Yes.
That ketchup is near that salt shaker:
Really?
I can hear your heart:
Almost.
I can feel your heart:
Too much.
I am your heart:
Right on the nose.
I drove past your house today:
More information, please.
I drove past your house today and I was playing that mix you made for me. And when I neared your mailbox I had the vision of me rolling out of the car and letting it crash into the side of your house underneath the window where your parents sleep. I didn't, of course. But at the same time, I had another vision that you were getting the mail and saw me, so I stopped to say hello. And I told you I was in the neighborhood (which you didn't believe but accepted anyway,) and we decided to go for a drink...somewhere close because you had to be in work by eight the next morning. A drink turned into two, two into several. The early evening turned into night and a friendly drink turned into hands and lips and The Coasters' "Down In Mexico" and moist foreheads and everything was flashbulbs and grainy film footage. We locked, visited old haunts and places we used to love. You cried after, before you went to sleep, and told me that you weren't sad. You didn't know what you were. The next morning, you kissed me long on the mouth and dressed slowly, and told me that you were glad we could use each other. That was the end of the vision as I drove past your house:
You get it. You get it completely, you sad son of a bitch. Now come here if you're in need of comfort, of warmth, of making the space seem smaller for a moment.