I hope I am setting this up appropriately for you to enjoy the splendid moment. The narrator in Robert Glück’s “Everyman” anthologized in Men on Men 4 receives from the widow of a neighbour a stack of frozen dinners which were destined for the now deceased neighbour. They sit as a stack in the narrator’s freezer for a while. Until …
Every night the monument turned into a ritual by entering my body. I consumed his distinctions where before I had seen none, just an unknown expanse of bright utopian images to appeal to the stranger passing the frozen food compartment. To make wild assertions: to say I prefer Stouffer’s Pizza Chips to Birdseye’s Pizza Wraps. To eat Mac’s food which was anyone’s food — a generic confrontation with salt, oil, too sweet, pumped up with flavor, empty and exciting, a little sensational. I was not anguished. Perhaps I ate his food with greater awareness of the moment, a curiosity that floated on the moment, an expectation that deepened the silence (I say silence although the TV was on, was on, was on). In that way I mourned for Mac.
This is a tour de force mixing the commercialism of brand names with personal anecdote. It could be anyone. Everyone. Yet it is no one. They are gone.
And so for day 996