The New Year
Early one morning, a long time ago, I was bathing in the Okeh River, near downtown Hernville, gently scrubbing the most neglected parts of my body with an old bandana I had recently acquired. And though I was alone, and the water was cold, I kept myself warm by remembering all the memories I had made the night before, when I was out on the town, ringing in the New Year in style. And when I had finished replaying all those memories, and each, in their own way, had brought me a small flicker of warmth, I found that I still had more of myself to cleanse, so I changed the direction of my thinking, from memories to more tangible items, and began listing all the things I was thankful for in my life:
1. The recent return of my health.
2. The range of my mobility.
3. The fact that there was always someone listening to my prayers.
4. The fact that I had not been murdered at any time the past year.
5. My couch.
And once I had finished listing these things, I found that I still had a few more crevices that needed attention, so I continued scrubbing, working the bandana over myself as quickly but as industriously as I could, even as I felt my arms and legs losing feeling. And finally, realizing that I really was fighting a downhill battle, knowing that in order to save my precious life I would have to emerge from the water before I got myself to a level of cleanliness I could live with, I tried, in one last push, to distract myself again, and began formulating some resolutions for the New Year, hoping they might grant me that last bit of warmth I needed to finish, but before I could even begin to envision the year ahead, and all that I might accomplish in it, I heard a voice call down to me from way up on the bridge.
“Hey,” it said. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m just taking my bath for the day,” I said. “No big deal.”
“Didn’t look like bathing to me.”
“Oh, don’t pretend to know anything about my morning routine.”
“Looked like frolicking,” he said. “And my name is Moany.”
“Well,” I said, “if you were down here, you’d be able to see clearly,” and while I wholeheartedly agreed with what I was saying, I instantly regretted saying it; I didn’t really feel like engaging with Moany, or any one at all, for that matter, especially after having such a social time the night before.
“I still say you were frolicking,” Moany insisted, as he—a little recklessly, I thought—stepped sideways down the steep embankment to meet me. Once he reached the riverbank, I looked at him closely to make sure he was safe to associate with. Much to my relief, Moany was thin and little. I would really like to pay him more tribute in my description of him, because of how nice a person he was, but he was quite ugly. His only possession, beyond his clothes, was a little jar full of clear liquid that he kept under his arm.
“What made you think I was frolicking?” I said.
“You were waving your hands around.”
“I was cleansing myself,” I said, suddenly feeling my muscles beginning to spasm. “It’s too cold to be frolicking.”
I then told him then that I would talk a lot more candidly if he would give me a moment to get out of the river and put on my outfit: my jeans and my jacket. Moany was silent, though he seemed to understand my needs, politely turning away as I emerged from the river. After I was dressed, I invited him to join me on my couch. When I’d first moved under the bridge, there was plenty of unoccupied space for the taking, but at the same time, there wasn’t any real cozy spot I could call my own—a place where I could sleep, eat, and get some thinking done, while not constantly having to readjust my position due to the sharp stones on the riverbank. So I really was overjoyed, and at the same time, very humbled, when, one day, on the bridge above me, a head-on collision occurred between a furniture truck and a truck carrying combustibles, and as a result of the tragic accident, a smoky but brand new leather couch tumbled down the embankment, end over end, until it came to rest, right side up, at my feet.
“Say you were frolicking,” said Moany. “What would you have been frolicking for?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I would have been frolicking at the fact that we have a new year upon us.”
“And why would that be cause for frolicking?” said Moany.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
He offered me a drink from his jar, which was full of tepid tap or perhaps river water. I drank one sip, and then told him that I would be fine for a while. I was particular about my drinking water.
“I had a pretty good time last night,” I said.
“I’m not sure I like sitting here,” Moany said. “You better hurry up and tell me about your New Year’s Eve.”
