Happiness In Reverse
The accused, Donald Maudsley, is an ordinary enough fellow as regards appearances. A little beard, rather beaky nose, fair hair tied back in a short pony tail. Of average height, or under. A melancholy man, but not unintelligent. An old Oriel man, in fact.
He has a way of telling his story in the third person, which I found rather irritating at first. It becomes evident that he suffers from dissociation of personality.
A transcript of his deposition runs as follows:
After gaining his degree, this little man, by name Donald Maudsley, went into Earth Sciences. He attended the Brazil Conference, after which he disappeared into the wilds of South America. This is the essence of his story.
From the archives
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2024
All Fours
Her mood was a little off when I arrived. Or, not off (who was I to judge?), just unfamiliar. She took a long time hanging up my coat.
“Are you okay?”
But she didn’t do well with direct questions like that.
As per our ritual we immediately went grocery shopping—provisions—so we could hole up. In the store I pointed out special treats—chocolate? mango sorbet?—and she just shrugged, like I should get whatever I wanted, she didn’t care. Walking home from the store, silently carrying too many bags, she wouldn’t even meet my eye. I stared glassily at the people we passed, businesswomen, groups of teenage girls laughing and screaming Vanessa! Vanessa!
I started doing several different breathing exercises at once that all canceled each other out.
We didn’t even put the groceries away, we just sat down—not side by side, not me in her lap, but opposite each other. She hung her head and after a long time she said, I feel hopeless about us. We’re not compatible.
I almost laughed.
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All Fours
Her mood was a little off when I arrived. Or, not off (who was I to judge?), just unfamiliar. She took a long time hanging up my coat.
“Are you okay?”
But she didn’t do well with direct questions like that.
As per our ritual we immediately went grocery shopping—provisions—so we could hole up. In the store I pointed out special treats—chocolate? mango sorbet?—and she just shrugged, like I should get whatever I wanted, she didn’t care. Walking home from the store, silently carrying too many bags, she wouldn’t even meet my eye. I stared glassily at the people we passed, businesswomen, groups of teenage girls laughing and screaming Vanessa! Vanessa!
I started doing several different breathing exercises at once that all canceled each other out.
We didn’t even put the groceries away, we just sat down—not side by side, not me in her lap, but opposite each other. She hung her head and after a long time she said, I feel hopeless about us. We’re not compatible.
I almost laughed.
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WORDS TO LIVE BY
1949 ·
NON-FICTION
NEW MUSIC