The Heart Jar
The diner on the corner is one of those Disneyfied modern cut-outs trying to mimic the actual thing but failing utterly. The street, a vein of hipness running through an Ivy League campus that is still trying to cling to a time when it all meant something. As I walk by, I am blasted with a Motown song, a fabulous beat, it lifts the corners of my mouth into a smile even though it doesn't make me happy. Around the bottom of the impostor diner, the good burger franchise people have added a metal facade to make people think of one of the classic little silver trailer diners from the old days. At least they have that. At least they have a facade, I mean. Unlike me. My facade has been destroyed, not as much by the jackhammer days that seem to come in violent spasms, but more by the slow water erosion of all the days.
I've been an atheist since so long ago, but now I actually know what it means to lose faith. It is a loss that starts filling the hourglass with black sand, fast, relentless, as gravity hisses it down into the last remaining empty space. Gravity, gravity, after the faith is lost (faith in the possibility of magic?) gravity stops being a steady and grounding force, and starts pushing, pushing, pushing, like a bully, so hard that the muscles respond with aches and joints all feel like they're two parts of a mortar and pestle. This is when you become the walking dead. People like me, we're the real zombies. We're the only real thing left in a world that has abstracted itself so many times that artifice becomes the achievement.
The sidewalk moves past me on a conveyor belt. The college students and mothers with babies, the righteous professors trying to salvage as many lucid moments as they can from the deep pits of intellectualism and alcohol, the old poet women with their manes of long gray hair and their live eyes, all move past me in a silent movie I am no longer an actor in, only a watcher. But I'm not really watching either, am I?
The scent from the Indian restaurant begins to penetrate. This helps me to I know I am close. I am within a block of the store, the only store in the city that sells relics of Canopic Jars. Those jars the Egyptians used to keep their organs in during the mummification process. I may have to buy all four in the set, even though I only need one. But however I have to do it, I am going to buy my heart jar and take it home. I am going to put it on the mantel of my boarded-up fireplace, and I am going to wait.
I walk into the store and into a musty thickness. There is a girl unpacking a box in the corner. “Excuse me, do you still carry Canopic Jars?” I say without wasting any time.
“Yes Sir, we sure do. They're right over there,” she says as she points to the glass shelf in the back.
Relieved, I walk over to the jars. Right away I think I want the one that has more of an animal than a human face. I certainly know I need the biggest one. I pick it up and it is heavier than I thought it would be. I open the lid. “Miss, this is solid. I wanted to put something in it.”
She stands up and looks at me with this strange expression, “Oh no, sorry, those are only for decorative purposes.”
I smile again.
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Author's Note
Dedicated to everyone who feels gravity.
Recently published in The Linnet's Wings.
Other stories by Lori Lou Freshwater
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I really like how mysterious this is, Lou. The narrator seems to be up to something. There's an undercurrent of anger that's pulling her forward. Nicely-done.
Some powerful sentences here, Lou.
Some great images in here, Lou! Love the contrast between "jackhammer days" and "slow water erosion of all the days" and love the sidewalk moving past you. Heavy, dark, with an ambiguous ending (which is good!). Will have to read this one again.
The narrator seems to long for days gone past, a time ". . . when it all meant something." There's a certain brooding loneliness in HEART JAR and the writer transfers this sense while standing in the shadow of the story. Congratulations.
Thank you all for reading. Loneliness and anger are certainly both present with him. I really appreciate your thoughts.
Lou, you make this journey palpable, thought-world and real-world. I feel as if I am on an Indiana Jones search by the everyman. I second Michelle on the imagery, which sets the over-all mood, and the ending question "decorative purposes"? The heart jar, or the heart?
"We're the only real thing left in a world that has abstracted itself so many times that artifice becomes the achievement." I love this line. You're certainly moving in the dark place with this. I'd never heard of Canopic Jars before. The ending of this is apt, but you may want to rework the wording.
"I've been an atheist since so long ago, but now I actually know what it means to lose faith. It is a loss that starts filling the hourglass with black sand, fast, relentless, as gravity hisses it down into the last remaining empty space."
Such truth and such a talented and unique way of expressing the thought.
Love the ending, a return to the smile...genuine this time or just knee-jerk as with the music earlier? I like to think genuine this time. But I love that that decision is up to me as a reader.
Mighty fine, Lou! The opening made me think right away, of course, of Baudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation. And trips to shops that offer unusual artifacts always conjure up expectations of a “back room” or a special case for special customers--the enticements of the possibility of a/the “real thing” (or the heart of things). The ending loops back to the beginning nicely here and the story is self-contained, but I’d love to see more of what this guy’s up to (or, given the suck of gravity, down to).
Strong voice and imagery in the piece. I like the dark tone of this. Good writing, Lou.
The dark mystery is wonderful. And a lot of the phrasing, like "jackhammer days"and gravity as a "bully" is great. Every word counts here.
Thank you all for your gracious comments on this. They're much appreciated.
..it lifts the corners of my mouth into a smile even though it doesn't make me happy..I've been an atheist since so long ago, but now I actually know what it means to lose faith..a world that has abstracted itself so many times that artifice becomes the achievement.. sorry, those are only for decorative purposes.”
I smile again.Fave!
This story is just great. It’s sad and funny and sharp. I have many favorite lines, but the one about “trying to cling to a time when it all meant something” sort of ripples out to the rest of the piece, which I love.