Love But Don't Like, Despise But Don't Hate

 

            The day had been blisteringly hot and Dionysi sat on his front porch enjoying the light breeze that had just made an appearance. Wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top, a steady stream of hard lemonade replaced what the extreme sweating took from him, keeping him comfortable with a low level buzz and the consistent taste of sour and sweet perfectly combined. Every fan spun inside his home, moving the air as much as possible, to create an illusion of cool, pleasant but not as good as a true breeze in the outside.

              Somewhat in the shadows, he watched as young men, old folks, and little kids roamed the neighborhood, no one aware that he curiously watched them doing, what he perceived as nothing of value or interest. He was both humored and sickened by the lack of social interaction among so many people all staring at the tiny screens in their hands, feeding their imaginations, distracting them from reality, and slowly shriveling their souls from the inanity of it all.

              With the setting sun, the temperature slowly descended enough to motivate Dionysi to leave his porch and people watch as he strolled through the streets, still unnoticed by his neighbors, all of them distracted by social media. Those who stayed inside their homes were no better off than those who wandered aimlessly across the sidewalks and streets, but instead spent their hours staring at much larger screens, each movie, each television show telling the same ridiculous story, the lack of creativity painfully evident.

              Watching all of this and regretting the immersion to which he submitted himself, he eventually returned home and found a good book to read, returning to his front porch and losing himself in a genuinely good, wholesome, and entertaining story that actually spoke truth. After nearly an hour of reading, he realized an eerie silence, motivating him to look up to realize that a large group of people stood on the sidewalk looking at him, drawn from their screens by which he assumed was confusion with his activity.

              "What are you doing?" a little boy called out from the midst of the group.

              "I'm reading a book," he answered.

              "Is there something wrong with your phone and TV," the boy asked.

              "No, a book is much better that simple images dumped into my head from a screen," he answered. The entire group looked collectively confused by his explanation and simply stared at him in silence, eventually wandering off as he no longer was of interest to them.

              Every night for the following week played out exactly the same and Dionysi fought the urge to spend his time watching the emptiness and foolishness of them all, wondering how a mature, adult mind could be so vacuous and distracted as to require nothing more than beautiful faces, simplistic storylines of either romance or action. Each night became a time of more time in the shadows of his porch, reading, occasionally watching, and listening to the traffic, arguments, and the complaints of everyone who passed by.

              When Friday night arrived, he knew that the following day would be one of relaxation and staying home, with no need to leave for work, giving him the opportunity to stay up until every house grew silent, every sidewalk grew empty, and the streets no longer carried traffic from house to store to club to house. He read until his eyes were tired and eventually snuck off his porch to make take mental notes of how long this empty distraction would continue and, as he suspected was the case, the flickering lights of screens, both large and small continued until each hollow soul retired to sleep.

              Knowing that he could do nothing to help his neighbors become better people, he tried to live by example and do better, do more, be kind and sympathetic, and offer help whenever he could. But knowing as well that the small, shriveled, empty souls of everyone he knew did not know anything of value or the potential for growth. "Like a mental diet of gas station deli and soda," he thought, "or like a sewer pipe flowing from each screen and into each mind that simply gave in and embraced the emptiness."

              It was at this point that he began to wonder at the wisdom or value of remaining in this place when nothing he said or did seemed to have any positive impact. When the moon moved beyond its zenith and the neighborhood was silent, he returned home, took a shower, and crawled into bed, thankful for the peace and coolness of his own home, free of flickering screens and argumentation.

              He woke to the sounds of heavy traffic, yelling, and too much heat, to find that ten o'clock had arrived without asking his permission. He consumed a bowl of oatmeal and sat, once again on his front porch, to watch the same empty minded people wander around staring at their screens, distracted only when choosing to verbally assault a fellow neighbor. Feeling a weight of ache, of sorrow, and of despair, he walked back inside and made a sudden decision to drag all of his belongings onto the front lawn, forming an impromptu garage sale of sorts.

              Within six hours, everything that he owned with the exception of some of clothing had been sold, leaving Dionysi with two pockets full of cash and an urge to flee from the empty foolishness of what would become his former life. He walked back into an empty house to see nothing but a suitcase of clothes and a set of car keys. He closed all of the windows, locked all of the doors, dropped his suitcase into the backseat and drove away from it all, heading toward the distant hills, presumably cooler than the ridiculous heat of the valley he had inhabited for the last forty years.

              In his rearview mirror he watched the town grow smaller and the hills ahead of him grow larger, becoming more and more isolated, physically so but not socially so, as his former life was one of solitude, having no valuable social interaction with anyone in close proximity to him. He fabricated about a dozen different metaphors for the state of that former reality, like fast food invading a body, like radiation from a nuclear blast tearing apart the DNA structure, like bacteria or a virus infecting a body, like ice upon a body part slowly numbing it into a complete lack of feeling. All of these were perfect images for what his neighbors had been doing to themselves for their entire lives, thoughtlessly imposing a slow decline into pointless existence and emptiness.

              He drove until he reached the top of the highest hill and searched through all of the side roads and hidden nooks until he found an abandoned building with a decent roof, that clearly had not been inhabited for many years, making him wonder what would cause someone to leave such a peaceful and beautiful scene. He walked through the house and found it fully furnished, clean, and dry, to then stop at the front facing window which gave him a perfect bird's eye view of the city far below.

              From his new vantage point, he could still see the busy streets, the constantly occupied sidewalks, and the aimless wandering of so many people but a view that was silent and safe, giving him the beauty of seeing those he loved but did not like, in a place he despised but did not hate. He slowly walked through the entire home and was thrilled to find that the landline telephone still had a signal, allowing him to transfer his power and water accounts from his former home to this new one. This radical departure gave him a new life of silence, peace, and solitude like nothing he never before had experienced.

              The silence at bedtime was such a different experience that he worked through the idea of silence until it too became normal, like the noise and chaos of the city below had been normal. Coming to fully enjoy his solitude, he would spend his weekends working the outside into something beautiful and organized, and his evenings either on the porch or at the upstairs window, looking down upon those he loved but didn't like in a city he despised but didn't hate.

              Though not liking the long drive into work, he found that the trade off of peace and solitude with the long drive was well worth it. He eventually began raising chickens, ducks, a goat, and a vegetable garden, keeping himself busy and productive, while still interacting with his co-workers during his work hours, without sharing the details of his recent relocation.

              With the lack of city lights, his view of the stars was immaculate and unbelievably beautiful, a vision he had heard about but had never experienced, using this time in darkness to relish such a beautiful scene, rather than being sickened by the vanity of city that once surrounded him.