Debbie's PDF

Someone on Twitter was threatening me, so I exit the app but don’t go outside.

Someone on Twitter was threatening me, so I exit the app but don’t go outside.

Debbie just e-mailed me her PDF of her new chapbook. I skim it while tabbing between Pinterest and Vine on my Kindle. It’s all black and white from the weird sand.

The PDF is actually really good. I send some emojis and use my Android to move around Google Maps, to places like Japan with their monoculture. They’re so cool. Yukio Mishima is so cool.

The PDF is like an ebook of poems but with the poems just like a title or sometimes the page is left completely blank.

Debbie is cool, but I feel like she doesn’t like me. She sent me a message saying, “I don’t like you anymore. My family and probably other people are sending me messages concerned about me.”

At Bitforms gallery; their new exhibit is just like, I don’t know, a Superman toy with a camera spinning around it.

On my way home updates about Operation Protective Edge are all over my feed, the conflict escalating, the toll on civilians rising. The world's chaos seems endless, and I can’t help but feel a deep and profound sadness about it all.

I try torrenting the new episode of Mad Men, but my landlord emails me and asks me to stop.

In this paragraph, I will explain why I am the way I am. I was born this way and the reason I’m going to continue this is because it’s very important that I finish and you read it.

The next morning, like the previous morning, I feel lost and don’t understand anything about the world while browsing /mu/.

I write a story for someone’s online literary magazine on /lit/. They copy and paste it on their website, and I send the link to my Facebook and Twitter.

While playing a pirated copy of Sims 3, Debbie says she likes the story—it’s about two friends who smoke weed and are unspokenly in love. She sends me a video of a dog dressed like a spider, which is terrifying and very funny.

I just want to enjoy reading this thing and open the PDF again. 

The PDF is actually pretty deep. 

Reading it, I think the words can just be very nice to look at, and I just sort of look at them, not even reading. I like the fact that there is text sometimes. I like fonts. There being words on the page that is a screen.

A new message pops up from Debbie: “Can we meet up? I want to talk.”

We agree to meet at a small café downtown.

There are ongoing threats on my life while I go on about my day.

At the café, I see her sitting at a table, looking anxious. I sit down, and she smiles nervously. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” I say. “I really liked your PDF.”

Her face lights up. “Really? I was worried it was too abstract.” She looks relieved. “I’ve been going through a lot, and it’s been hard to communicate. That’s why I sent that message. I’m really sorry.”

“You mean Palestine?” I ask gently.

“Yeah, it’s been intense,” she says, her voice softening. “Operation Protective Edge has made everything so much more complicated. It’s hard to talk about it without feeling like I’m missing something crucial or coming off as insensitive.”

I nod, understanding. “It’s definitely a tough topic. Do you want to talk more about what you’ve been going through? I’m here to listen.”

“The situation in Gaza... It’s so awful.”

“I can imagine,” I respond. “Sometimes, it helps to break things down into smaller parts and focus on specific aspects. Is there a particular part of the situation that’s been on your mind lately?”

She takes a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. “It’s the human stories, really. The people caught in the middle of all this, their stories and struggles. I keep thinking about how their lives are being affected, how they’re coping. I just hope this conflict ends soon. It can’t get any worse, right?”

“I hope so too,” I say, trying to stay optimistic. “I’m sure things will get better from here. We just need to hold on to hope and keep supporting each other.”

Her face reflects a deep sadness mixed with hope. “Yes, and maybe soon we can focus on rebuilding and healing. It’s just so exhausting. But knowing people care and want to help—like you—makes a difference.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “We have to stay hopeful. It’s the only way to get through these times.”

Little did either of us know, as we spoke, that the world was already spiraling into an even more dire conflict, one that would soon eclipse the current crisis in its scale and impact.