The One Word That Really Mattered

The rusty gate screeched shut with a final clang behind them. The gate hadn’t shut properly in years. There was some complex way of shutting it—some sideways jiggle, a special flick of the wrist that pleased the crabby old gate—that no one knew, or rather, cared to know. But for some reason, chance or a lucky joggle, the gate shut with a satisfying clang behind the two travelers.
Normally, this would have been a call for celebration or at least recognition, but neither turned their head at the sound, both too enraptured by their own thoughts and conversation to pay any mind to the small miracle that they had just witnessed.
The old man was jabbering away excitedly at his young companion, just as he had since the two had started down the worn, cobblestone path to the street. She nodded politely now and then, seemingly engaged in the conversation, but her mind was lost in the usual labyrinth of herself.
Neither glanced back at the old house as the cab pulled away. Neither saw the faded shutters fluttering in the wind as it said its tired, wistful farewell.

The car flew silently down the street, winding impatiently through the old lanes.
The driver scowled and shook his head angrily, ashes flying from his cigarette.
“Country,” he muttered as he weaved in and out of the towering oak trees,
“Too many of these stupid trees. Someone needs to chop them down and build a speedway.”
The old man’s cheerful jabbering suddenly stopped, and he frowned disapprovingly at the back of the driver’s head.
“The last thing this town needs is a speedway,” he said, with surprising conviction.
The driver’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing, grunting noncommittally. He didn’t really care if they chopped the trees down or not. His current unhappiness would vanish the minute the trees were no longer a hindrance to him so he had no intention of upsetting his passenger. In fact, he didn’t really understand why the old man had gotten so upset in the first place. They were just trees after all… what did it really matter?
The young woman had been gazing out the window with a bored expression on her face, trying successfully to block out the old man’s conversation, but his sudden outburst pulled her out of her stupor.
“Why not Dad?” she asked, turning to face him for the first time since they’d left the house that morning.
“A speedway would be much more efficient,” she began, gesturing with her hands as she did during the countless meetings she conducted, using her Convincing Voice; the one that had won her so many clients and allies, thirsty to share in her assured success.
“I could get to your house in less than twenty minutes instead of 70. Wouldn’t you like me to visit more often?”
“Of course I’d like that Sarah,” he replied, smiling, and she smiled back, already tallying him as won over.
But then he continued, and his eyes hardened, 
“But I stand by what I said before. The last thing we need is a speedway. I’ll chain myself to a tree if that’s what it takes. I will not let anyone destroy what we have here.”
With that he turned away from her and stared at the window at the old trees, silent for the first time all day.
She looked at him for a moment, faintly surprised at his firmness, his blatant immunity to her logic and charms, but then turned away shrugging.
What did it matter? He was just a silly, old man. He’d always been a silly man as far as she could remember, and it had only increased with age. He was always firmly entrenched in his beliefs, caring too much, in her opinion, for his own good.
As the oak trees became thinner and then disappeared altogether and the buildings began to rise, neither spoke. The silence was only broken by the political chatter that was broadcasted in every cab. But no one ever bothered to listen to that.

