Truth is memory when you’re sad.  It’s the present moment when you’re happy.  And it doesn’t seem like it, but sometimes you can be in both places at once.  You can be in a happy moment remembering.  You can be immersed in a sad memory with a moment of reprieve.  The truth is subjective, acted on by objective realities.  And what goes up must come down.  What’s up meeting a cusp, a differential slope reaching zero, and then a geometric curve going down, a negativity, until another cusp is reached.  You are a particle and a wave, sometimes behaving as one and then the other.  You are in the moment and in all moments.  Inside an illusion of going backwards or forwards.  Your energy turning into matter and vice versa.  Everything truly uncertain, especially when you’re most certain of it.  David Threnody was following a formula.  His behavior, his emotions—the verifiable actions of a choice.  What’s baffling if the choice made the actions, or the actions made the choice.  The only thing he knew was what he learned.  History repeating.  A good time offset by bad.  The price of one the cost of another.  And that question.  That question of names, love, and what’s it going to be—answered and then answered again, sliced infinitely into frames of time, the area covered based on the ground.  David just not sure what ground he stood on.  Bethany was in his life now.  Not somebody he used to know in that sad betrayal of lies, but a truth happening self-scrutinized.  Memory and the moment leaving him both happy and sad.  Not afraid anymore of the answers.  But afraid of the questions.

When he went to sleep he was happy.  When he woke up he was sad.  Not because of disturbing dreams his soul was illustrating in the book of his life, but because at both times, in both moment and memory, Bethany was in his arms.  She slept in his bed now.  He knew he had something to lose, and memories of Rosie Soledad sometimes returned to him.  Her haunting words that he was loved.  How she said that—you are loved, not I love you.  And he wondered if he really had found a mate for his soul, or if his heart was crazy enough to believe that had not already been stolen, been sold to mistakes from his past.  And he wanted to be loved.  Not for his good, but for his bad.  It’s easy to love something right, but to love your wrongs is something quite different.  To be loved when you’re bad—this is the mystery of good.  How what’s weak makes you strong—your strength defined by your weaknesses.  How there is no repentance.  Only understanding in how you become yourself.  Conviction not condemnation.  A bettering not by change, but by the observation of the change.  Something fixed.  David was guilty.  He had sinned to acquire a lover.  This the mystery.  Sin necessary for love, for love to be love.  A liking to which there is no other.  Being bad creating the opportunity for good, the opportunity to love all your wrongs—the very measurement of change outside the cusps, what isn’t the zero of nothingness.  And it becomes the identity of your voice in laughter and tears.  The knowledge of your existence.  It’s what David went to bed with in those last moments of consciousness, what he woke up remembering.  All of it softened somehow by his lover sleeping next to him.  A companion to his guilt.  Knowing all his secrets, but loving him anyway.  The truth in the memory of it sad, and the moment of it happening your one and only friend.

And Johnny Tribout—he was there through all of it.  He recalls that night.  What happened that night under Huey P. Long Bridge.  That was the last night he and David played music together.  The last time David picked up his guitar while Johnny brought his harmonica to his mouth, reminiscent of their first meeting in Mississippi, when Johnny had his own trials of love and loss.  They were men bonded in what they did for their women, buddies in the war.  These his last words to the story, on that advice of a friend.  That advice you need remember most in those momentary cusps of faith—don’t believe in nothing that makes you feel bad…