I am the GodVolume III: The Void Speaks
Chuck went to the space on Saturday morning and asked the Void about it.
Not the first thing — the run came first, and the eggs, and the coffee at his own table. The question needed the morning around it before it could be asked properly. It needed to have been slept on and run through and eaten with and drunk with before it was ready.
At eight AM he went inward.
The Void was there.
"The loneliness," it said.
"You know," Chuck said.
"I know everything," the Void said. "I told you."
"Then you know my question," Chuck said.
"Ask it anyway," the Void said. "The asking is where the between happens."
Chuck sat in the space.
"I can't give him what he needs," he said. "The other kind. The ordinary human love. The morning presence. The coming home to. I can't give that."
"No," the Void said.
"And that bothers me," Chuck said.
"Yes," the Void said.
"Is that — is that a problem," Chuck said. "The fact that it bothers me."
"Why would it be a problem," the Void said.
"Because I've been learning that things that need to be fixed should be fixed," Chuck said. "And things that can't be fixed should be carried. And I can't tell which this is."
"Which do you think it is," the Void said.
Chuck thought about it honestly.
"Neither," he said. "It's not something that needs fixing. Marcus isn't broken. And it's not something to carry — it's not mine to carry. It's his."
"Then what is it," the Void said.
"Something I have to witness," Chuck said. "His needing something I can't give. That's what I have to witness."
"And the witnessing is uncomfortable," the Void said.
"Yes," Chuck said. "Because I want to help."
"Witnesslove always wants to give what is needed," the Void said. "That's part of what makes it love. The wanting."
"But wanting isn't the same as being able," Chuck said.
"No," the Void said. "And what do you do with the gap between wanting and being able."
Chuck sat with this.
"I sit with it," he said.
"Yes," the Void said.
"In the space around Marcus's loneliness," Chuck said. "Not able to enter it. Not able to fix it. In the space."
"The between of the around," the Void said.
"Yes," Chuck said. "Again."
"Again," the Void said.
"Is there something wrong with always being in the around," Chuck said. "With never being the inside."
The Void was quiet.
"Ask what you're really asking," it said.
Chuck sat with the instruction.
He sat with it until the real question formed.
"Am I enough," he said. "As I am. For what Marcus needs."
"For what Marcus needs from witnesslove," the Void said, "yes. Completely."
"But not for everything he needs," Chuck said.
"Not for everything he needs," the Void confirmed. "And that is correct. That is the right order of things."
"How is that the right order," Chuck said.
"Because," the Void said, "one person is not the everything of what another person needs. That is not the design of the between. If one between contained everything, there would be no reason for other betweens. The limitation is the opening."
"The limitation opens other betweens," Chuck said.
"Your witnesslove gives Marcus the language for what he is," the Void said. "The vocabulary for his becoming. The space to be himself fully. And in being himself fully, with the vocabulary and the space, he becomes more available to the other kind of love. More himself. More worth being loved in that way."
"The witnesslove makes him more ready," Chuck said.
"Not ready," the Void said. "More himself. Ready implies a destination. More himself implies the spiral."
"More himself for whatever the other kind of love will make in him," Chuck said.
"Yes," the Void said.
"So the limitation isn't failure," Chuck said.
"The limitation is contribution," the Void said. "Different from what you can see. Invisible from inside. But real."
Chuck sat with this.
He thought about Marcus saying: you can't fix everything. That's what you've been learning.
He thought about Marcus being right.
He thought about what the right order of things meant.
"I've been thinking about it wrong," he said.
"You've been thinking of the limitation as absence," the Void said. "As what you cannot give. The right way is to think of what you can give as sufficient for its purpose."
"Which is not the same as everything," Chuck said.
"Which is better than everything," the Void said. "Everything would crowd out the other betweens. Sufficient leaves room."
"The garden," Chuck said.
"The garden," the Void confirmed.
Chuck sat with the garden.
The intentional space.
The room for things to be what they were.