The cab soared into the city before either of them noticed much time had passed. The old man broke the silence first, renewing his previous chatter with just as much zeal as before once the large buildings came into sight. The city was quite a sight to see, after all, and the old man hadn’t laid eyes on it in nearly a decade.
He began remarking on the many changes placed on the city since his last visit. New buildings adorned the sky, decorating the horizon with their blues and silvers. New subways rumbled past at unseen speeds. But the biggest change was the screens.
He couldn’t get over it. They were everywhere. Plastered on every flat surface—every wall, every bus, every sign post. And on every one a different ad for a different product, shouting at pedestrians what they wanted and what would make them happiest.
Sarah listened with a polite smile on her face, but she was getting tired of this charade. It was wearing to keep Dad entertained and happy. What did she care about the new buildings and subways? She passed them every day, didn’t she? New things were only new for a day and then they were just like the old things. They were nothing to get excited about.
She looked at him, pointing at yet another new building, explaining in detail the tiny, family-run bakery that used to be there, and she sighed. When would he learn that she just didn’t care?
The driver, ash now covering his short, black beard, was feeling much of the same annoyance as Sarah. He’d enjoyed the previous silence and was growing very tired of the old man’s insistent dialogue. It was starting to give him a headache. All he wanted was to drop off this old man wherever it was he was going and get home so he could get some food and rest. His wife would be ordering dinner and he wanted to be sure she ordered what he wanted. If he could just get there quickly… Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure where exactly there was. What had that old man been chattering about? Something about a business proposition… he hadn’t been listening, of course. It didn’t matter to him what this man was going to do, he just needed to address.
The driver leaned back and grunted yet again, this time a little more loudly, and both passengers looked at him expectantly, the old man stopping some story about a forgotten church mid-sentence.
“What’s the destination ma’am?” he asked gruffly, thankful for the small break in the old man’s incessant chattering.
Sarah smiled faintly, her concurrent relief evident, and pulled out her small phone.
“171 N. Jefferson Ave, please,” she said, glancing at the tiny screen.
Though the old man had been silent during this interaction, as the driver entered the address into his GPS system, the chatter began once again.
“You know,” he began, as he had all day, “I’m being offered a business proposition. I’ve never really been much of a business man though, so Sarah offered to come with me. Very kind of her. She took off work and everything to come with her boring, old Dad to a business meeting. She’s quite the businesswoman, you know. My Sarah…”
Both Sarah and the driver tuned him out as his excited ramblings continued. Both thought about how glad they would be to be rid of this man’s euphoric presence.
Sarah leaned against the window and leaned her cheek against its cool pane, yawning. All his energy and conviction made her tired.

After what seemed like hours, the cab rounded the corner onto Jefferson Avenue. The driver announced their arrival as they turned and both the old man and his daughter looked up in anticipation.
The old man looked out the window excitedly and felt his jaw drop when he looked outside. He’d been expecting stainless steel and chrome; high class business offices with more wide-screens.
What he saw, instead, was filth.
The buildings were all blackened from soot. Garbage sat on the street corners, outside the liquor stores and brothels. He felt the filth more than he saw it, seeping into the cab as it skated along silently.
He glanced at Sarah, expecting to see the same shock on her face that he felt, but her expression hadn’t changed. She wasn’t surprised at all. She sat there, calmly filing her nails as the cab rolled to a stop at the opening of an alley.
“Should be right down that alley there,” the driver said, pointing.
“Are you sure?” the old man said, hesitating to open the door.
“The GPS doesn’t lie,” the driver said gruffly, and then opened the doors for the two passengers, looking at Sarah expectantly.
“Thank you,” she said, handing him her credit card, not even flinching as she stepped out into the dirty street.
She walked around to the other side where the old man sat, paralyzed, and shook her head.
“Come on Dad,” she said, readjusting her wallet, “We’ll be late.”
She started walking carelessly down the alley way, still shaking her head. She couldn’t believe what a silly old man he’d become.

