Volcanic eruptions seem to be a normal process in the development of terrestrial planets.”
—from A Meeting With the Universe (NASA)
Something is lurking under the surface.
How do you know it’s there?
Because his skin is bad and he can’t sleep.
Well, of course he sleeps. He would die without sleep. But he doesn’t sleep well.
And the tragic thing about sleep medication is that it follows the law of diminishing returns.
(Everything follows the law of diminishing returns.)
When people talk to him, they are only talking to fifteen percent of who he is.
There’s another fifteen percent that he knows about but doesn’t share.
He hides himself out of habit, a very old habit. (not his fault)
What does that leave under the surface?
Down deep where even he can’t go?
A big chunk of soul. You do the math.
Sneak into the bathroom and look in his drawer where he keeps his crap. An unopened bottle of cologne. Crushed mints. Loose change. Cufflinks. Matchbooks. And postcards from Puerto Rico. He loves Puerto Rico. He was there once for a while. He was in the service. Of something.
Also in the drawer, there’s a gun.
It’s not loaded.
It’s an old gun.
He is a man, he has a gun, big deal.
A lot of days can go by in a man’s life. What’s his hidden soul doing, all this time?
It’s watching the thirty percent at the surface. The part that calls all the shots.
He’s got anger issues.
No, he’s got anger.
Hardly the same thing.