What comes from dust?

Moretown was a dusty place; the dust coated the sides of all the short brick buildings (trying desperately to look cosmopolitan). The other thing about it was that the air was heavy. All year round. The people living there where few and insignificant.

Perhaps the most insignificant of all of them was Ronnie Stultman. Ronnie was about five-two, with a wide face and perpetually mussed mop of brown hair. He was about as straitlaced as was possible when one had no responsibilities. He liked to spend his days networking with the minor bureaucrats in his department. They all humored him.

It was a pretty good life. He even found a decent looking girl to go out to dinner with him. Now the dust, for the first time in his life, bothered Ronnie. It was omnipresent.

No matter how much effort he put into it he couldn’t get rid of it. He wanted to look good for his girl, Shannon. The dust thwarted him. It was while he was violently shaking the dust from his jacket that I decided to introduce myself.

He looked at me without turning his head, hesitantly letting the little bastards settle. I suspect Ronnie thought I worked for the government. He seemed nervous for some reason or other. It was a sweltering day, so I asked if we might move inside. Causing his eyes to get bigger till they resembled golf balls. I said nothing to ease his mind. We went into the bagel shop. He held the door for me.

The light from the big bay window made the dust into a school of tiny golden fish. Which made me smile. Ronnie didn’t like my smile much. He sat down at an apple-wood table heavily, taking a minute to draw a full breath. I elected to stand. He paused, concentrated, then: “What do you… ah want to tell me.” Utterly serene I said:

“Been to any funerals recently?”

“No.” His eyes returned to normal size. His mouth curled in contempt. Now he presumed I was crazy.

“Even heard of anyone dieing in this town.”

“I’ve only been here six years.” Was his reply.

“Well that’s fair. Still, it’s odd that there’s never anyone in the obituaries.”

“Sure, odd.”

“Had any experience with crazy people.” That shook him.

“I don’t read the obituaries, your talking to the wrong person.” He began to stand up. I moved to stop him.

“I didn’t want to give the wrong impression, I’m just a concerned neighbor. Didn’t want to leave you in the dark.”

Ronnie had had enough. He left, looking back while barely turning his head. I got the feeling he wasn’t athletic enough to commit to the complete rotation. Based on his reaction my intervention had worked. He was knocked out of his comfortable sleep. I sat down thinking, Welcome to the waking world, Ronnie. Which was condescending. I know.

The next time I ran across Ronnie it was an accident. I was picking up peaches from an elderly woman for the mason jars. Their contents where irrelevant. Anyway, the doorbell rang and seeing as she was gripping a walker (for dear life you could say) I volunteered to see to the door. There he was looking out of breath, as per usual. Naturally he was confused. I sympathized. Explaining that I had come for the peaches. He was looking for Shannon, wanted to know if Mrs. Whats-her-name had seen her. She hadn’t.

I was about to leave them to their business when I remembered hearing Shannon’s name earlier. I tried to be consoling, speaking like I imagined a priest would at a delicate moment. “I wouldn’t put to much effort into finding her.” I said. “Better to move on.” It didn’t work. He was enraged.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you had better not go anywhere near her. I know people who could really fuck you up.“

I decided that he wasn’t in a receptive mood. Which was understandable. I left. It would have been better if he had heard it from someone else, but who would tell him? The dust whirled in my wake.

There are some people that get it right away. Then there are people like Ronnie. they don’t grasp the situation until some loose cannon breaks the silence. We like to give hints to the more dull ones. Hoping to avoid the trouble that comes with full disclosure. For one thing they don’t take it very well. I question our motives, occasionally. I’m convinced that it’s necessary. For people like Ronnie, too.

I decided to take it easy for a while. It seemed like a good idea. I didn’t want to risk aggravating him any more. He had plenty to think about. He ran around like a cockroach with the fear of god. Talking to the police, calling her relatives, et cetera. I tried my hand at writing. I could never hack it as an author. Maybe a poet, in some place that didn’t know what poetry was. I had chosen engineering over art long ago.

Finally I decided to write an elegy to Shannon. Figuring I could feel something for her by proxy. I tried to put myself in his position. All I felt was a kind of heaviness. I got a bottle of wine to help put me in a more human state. It was no good. I couldn’t pretend that she was gone when signs of her surrounded me. I gave up on it. Going to join her instead.

I don’t know why I hung around so long unsettling the unwitting. After my wife left I needed a hobby. My job was defunct. I got a kick out of disturbing them. Like a kid smashing up anthills. It was better then watching the dust accumulate on the windowsill. Which I did during the winters. I turned the gas on. Searched through my pockets for the matchbook. The one with the picture of a man swimming toward the moon.

I remember the flame. It was an orange faltering inefficient fire. Good enough I guess. There was an explosion. Afterwards there are just the sounds. The song of a thousand little voices from every direction, spinning around me. I took awhile to sort it all out but it finally became coherent. Shannon was there, she really was quite charming. She knew all about it; the research on teleportation done by the air force base, a ridiculous idea. The military was big on ridiculous ideas these days.

The teleportation didn’t pan out. What they got was the secret of immortality. It was biblical really. With a little special preparation we returned to dust. In the shed I had left enough juice in a mason jar for Ronnie to follow me. If he ever sorted it out.