I
RENEE SAID:
Your problem is that you don’t think anything you do means anything. You bop through your life. You don’t look back. You don’t look forward. You barely look around. I’ve come to know that about you—I guess I’ve always known it—but I suppose I need to forgive you for that. I’m too dying to carry that grudge anymore. But don’t forget this is all your fault.
And then she did die.
Strange to say, it was all because of a brick. The subtext here is not at all lost on me. A brick, the literal building block of our civilization, at a time long distant baked under the pitiless Egyptian sun, now shipped from the plant to all points of the compass, making the tombs and defensive walls and city halls possible, in concord with its fellow bricks serves to create, and in violent isolation is used to destroy, as it has me and mine. Better to say though, not a brick but the brick. And while the brick was the cause of our end, it did not cause our end. That came by other means.
