hollider, north aron

[north]

charlotte, aj abualrub, resident

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voicemail to lenny friedman, september 12th

"hi, lenny. it's north. hollider. north hollider. i'm sorry to bother you, but i was hoping you could call the repairman to fix the molding on the landing sometime this week. i stepped on it yesterday and had to get eight stitches in my foot. it...wasn't that bad, i was just hoping you could get the landing fixed so it doesn't, you know, happen to anyone else. i know mrs. halliday has that new baby and all, and babies, you know, like to explore and i just wouldn't want to see the baby...get impaled...yeah...well, anyway, i just thought i'd call you and ask. it's no rush, though, really. i'll tell mrs. halliday to watch out. i know you're a busy man. okay, bye. have a nice day. bye."

journal entry, february 2nd, 2011

yesterday, when i was coming home from work, i noticed something in the subway. right next to the entrance, someone had taken out a marker and scribbled, "she is the meaning of life," and i thought, 'can the meaning of life be held within a single person?' and then 'how must it feel to look at someone and, in their physical presence, see what man has sought for eternities?' and then 'who is she?'

it occurred to me that this individual, frantic in his epiphany, had not only desired but needed so desperately to share with the rest of new york the reason why we're all still breathing that he'd pulled out that sharpie and emblazoned the unassuming subway wall with this momentous declaration: she is the meaning of life.

what kind of love was this, that enabled one man to undermine himself and all else on earth in order to exalt his beloved? what kind of feverish passion or drunken theorizing had lead him to this conclusion? if she was the meaning of life, did that mean that she was also the meaning of my life, of lenny friedman's life, of casey's, of macaulay's, of the man sleeping in the doorway of the office building on 83rd, or was she this man's reason and his alone?

in a way, i thought, it was almost profane; he had pimped her out to the entire subway crowd, a faceless name with a divine label. she was too accessible. everything was unknotted in those ten seconds after disembarking the subway train - 'two blocks from here is home, and in two feet is the meaning of life.' it was an enormous exhalation: relief, acknowledgement, awe. but then, where was the curiosity that, until now, had made man human? too quick, our wondering assuaged; too easy, the unknown, known.

an abbreviated history of north hollider

born on september twelfth, nineteen years ago.
wrote first poem at the age of six.
orphaned at the age of eight as a result of a tragic car accident.
adopted at the age of eleven by the evander family.
won first writing award in a regional short fiction contest at the age of fourteen.
went on first date at the age of fifteen and decided to boycott women.
went on second date at the age of sixteen and berated himself for not adhering to boycott.
met casey at the age of seventeen.
began dating casey and subsequently split from evander family at the age of eighteen.
began attending new york university as a journalism major at the age of eighteen.
landed job as a bartender at the age of nineteen.

letter to macaulay evander, april 26th, 2011

mac,
this is the last letter. i just don't have the time or patience to do this anymore. i understand the family's perspective - it's been made more than clear to me over the past year - and i can no longer pursue this as a matter of argument. what's done is done, and neither you nor anyone else can do anything at all to change that. i apologize sincerely if the paths i've chosen to take deviate from your perceived ideals, but i continue on into the future with no regret. do not call, do not text, do not e-mail. if you attempt to contact casey again, i swear to god i will come to your apartment armed. in other words, you will regret it.

north

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