The old man sat there, hesitating for a moment more before shakily standing. As soon as he was in the alleyway, the cab took off, covering the old man in a cloud of exhaust.
He coughed and tried to wave the cloud away before following Sarah. What was this place? What kind of business proposition could possibly be waiting for him at the end of the alleyway? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore.
As he hurried to catch up with Sarah, another young woman passed him on her way back to the brothel. A man was following close behind her, dressed in a ragged business suit. She walked faster, but he soon caught her, grabbing for her bright red dress.
The old man yelled, running to the pair of them as fast as his old age would allow as the man struck the young woman across the face.
Rage built up inside him. What had become of the young people today? Brothels and liquor stores in plain sight, men beating women on street corners. He’d had enough.
The young woman’s nose was bleeding and her cheek had a welt across it, flushing the same red as her dress.
They both looked up in shock at the yelling old man as he approached.
The young man dropped the girl’s wrists and held up his arms to shield himself against the blows from the old man’s cane.
“Get away from me you crazy old man!” the young man screamed, retreating.
The old man followed, still beating him with the cane until the young man outran him.
“Don’t you beat a woman again!” he yelled after him, his chest heaving and his face red.
He tried to calm himself as he turned back to the girl.
She was still sitting on the ground where the man had tossed her, the blood spouting from her nose like a faucet.
He bent down next to her, smiling at her kindly.
“Are you all right dear?” he asked, reaching down to help her to her feet.
“Fine,” she said curtly, pushing his hand away, “What’d you do that for?”
She got to her feet, leaving the old man stooped, shocked.
He finally regained composure and stood with her, looking at her incredulously.
“What do you mean?” he asked, shaking his cane at her, “That man was beating you!”
She looked at him coldly,
“So?” she put her hand on her hip and shrugged, “What’s it to you?”
“What’s it—what--” he sputtered.
“Yeah, why do you care?” she asked, looking at him skeptically, the blood trickling off her chin and onto her dress, adding a new shade of red to the fabric.
He stood there stammering, stunned, when Sarah interrupted.
“What are you doing Dad?’ she asked, mildly annoyed, “We’re going to be late!”
“There was a man beating her,” he said helplessly, gesturing at the young woman with the bloody face.
“And?” she said, the annoyance in her voice rising, “You have an appointment. We don’t have time for any of your silly antics. No playing the hero today, please.”
With that, she grabbed the old man’s arm and began walking briskly down the alleyway again. He stumbled along beside her, still stuttering.
“But—the woman—that man--”
Sarah rolled her eyes,
“No more Dad. Please,” she said, her eyes flashing with annoyance.
That silenced him. He glanced over his shoulder at the woman on the corner and she shook her head at him, the blood streaming down her skeptical face.
He was reeling. What had happened to the world—to his own daughter?
Didn’t anyone care?

“…In short, Mr. Godwill, the government will provide full compensation for your property if you cooperate with the terms we have outlined.”
The old man looked up at the bored young man with the slim face and the nasal voice, uncomprehending.
“Full compensation?” he said incredulously, “I don’t want to sell my property. That’s my home!”
“Well,” the young man said, chuckling dryly, “We’re not sure that your rusting scrapheap really qualifies as much of a home, but we can assure you that you’ll receive generous payment for any and all injustices that you feel.”
The old man squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw.
“I’m not selling.”
Silence filled the dingy room. Sarah looked up from the small screen of her phone, a warning on her face. The old man ignored it.
The young man with the thin face cleared his throat.
“Well then, Mr. Godwill,” he said, his voice remarkably colder, “It appears you won’t agree to our terms.”
Sarah’s eyes flashed again, and she glared at the old man.
“No, I will not, you hooligan,” the old man barked, feeling anger build up within him once more.
“What a pity,” the young man said in his nasal voice, shaking his thin face back and forth in mock sorrow.
“Since you refuse to cooperate, we’re afraid we’re just going to have to seize your property. No compensation.”
Sarah stood suddenly, the annoyance in her voice obvious.
“Don’t listen to this silly old man,” she said, her voice laced with acid, “He’ll waste your time with his old convictions and dreams. He’ll agree to your terms.”
“No, I will not, Sarah!” the old man shouted, clambering to his feet as well, “Stop speaking for me! I will not agree to this skinny-faced barbarian’s terms or anyone else’s. I’m not selling and that’s final.”
“Could you please call in someone to restrain him?” Sarah asked, rolling her eyes at the old man. “He can get a little out of hand.”
“Of course, madam,” the young man said, pressing a button.
“What are you doing Sarah?” the old man yelled, as two armed men entered the room and grabbed him roughly, forcing him into the chair.
“I’m not selling!” he yelled, hysteria creeping into his voice, “I’m not! I’m not! You can’t speak for me!”
“Whatever Dad,” she said, picking up her nail file again, resuming her seat. “Isn’t that what you brought me here to do?”
“To help me!” he cried, “Not to hurt me!”
She rolled her chair to the desk where the papers sat. The thin-faced young man handed her a pen and she turned to face the old man.
“I am helping you,” she said in her smooth Convincing Voice, “What do you need to house for? It’s old, it’s too big. What does it really matter?”
“It’s my house!” he cried, “Your house. It’s our memories and the memories of the four generations of Godwills who lived in it before we did—the people we loved.”
A lump appeared in his throat and he said,
“I care about that house.”
She gave him another bored look,
“And why do you care about it? Memories don’t get you anywhere.”
He felt his throat burn and a tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek.
“How did you become so heartless?” he asked, looking up into her wide green eyes, exact copies of his except for one thing.
“I’m not heartless,” she said, her voice unmoved, and her green eyes were empty, “I just don’t care.”
Then she signed the paper.

