A SPECK ON THE HORIZON

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

New legislation has been proposed by the members of the city council to prohibit “fronting”—a practice adopted by some residents, largely in their forties and fifties, to make their lives appear better than they are, often through the adoption of a facade or false front (this gives the term its name) in which outcomes are promoted as decisions and even desires, and excitement and fulfillment are projected if not actually felt. The legislation was debated at a recent open hearing, and many locals turned up to object to what they perceived to be an intrusive approach to private states. “This is unacceptable,” said Rebecca Kirk, 43, a copywriter for a housewares conglomerate in the city, standing outside of the courthouse under a low-hanging gray sky. “I mean, I don’t have any personal stake here, to be honest. I’ve never been happier. I have such a sense of my own identity these days, more than in my thirties or twenties. The main thing I had back then was youth, and it’s wasted on the young.” Kirk laughed. “Oh, and have I introduced you to my husband? We went on our first date twelve years ago and we’ve never spent a minute out of love.” The woman next to Kirk looked up suddenly, as if roused from slumber. “Were you talking to me?” she said, removing earbuds. “I’m sorry. I was listening to music.” Kirk recoiled almost imperceptibly. “You’re not a reporter?” she said. The woman shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m a singer in a band, kind of a jazz combo. That’s what I was doing, in fact, studying for tonight’s performance.” She then sang a few verses of the song that had, moments before, been in her ears: “Do you love to see me crying? / Do you love to see me blue? / Those aren’t the kinds of things / I love to see in you.” The woman’s voice was transfixing, even without backing instrumentation. Though fluty around the edges, it moved quickly to a place of deep sorrow, and seemed to ascend by descending. Listening to the woman was like taking hold of the truth, or more accurately being taken hold by it. Time ran away until it was a speck on the horizon. Kirk complimented the woman with a series of platitudes, and then walked home, dazed, wondering if Robert was back from work yet, and if that was even her husband’s name.