He really wasn’t the kindest of listeners, but it was rare that I had one at all, so I kept going. “I was downtown for the festivities,” I said. “Usually, I stay here under the bridge during holidays, because they tend to get me a little down, and I don’t like having to put on a public face when I’m having trouble wearing my private one. But last night, though I was feeling just about as down as ever, and though I tried to sleep it off, all the exploding fireworks kept snapping me awake, and I decided that if I was going to get through the night I needed to be around some kind—any kind—of life, so I went down to Big Square. I also decided that I wasn’t going to let my mood spoil anyone else’s that night: as I walked, I put on a smile, and held it there, and if ever I felt it slipping a little, I would do my best to raise it back up for the benefit of those around me. There were crowds of people there, in Big Square, all dressed in costumes and acting out of character in a fun way, and with my wide smile I think I fit right in. The strange thing was, at some point—right around the time a complete stranger gave me a paper bag with a party hat, a noise maker, and a warm bottle of beer inside—I realized that the public face I was wearing was equal to my private one, that the smile I was smiling was actually genuine, and that I was having a good time without even trying. And after that, I found that my legs were more limber than I was used to them being, and I started to dance, first just by myself, but then with everyone close by, until, gradually, a circle formed around me, and I saw that every public eye had fallen on me and every smile was directed toward me.” Moany’s face began to darken when I described the dancing—out of jealousy, I supposed. I started to think twice about continuing with my story. He was in pretty bad shape.
“Go on,” he said. “It’s fun for me to live through your fun.”
As long as he was willing to hear it, I really was more than happy to tell it. “Well, by the end of the night, I was up on people’s shoulders, and they were telling me that they were going to make me their king, and all sorts of other friendly promises that I never really expected that they would make good on. And then the hour grew really late, and I found that my only company left in Big Square was the garbage that people had left behind, and I came back to the bridge, still smiling wide even though I was alone.”
Moany didn’t make any real effort to hide his frown. “That does sound like a good time,” he said. “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “There was an old woman who used to lean over the bridge and show me her breast every day for a while, but I’m not sure if you would count that.”
“I wouldn’t count that,” said Moany.
I sensed a sad story coming on and shifted my hips a little lower into the couch to get more comfortable.
“While you were out dancing with the crowds,” Moany said,
“my girlfriend and I were roaming the streets, doing our dancing act for money.”
“I’ve always wanted to dance professionally,” I said. That I haven’t really is one of the major regrets of my life.
“It was just regular dancing,” he said bitterly. “I would lie on the concrete, my girlfriend would press play on the boombox, then she would climb on my back and sway. When I couldn’t take her weight anymore, I would tap her ankle and we would switch.”
“Moany,” I said, “I am not a dancing authority, but it seems like this dance was very simple.”
“We tried the more elaborate stuff before,” Moany said, “but no one donated. So we settled on the dance I just told you about. Ugliness is in, anyway. And we did well last night, until the boombox broke. After that, we started to head for home.”
“Where do you live?” I said. I wanted to make sure he still knew that I was interested in him and his story.
“My girlfriend and I live in Balltank, not far from here. We live under a bridge, pretty much the same as this one. Last night, my girlfriend and I were walking home after making a good amount of money, and we passed by a shop, where we saw the most magnificent dog in the window. I asked my girlfriend several times how much she thought the dog cost, but she assumed I wanted to buy the dog, and told me that we needed a new boombox before we went ahead and got a pet. But that wasn’t what I wanted at all. I just wanted to know the price of the damn dog, just to get an idea. She told me if I went into the shop, she was going to leave for the electronics store without me and start shopping for a new boombox. I didn’t believe her, and went in the shop, and I found the manager in the back. He had more dogs around him, but none were as good as the one in the window. I asked him how much the dog was, and he kind of sniffed at me and told me I couldn’t afford it. I told him I didn’t want to buy it, but that I wanted to know the damn price. He told me fourteen dollars. I was satisfied, for the moment. When I left the store, the streets were empty, and I found my girlfriend at the electronics store a couple blocks away. She was talking to a clerk and choosing between two boomboxes. She asked me for my opinion, but I didn’t want to give it. I was just thinking about the dog. I told her that even though the manager at the shop sniffed disdainfully at me at first, he quoted me a price of fourteen. She still thought I wanted the damn dog, even though I told her again that I didn’t. Then she held up two boomboxes and told me to pick, and I told her I’d rather get the money we made that night and take it back to the shop and just show the manager that we could afford the damn dog. She told me that if I went back to the shop with the money that she would leave me and I could find my own way home. Like a fool, I ripped the money out of her hands and ran back to the shop, which the manager had closed, and was locking up. I showed him the money and proved that my girlfriend and I could afford it, but he told me to put my money away because he’d just sold the damn dog to a loving owner, and when I asked him if he could see that I could have afforded the damn dog in the window, he told me that he didn’t give a damn. He made me really upset.”
“Some people really don’t want to get to Heaven,” I said, though I felt bad about casting judgment on a person who was only real to me as a character in Moany’s story.
