why not me?
Reflections of a Vertex:
I am the vertex of a triangle. The two lines converging in me form an obtuse angle that should offer me a view into the future. But my future is very uncertain. Even a little schoolboy with an eraser can plunge my future into total nothingness. Every day I expect such a mortal blow, hoping all the while that I may be spared. At times I believe that for us who are vertices there should be a midpoint, toward which we draw nearer every day, in order to meld with it or lose ourselves in it. But when days go by without the slightest change in my situation, I come close to despair. Though I might maintain that each day I gain greater insight into the cruelties of the world, they don’t even spare an innocent vertex. I often tell myself that one of my two lines must be put down incorrectly or wrong. I am thinking less of the baseline, which exists beyond any doubt; no, I’m thinking of side B, which I can’t quite get a view of, since in contrast to the baseline, it appears to be crooked or wrongly placed. I sincerely wish I could change line B, guide it into an orderly path. But I keep failing because of the many interruptions this line is prone to. A point simply can’t reach across an empty space. I often wonder what would have happened if lines B and C had bypassed each other, had never touched, let alone converged. True, at present their paths are wide apart. But I, the vertex, remain, and unfortunately I am the spot where the two lines meet, though line A remotely connects them at a distance. I often think it might be best for me to quietly sneak away from my existence as a vertex. But so far I haven’t found the right way to make myself do it. Perhaps I am too much of a coward or too scared of eternity, which, I am sure, no God could sweeten for me. I confess I haven’t yet come to an all-consuming end. But I keep working on it, and perhaps I’ll find a way for the lines and myself to be reconciled.
-RWF, 1959
I am the vertex of a triangle. The two lines converging in me form an obtuse angle that should offer me a view into the future. But my future is very uncertain. Even a little schoolboy with an eraser can plunge my future into total nothingness. Every day I expect such a mortal blow, hoping all the while that I may be spared. At times I believe that for us who are vertices there should be a midpoint, toward which we draw nearer every day, in order to meld with it or lose ourselves in it. But when days go by without the slightest change in my situation, I come close to despair. Though I might maintain that each day I gain greater insight into the cruelties of the world, they don’t even spare an innocent vertex. I often tell myself that one of my two lines must be put down incorrectly or wrong. I am thinking less of the baseline, which exists beyond any doubt; no, I’m thinking of side B, which I can’t quite get a view of, since in contrast to the baseline, it appears to be crooked or wrongly placed. I sincerely wish I could change line B, guide it into an orderly path. But I keep failing because of the many interruptions this line is prone to. A point simply can’t reach across an empty space. I often wonder what would have happened if lines B and C had bypassed each other, had never touched, let alone converged. True, at present their paths are wide apart. But I, the vertex, remain, and unfortunately I am the spot where the two lines meet, though line A remotely connects them at a distance. I often think it might be best for me to quietly sneak away from my existence as a vertex. But so far I haven’t found the right way to make myself do it. Perhaps I am too much of a coward or too scared of eternity, which, I am sure, no God could sweeten for me. I confess I haven’t yet come to an all-consuming end. But I keep working on it, and perhaps I’ll find a way for the lines and myself to be reconciled.
-RWF, 1959