Response-Able

I was not in the mood.

I’d just finished reading a narrowly-focused and hugely disconnected technofix article on oil extraction, another article on how the government has been spinning climate change reports, an article on more baby steps being taken with fuel efficiency and emissions standards (when giant leaps are being called for), yet another article on the global boom in coal-fired power generation, and yet another other article on the bone-headed notion of carbon sequestration (totally missing the irony).

Some days I just want to scream.

And then, after four days gone away to who knows where, Todd pops a sticky: so that carbon sequestration thing sounds like a good deal itll stop global warming and help the economy at the same time dont you think i mean it could halve our emissions by 2050 isnt that the sort of thing we need

Do you like people reading over your shoulder? Try having a ghost in your Mac. It’s creepy as hell.

“Where you been, Todd?” I typed.

what do you mean where have I been you just told me to watch the doc again so I did and here I am and youre still reading your email

“That was four days ago.”

no it was two hours ago or a bit more because I read along some of the articles with you too when I got back from your other computer where you keep your movie stored you know you could get rid of a bunch of that unused media I could help you with that

Apparently time is different for Todd. I wanted to follow up on that, but there was something more important to address right away. “Keep your hands off my media files, Todd.”

Another sticky. Blue: sorry

And then, after a moment, another, even bluer: I was just trying to help

I sighed. After four days, I’d begun to hope that maybe Todd had passed through that big bright tunnel in the sky after all, and that he was happily harping with his homies in heaven. No such luck. He was back. To help me. Oh boy. It was time to get to the bottom of that.

“What can you help me with, Todd?” I typed. “And why are you helping me anyways? Who’s this chicken?”

I waited for another sticky. None appeared. After a couple of minutes, I reached out toward my keyboard with the intention of reading more mail. As my hands touched the keys another sticky popped up. This one gray. I pulled back my hands. Then nothing. No words. I reached out again. It was as if Todd was watching my every move. Words appeared: you wont believe me youll laugh youll think Im crazy and then Ill be screwed for sure

I laughed out loud, making my next words a lie. “Todd,” I typed. “I’m the last person to laugh at you. Remember what I do for a living. There ain’t much that surprises me anymore.”

Todd’s next sticky brightened to yellow: oh yeah

And then another: ok

And then a torrent of stickies, green and blue and gray and red, popping onto my screen in rapid succession, each jam packed with words, some even containing images, as if Todd could pull any picture he wanted from the Internet. I sat back and watched, letting this wave of words and feelings roll over me. Todd had been waiting a long time to tell his story. Now it was coming out. I caught some words and phrases as the stickies popped up and then got covered by more stickies. It looks as though Todd, when he died, was given an object lesson in the consequences of his lifestyle. And it wasn’t pretty. Neither his lifestyle, nor the object lesson.

The stickies were predominantly gray. And one thing gray stickies meant, I’d come to learn, was this: shame.

A final sticky appeared, centered on my desktop, confirming my suspicion. Words in a large bold font: I feel like crawling into a cave and dying

The stickies stopped. That last one, gray and lifeless, faded from my screen like smoke in the breeze.

I knew how Todd felt. And I also knew where to take him. “Would you believe me if I told you that this is good news?” I typed.

whats good news

“Your shame. Your feelings of complicity and guilt. Your disgust. It’s all good news.”

whys that good news I feel like shit I mean I watched your doc again if what you say is true then were like a virus a cancer were killing everything we should just nuke ourselves and get it over with except that would kill everything else but were already doing that so whats the difference hows it good news

“It’s good news because now you know. It’s good news because now you are feeling it. And now that you know it and feel it, you can make a choice you didn’t have before. You didn’t create this world, Todd. You were just born into it. There’s no shame in that. But now that you’ve begun to awaken, you’ve become responsible. You are able to respond. You can make a choice. You can cooperate with this culture of death and destruction, or you can begin to step away from it, to undermine it, to transform it, to defy it, to create something new in the midst of it, in any and every way you can think of. It’s not about what you did. It’s about who you are going to be. Right now. In this moment.”

I stopped. Sometimes I begin to sound like Ward Cleaver. Gotta watch that.

you mean like this guy

Todd stickied a link to an article about a family in Manhattan living a No-Impact lifestyle for a year.

“That’s one type of response. Good for them. The question is, Todd, what are you going to do?”

you remember that Im dead dont you

Todd had caught me. I laughed and typed some more. “That doesn’t seem to be stopping you.”

That was this morning. Todd’s gone off again. Hopefully he’s not screwing around with my media files. I’m in the process of cutting and pasting Todd’s deluge of stickies into some sort of order, so that I can read his whole story. The lack of punctuation slows me down a bit. Why Todd can’t seem to add a comma or a question mark now and then I don’t know.

But Todd was right. That chicken was really pissed. I hope I don’t ever meet up with him.

I’ll share Todd’s story as soon as I get it reconstructed. Hang on.