nowhere, really.

‘where do you go? ‘what do you mean, where do i go?’ ‘i mean where do you go when you’re not with me?’ ‘i don’t know… nowhere really.’ ‘that’s impossible. you must go somewhere.’ ‘jesus christ, bethany… i don’t know. sometimes i go to the grocery store and i pick through bins of rotting produce and i put the oldest stuff at the top where people will have to touch to get to the good stuff.’ ‘why would you do that?’ ‘because nobody wants it. that’s why.’ ‘that’s stupid.’ ‘i know. you wanted to know.’ ‘where else do you go?’ ‘nowhere interesting.’ ‘but i’m interested. i want you to tell me where you are when you leave where i am.’ ‘i go home to my apartment and i scrub the city off of my bare legs and my arms and my face and i scream until my throat is raw and the neighbours are banging on the wall and then i go to sleep on a bare mattress and i sleep all night and i don’t know if i dream because when i wake up i can’t remember a goddamn thing.’ ‘is it me?’ ‘no, it’s not you. it’s a void, it’s nothingness.’ ‘that’s impossible, it must be something’ ”it can’t be something if it can’t be named.’‘but even nothingness has been defined, given borders and parameters and definitive answers to predictible equations. your mistress is a disappointment.’ ‘well then, where do you go when you’re not right here where we are right now?’ ‘i go to sleep and i dream about math questions on lined paper and i carry the ones and the fives until i find you tangled up in sums of zero. nothing. zilch.’ ‘so i’m somewhere?’ ‘ you’re lost.’ ‘but you found me.’ ‘in nothingness. it could not be named. i cannot show my work.’  ‘where else do i go?’ ‘nowhere interesting. the supermarket, i think.’