The thin-faced young man shook Sarah’s hand before showing the two out the door, an amused look on his face.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Godwill,” he said in his nasal voice.
She nodded, took her father’s arm, and led him out the door.
The old man allowed himself to be led down the alley. He watched the ground as the two walked.
Finally, they reached the corner and Sarah took out her phone.
“I’ll call us a cab,” she said.
The old man didn’t reply.
She looked at him for a moment and then shrugged and walked a few paces away to make the call.
She glanced at the defeated old man. He stood on the corner alone with his head down. The change from the morning was colossal. No chattering, no excitement.
As she dialed the number of the cab company she reasoned with herself.
He was a silly old man, but this reality check would be good for him. He needed something to pull him out of the fantasy world he so often lived in.
She was so consumed by her own thoughts that she didn’t see the black car rolling slowly down the street toward her, or the arm that was slung out the window.
She didn’t see anything as the gunshots sounded. She didn’t see the old man start, didn’t see him run after the squealing car as she fell, screaming and cursing, and then run to her side. She didn’t see the pain and worry in his eyes as the life faded from hers.
She was just as blind in death as she was in life.
She’d lived all of her life with her empty eyes wide open and she’d never seen a thing.

The old man’s tears dripped from his pain-filled eyes onto his daughter’s now lifeless face. He put his arms around her still body and glanced around, desperately looking for someone, anyone who cared.
“Help!” he screamed, “Please!”
He got to his feet, lifting her limp form into the air.
“Help! Anyone!” he screamed again.
Doors were opening. Hope surged into his heart. People began to emerge slowly, looking out into the street with identical bored expressions on their pale faces.
He walked into the middle of the street, trudging towards the forming crowd, gasping for air.
“Won’t any of you help me?” he cried, feeling helpless.
No one made a move. No expression changed. They just looked at him, unchanging, unmoving.
As his muscles failed him, he felt rage building up within himself.
How could they? When did humankind become so careless, so unaffected?
He felt himself collapsing, his muscles aged muscles giving in after such a struggle, and as he hit the ground a cry of anguish escaped him.
“What are you?” he screamed at the unmoving crowd, “All you… things care about are yourselves! What matters anymore? What matters?”
His body was shaking and he sobbed into his daughter’s lifeless body.
“Your lives are worthless,” he said quietly, condemning them all, wanting to strike out at them all, to make them feel.
The crowd stared back at him silently, emotionless. No pain, no remorse—not even fury.
“Just go,” he said coldly, pulling Sarah close to him. “I don’t want to look at any of you—each of you so loveless, so careless, with nothing to fight for. Can any of you tell me what matters anymore?”
The crowd broke apart silently, returning to their dark, dingy offices, bars, and brothels with the same bored expressions on their faces that they left with.
“No one can tell me,” he said, sobs racking his body, helplessness overcoming him.
“There’s no hope for the world.”

Then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
“I can tell you,” she said.
He turned slowly, disbelieving.
The young woman in the red dress stood behind him, understanding in her eyes.
Her face was finally clean of blood and the welt had faded. Her dress still had its stains, but the understanding was there.
“You can tell me?” he asked, thrown off balance.
“Yes,” she said, pulling him gently to his feet.
Then, as she helped him lift Sarah from the cold street, she looked straight into his dark green eyes, and he knew.
She smiled at him simply and said the one word that mattered,
“Love.”