“You’re right about that,” said Moany. “But it gets worse. When I got back to the electronics store, my girlfriend was gone, and so was the clerk, and by the time I made it back to the bridge in Balltank, they were already done making love, and were talking sweet to one another. I knew I had no say, and the whole thing was my fault, so I gave the money to my girlfriend and started walking. I made the Hernville city limits just as the sun was peeking up, and then I saw you frolicking as I was crossing the bridge.”
“What did the dog look like?” I said. “I was not frolicking.”
“The dog in the window was beautiful and proud,” he said. “I’d seen others that good in my life, but not for a long time.”
“Moany,” I said, “Tell me the truth. Did you really want to buy that dog in the window?”
“No.”
“It’s OK if you did. Sometimes I want things that I shouldn’t have, like a big brass bed, for example, instead of this couch. I think that’s pretty normal.”
“I didn’t,” Moany said, “and what made me leave my girlfriend was I realized that no matter what, no matter how long we stayed together or how many people we entertained over the years, I knew I’d never be able to convince her that I didn’t want that damn dog. Now, if someone would have given me the damn dog for free, I certainly would have cared for him, but I just couldn’t justify spending money on him, beautiful as he was. ”
“What do you do now?” I said.
“I don’t know,” said Moany. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care what happens.”
“You’re depressed, aren’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“The doctors at the clinic will give you free trial packs of medicines,” I said.
“What clinic?”
“The one in Big Square.”
“I like medicines,” Moany said, “when I can get them.”
“Now, they don’t always tell you what the medicines do, so you have to be careful, but I’m sure they could give you a couple of trial packs to experiment with until you find the one you like.”
“How many medicines are in a trial pack?”
“Two or three tops,” I said. I was happy to have gotten him off the subject of the dog. “And when they run out you can go back to the clinic, and if they have any more trial packs, they’ll give them to you, no problem.”
“What if they don’t have any more of the medicines that I like?”
“Well, doctors and drug companies are always working hard to develop new medicines, so they’ll have something comparable, I bet.”
“What do you take?” said Moany.
“Oh, I don’t take anything at the moment. I pray.”
“You sure know a lot about medicines.”
“Well, when I get really down, financially speaking, and when my prayers take a little longer to get answered than I had originally expected, the clinic lets me take out their garbage and restock the paper towel dispenser for a little change. The doctors try to push those trial packs on me, but I always tell them that trial packs don’t put hot meals in my stomach.”
“So are you saying I should pray, or go to the clinic for medicines instead?”
He had me in a tough spot. I had been given a lot of medicines from doctors before, and they did work pretty well, until the clinic had to shut down for a while, and I had to learn to live without them. It was hard, but I made it through, thanks to prayer. When the clinic reopened I didn’t need the medicines at all, just the money they would give me for my janitorial work.
“I guess either some praying, or some medicines, or a combination of both would be good for you,” I said. I wish I could have been more helpful to him, but at the end of the day, people just have this sad private pain that is impossible for anyone else to access. That’s exactly why I get so excited about Heaven and its promises.
“The more I think about it,” said Moany, “the more I realize how much I wanted that damn dog in the window. I don’t know why I couldn’t be honest with myself.”
I wanted to respond, but thought there was a good chance that my words would not have been kind ones, so I started looking at the river, just watching the trash swirl around. When I turned back to look at Moany again, I was surprised to see that he’d taken a knife out from his pants. I thought there was only about a fifty percent chance that he was going to use it to murder me, given how little I had, but I didn’t want to offend him, so I got up from the couch and casually pretended that an insect had bitten me under my jeans. But then Moany just kind of dragged the knife across his own throat, until he bled so much that he lost his balance and fell off the couch and onto the rocky bank. It was all over quickly. I really hope that was the most nonsensational way to tell you about the death of Moany. It was a surprising moment for me, and I wanted to make you feel my surprise, but not to the point that you thought I enjoyed talking about it. It was a terrible thing to see.
I buried Moany and the knife behind some shrubs that were growing along the bank. I really didn’t know what to think. I had just met this man about an hour before, and we had had a nice conversation, and now here I was throwing the last of the topsoil over his bald head because his bandanna had come off in the fall. I began a prayer over his grave, a long and sweet one, because I thought that Moany, especially because he was able to admit his desire for the dog, deserved to get to Heaven. About three quarters of the way through the prayer, though, I got this spooky feeling, and I decided to stop, because the last thing I wanted was for Moany to wake up one fine morning in a place that he never wanted to be at all. Some people are scared of Heaven, and you have to respect that.
