Gravity Is the Thing

by Jaclyn Moriarty

Flinders Island (where, in 1830, they exiled the last of Tasmania’s Aboriginals). Taylor Island, where I was headed,

The “Truth” about The Guidebook! That made me laugh. A chapter from this book had been sent to me, out of the blue, when I was fifteen years old, and chapters had been arriving in the mail ever since. It was a self-help book that offered advice on how to live my life. I knew nothing about who was sending the excerpts (or why), other than that they called themselves “Rufus and Isabelle.”

sometimes I get tired of my own confusion and overanalysis,

happiness and calm were untangling themselves,

but on the phone? Well, all I can think to do is to reach down and hug his voice.

There was a note of golden warmth in his laugh

Only, the next thing took the mood around a curve.

studied the watering can: so twee and little,

do not blink your turtle tears upon this print!

You already know how to help yourself, yet you do not! So this is a we-help book. It is we who plan to help. Not you.

But how many whys? How many ifs? And what about the whens?

Everything went hazy, and I hallucinated ribbons and martini glasses. What I mean by that is, I wanted to sleep with him.

wished everyone a grand good night (that’s what he said, “Have a grand good night”; it put me in mind of both leprechauns and pianos),

“What the fuck are we doing here?” someone said, and everyone laughed even harder. A lot of people swore! This added to my elation. Maybe you tense up when people use bad language, but my whole body relaxes. Lean back, slouch, there are no rules, these are my people. Also, people who curse tend to be funnier than those who don’t.

We walked and, in the distance, there they were again: the two men sitting opposite one another, pointing at the sky.

year that I first received The Guidebook, which was also the year we lost my brother.

well, it just happened we were being quiet, having a think

technique that I learned in the creative writing workshop. It’s called impressionistic glances.

might be more like impressionistic, long, unnerving stares. Anyway, you just write quick scenes/moments/thoughts that come out of nowhere. Like silver fish darting by in an aquarium

audio loops of happy sounds like kookaburras laughing and brooks babbling,

Also: color. Listen to color,

Meanwhile, he continued using peculiar historical

phrases like “chip chip.” Possibly it was “pip pip.” Either way, I wanted to kill him for that phrase. I was going to take that phrase and snap it over my knee.

“You are a walking anachronism,”

As if anybody knew the meaning of the word miss other than me.

I live on the north side of the harbor. Warung, the Aboriginals called it, meaning “the other side.” There’s a powerful otherness here, the Harbour Bridge

rage pegged down with hot stone massages, soothed by high-functioning alcoholism.

We could be consciously meta.

Emotional Flight. By that point, your sense of flight should positively blaze.”

“There are also waves in the air,” he continued. “These waves carry light, sound, color, messages.

There are also waves in the air that can carry you.”

was mostly struck by the Chinese proverb

If you want happiness for an hour, take a nap. If you want happiness for a day, go fishing. If you want happiness for a year, inherit a fortune. If you want happiness for a lifetime, help somebody.

“You do talk about Pantone color numbers,” I conceded.

the way he said “swasher” instead of dishwasher,

He said I had captured the zeitgeist.

“Catfish have more than a hundred thousand tastebuds,” Antony offered. “All over their bodies. They taste everything they touch.”

the aviation alphabet until we all had it memorized (Antony already did)—Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, and so on—and

universal language was agreed upon.

“The instructions said to choose the people who most needed to fly. I was supposed to be able to tell this by watching how you approached the activities.”

at the same time as conscious that this was brazenly ableist of us.

“What will I go as?” he wondered, before answering his own question: “As Santa Claus.” “Makes sense. What about me?” “What are those things on reindeers’ heads?” he asked. “Antlers?” “Yes, you can go as antlers.”

To fly, you must de-ice your wings, for they are heavy with the weight of frozen thought.”

There is a real abundance to the universe. There are also exclamation marks!

Let the lost and broken people into your big wealthy country. Let the children into their mother’s arms,

“Be kind,” you will beg him, “to your former self.”

who is hilarious and a master of sideways-crooked thinking.