THE EMPTY STEPS

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

“A day we dare not forget, today.” And with that, the mayor began his remarks. They were occasioned, certainly. Of that there can be no dispute. Today touched the extremes of the town: exaltation in the morning, despair in the afternoon. The terrible vandalism of the fountain in Mott Circle, followed by the whirl of finger-pointing that threatened to tear apart the community, came as a bitter counterweight to the dedication ceremony earlier today, filled as it was with a sense of unity and hope. It was the sort of bleak antithesis which requires not only a conscientious public servant but a truly gifted orator, and it is to the credit of Mayor Ehrenreich that he was able to rise to the occasion. He spoke not from the steps of City Hall, as is often the case, but from the front lawn of his own home, a rare occurrence. “I do not wish to lose faith in this town,” he said, “but neither do I wish to lose faith in my own ability to distinguish wrong from right, or to act on that distinction, or to hold others to that same standard. But I see a vile poison seeping through this place, and I cannot be silent on its spread. I urge you all to look inside, not at your hearts, for that is an overused cliche that may in some cases not apply, but at your choices. Where you judge them the correct ones, reflect on why. Where you are not certain, attempt to change. I cannot say anything else useful today, so I will say no more. I have a wife inside who worries that my preoccupation with this place is eroding my ability to find joy during my time with her, and I cannot say for sure that she is wrong.” With that, he fell silent. His hands, raised up by passion during his remarks, fell to his side. He turned and re-entered the house. A few minutes later, the curtains were drawn.