I tried to go about my day as I normally would: I cooked a modest breakfast, replayed all the positive memories from my life, and continued to list everything I was thankful for. I considered another bath in the river, but didn’t feel like disrobing again, and besides, the morning had only grown colder since Moany’s demise, so I settled for just rinsing the blood off my hands. After I dried them on my bandana, I got back on the couch and tried to take my mind off the image of Moany’s empty eyes just staring at the dirt over him. I knew his brain was not getting oxygen anymore, but for some reason, I really believed that his eyes could still see. Before falling asleep for an afternoon nap, I was finally able to formulate my New Years resolutions. They were:
1. Bathe more frequently.
2. Establish better relationships with people.
3. Spend less time on the couch.
I don’t want you to think that Moany had a negative effect on my life. And I don’t want you to think that it was significant that Moany’s death happened on New Year’s Day. Actually, looking at it one way, although the relationship hadn’t been given time to develop, I had already made a good start on keeping my second resolution. Really, all I mean to say is that Moany’s death was certainly sad, but I was sure it didn’t have any symbolic meaning or anything terrible like that. To the living, death doesn’t bring symbols when it comes, it just brings death. But I also don’t want to suggest that his death was meaningless, as some might argue. It might have been meaningless, in the grand scheme of things, but even now I find it hard to refer to Moany’s sudden death that way. I’ll say it this way: the meaning of Moany’s death has yet to become clear to me, but I know one day it will.
When I woke up from my nap, I heard a man calling to me from the bridge.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too,” I said. During all my years I lived under the bridge, I found that it was never a bad idea to respond in this way.
“I am the mayor and I want to speak with you,” he said.
It isn’t everyday that you get to meet a mayor, so I climbed up the embankment and met him on the bridge. He wore a suit and tie, but covered his face with a bandana—on account of the dust, he said—and spoke to me from behind it. Next to him sat a magnificent dog, and I immediately thought of the dog in the window. It might have been how well-behaved this dog was, or it might have been the fact that Moany’s death was still fresh in my mind. It would have been an incredible coincidence if the same dog that Moany had seen in the window was not only now owned by the city mayor, but was also standing before me, in all its glory, so soon after Moany’s death.
After I introduced myself, I asked about the dog. “That is a beautiful dog,” I said. “I wonder how long you’ve had him.”
“Several years,” the mayor said.
“Oh,” I said. That just about settled it. It wasn’t the same dog, unless the mayor was a liar, and I don’t think that he was, given how upstanding he appeared. But even if the mayor were a liar, I realized that it still might not have been the same dog. You might call this some sort of epiphany on my part.
“Are you a citizen of this country?” asked the mayor.
I nodded yes.
“Are you a resident of this state?”
Again I nodded yes, but was less sure.
“And you live full-time in this county?”
I nodded again.
“Are you happy with the life you lead in this city?”
I shrugged. “I had fun downtown on New Year’s Eve.”
“Do you know I’m running for reelection in the spring?”
I nodded no.
“Do you know why I think you should vote for me?”
Again I nodded no.
“Prepare for my stump speech,” he said.
“I have a couch down there,” I said. “I don’t own it, but I think of it as mine, and I would be a lot more comfortable listening to you if I could sit on it.”
He agreed, and we walked down the embankment together. I held on to his arm out of politeness, because he was pretty old, and because, as I’ve said, the decline was surprisingly steep. When I was good and settled on the couch, I told him I was ready. He gave me his stump speech. It was like a prayer, a prayer better than any one I could have dreamed up, even if I had been given all the time in the world. I pledged my vote to him then and there. As repayment for listening to his speech, the mayor agreed to help me unbury Moany, just to see if his dog had any reaction to his corpse. But after all our digging, we found Moany’s grave empty, and I realized with joy that he’d been called home to Heaven. Then, wouldn’t you know it, right there under the Okeh River Bridge, the mayor gave me a job in his reelection campaign, where I was paid to stand behind him at his rallies, smiling a wide, mostly genuine smile and representing a hopeful, new kind of voter. After he was reelected, I had his ear for the first part of his new term, and made sure that the New Year’s celebration that year was even more elaborate than the one before it. I want to end this positively, on my uplifting time with the mayor, because I know that these kinds of moments are the only things people remember from the stories that they hear. I want to leave you feeling good. But however you feel, good or bad, for some reason, right now, I feel the need to tell you that, selfish as it might seem, the most important reason why I am telling this is because I want you to remember me.