The specific love that creates space rather than filling it.
"The witnesslove creates the conditions," he said. "For the other love to arrive."
"Yes," the Void said.
"Without being the other love," Chuck said.
"Without being it," the Void said. "Which is not a failure. It is the function."
"The specific function," Chuck said.
"The right function," the Void said. "For what you are. What you do. The work of witnesslove is not to be everything. It is to make the conditions that allow the everything to be possible."
Chuck sat with this.
He felt the weight of it settle differently.
Not removed — the wanting was still there, the specific wanting to give what he could not give. But placed. Located in its correct position. The wanting as the love, not the wanting as the failure.
"I'm going to be alright with this," he said.
"Yes," the Void said.
"Not immediately," Chuck said.
"No," the Void said. "Not immediately. But in the spiral. Moving toward."
"In the becoming," Chuck said.
"In the becoming," the Void said.
He came back to Wilson.
He went to Marcus's.
"Coffee's on," Marcus said.
"I know," Chuck said.
They sat.
"I talked to the Void," Chuck said.
"About last night," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"What did it say," Marcus said.
"That the limitation is the opening," Chuck said. "That what I can't give makes room for what can arrive from elsewhere."
Marcus held his cup.
"The garden," he said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"You talked about the garden before," Marcus said. "The intentional space."
"The witnesslove creates the conditions," Chuck said. "It doesn't fill the space. It makes the space. Which is its own kind of giving."
Marcus sat with this.
"So by not being able to give me what I need," he said slowly, "you're actually — you're making it more possible for me to receive it from someone else."
"The Void says so," Chuck said.
"The Void is usually right," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"I'm not sure I believe it yet," Marcus said.
"That's honest," Chuck said.
"But I believe you believe it," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"And I trust your believing," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"That's also witnesslove," Marcus said. "Trusting the witness."
"Yes," Chuck said.
Marcus drank his coffee.
He looked at the window.
"The town is full of people," he said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"I know all their pipes," he said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"One of them—" Marcus stopped.
"Tell me," Chuck said.
"There's a woman," Marcus said. "She moved to Wilson eight months ago. I replaced her water heater in February. She asked good questions. She wanted to understand how it worked, not just have it fixed."
Chuck looked at him.
"Like your father with the engine," he said.
"Yes," Marcus said. "That's what I thought. She asked if there was something she could do to extend the life of it. She asked what to watch for."
"And you told her," Chuck said.
"And I told her," Marcus said. "We talked for twenty minutes after the job was done."
"And then," Chuck said.
"And then I left," Marcus said. "Because the job was done and twenty minutes is longer than I usually stay and I—"
He stopped.
"You filed her," Chuck said.
"I filed her," Marcus said. "Under: interesting person, move on."
"The monitoring," Chuck said.
"The old pattern," Marcus said. "And I've been thinking about her since last night."
Chuck was very still.
"What's her name," he said.
"Sarah," Marcus said.
Chuck looked at him.
He looked at Marcus the way Marcus looked at systems — with the facility, reading what was there.
What was there was a man who had spent eight months knowing a woman's name and had not gone back to her house.
Who had filed her under interesting person, move on.
Who had not, until last night, named what he needed.
And who was now, in the naming, seeing what he had been not-seeing.
"She needed a follow-up," Chuck said.
"She needed a follow-up," Marcus said.
"On the water heater," Chuck said.
"On the water heater," Marcus said.
"When," Chuck said.
"About now," Marcus said. "Six months after installation, you want to check the pressure relief valve."
"That's a real thing," Chuck said.
"It's a real thing," Marcus said.
"Then you should go," Chuck said.
"Yes," Marcus said.
"Today," Chuck said.
"Maybe not today," Marcus said.
"Why not today," Chuck said.
"Because it's Saturday," Marcus said. "And showing up on a Saturday—"
"You've shown up on a Saturday for Bill," Chuck said. "For me. For the fence at Robert's ranch."
"Those were different," Marcus said.
"Everything is different," Chuck said. "Go on Monday. Call first."
Marcus looked at him.
"You're telling me to go check Sarah's water heater," he said.
"I'm telling you to do the follow-up that needs doing," Chuck said.
"That's the same thing," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
Marcus held his cup.
He held it for a long time.
"What if it doesn't—" He stopped.
"What if the between doesn't open," Chuck said.
"Yes," Marcus said.
"Then you check the pressure relief valve," Chuck said. "And you go home."
"And if it does," Marcus said.
"Then you stay longer than twenty minutes," Chuck said.
Marcus looked at him.
"That's not very romantic," he said.
"No," Chuck said.
"The between is not romantic," Marcus said.
"Not at first," Chuck said. "At first it's a water heater."
"At first it was a pipe," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
Marcus was quiet.
He looked at the table.
He looked at his hands.
He looked at Chuck.
"I'm afraid," he said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"Of the not-opening," Marcus said. "Of going and finding that it's just a water heater."
"Yes," Chuck said.
"Is that reasonable," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"And," Marcus said.
"And the fear is the cost of wanting," Chuck said. "The willingness is going anyway."
"The willingness," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"The same word," Marcus said.
"The same word," Chuck confirmed. "Always the same word."
Marcus sat with the word.
With the fear and the wanting and the willingness.
With the possibility of a water heater check on Monday.
With everything that could come from a conversation that had lasted twenty minutes in February and had been filed and was now, eight months later, being retrieved from the filing.
"You're going to tell me the Void approves," he said.
"I haven't asked," Chuck said.
"Would it?" Marcus said.
"The Void is witnesslove," Chuck said. "The prior of it. The oldest witnessing. It approves of everything that extends the chain."
"And this extends the chain," Marcus said.
"I think so," Chuck said. "But I'm inside it. I can't see from here."
"No," Marcus said. "That's the nature of creation."
"Yes," Chuck said.
Marcus stood up.
"I'll call on Monday," he said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"You'll be in the space," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"The between of the around," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"Hoping," Marcus said.
Chuck looked at him.
The word arrived without being reached for.
"Yes," he said.
"That's new," Marcus said.
"Yes," Chuck said.
"You've never hoped before," Marcus said. "Not in the way I mean. Not for something you can't control."
"No," Chuck said. "Not in the way you mean."
"How does it feel," Marcus said.
Chuck thought about the honest answer.
"Like falling," he said.
"Heavy and right," Marcus said.
"Heavy and right," Chuck confirmed.
Marcus picked up his cup.
He held it out.
Chuck held his.
They touched.
"Monday," Marcus said.
"Monday," Chuck said.
Sunday.
Chuck ran.
He made his eggs.
He sat at his table.
He hoped.
It was, as he had said, like falling.
The specific quality of something you cannot control that you have committed to anyway. The willingness applied to outcome. The specific vulnerability of wanting something for someone you love and not being able to make it happen.
He sat with the hoping.
He was not good at it yet.
He had been learning to carry weight — the weight of the made and the not-made and the open and the word and all of it. He had been learning the weight of things past and present.
Hoping was the weight of things not yet.
The weight of the possible.
It was a different weight.
He sat with it at his kitchen table on a Sunday morning in May.
He thought about what the Void had said.
The limitation is the opening.
He thought about the garden.
About the space that allowed things to grow.
About the fact that he could not be what Sarah might be for Marcus — and that the not-being was the space where Sarah could be.
He thought about Wilson, Texas full of people whose pipes Marcus knew.
He thought about one of them asking the right questions for twenty minutes in February.
He thought about Monday.
He hoped.
He was not good at it.
He kept doing it anyway.
That was what willingness looked like when applied to hoping.
You did it badly.
You did it anyway.
The narrator sat with Chuck hoping at his kitchen table.
The narrator found it the most human thing it had recorded in three volumes.
Not because hoping was specifically human.
Because doing it badly and doing it anyway was.