Away We Go Read Online Free PDF

hours of garbage duty, I have to admit, that’s nice. Nicer than sex, maybe. But I can’t understand a word she says. I turn briefly away, pretend to rub at my mouth so I can spit the key into my palm.
    â€œWhat?” I say.
    â€œI said you seemed a little distracted. You get this faraway look in your eye.”
    â€œIs this a gentle way of critiquing my performance?”
    â€œNo,” she says, too quickly. “You’re not mad, are you?”
    â€œFor you not letting us do it on a lab table with a board full of chemistry equations as our background? Why would I be mad?”
    â€œWe have to keep it together, Noah,” she says, tracing the outline of my ribs with her index finger. “Once you stop caring about where you have, well, you know, soon enough you stop caring who you have it with. Stop caring about anything at all. . .”
    â€œBut the nihilistic void of nothing—” I start to protest.
    â€œâ€”is not something I want to bring into bed with us,” she says, elbowing me playfully.
    I laugh. “Abuse!”
    â€œYou know,” she says, after a time. “You know, I was thinking maybe we could have a picnic sometime soon. Next week, maybe. Get some sandwiches together and take them over to the lake. I know you love any excuse to eat sandwiches. We could ask Martin to come. What do you think?”
    â€œOkay,” I say.
    I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug, and the metal of the key digs into my palm. But all I can think is that she is not Zach. She is not Zach she is not Zach she is not Zach, and I would rather be held than hold. It makes you feel like you add up to more than the nothingness inside you.
    It makes you feel like you’ll never go anywhere, and that is the only therapy I need.
    I close my eyes with the hope that I’ll dream of him.

 
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    DREAMS OF THE END
    Noah knows the comet will hit.
    In his final moments, he sits down to write a story.
    But the blank sheets of paper taunt him.
    To put words on paper is not a problem.
    But the right words?
    It used to be said that the Bible was the greatest book ever written. A myopically western-centric view, but, arrogance aside, the boldness of the claim, that is what appeals to Noah.
    The libraries of the world are full of ancient books, populated by Gods and Heroes.
    Are all these books holy, or are none of them?
    Noah suspects the latter.
    The blank pages on his desk leer at him.
    His problem, he realizes, is that he wants to write a holy book, yet does not believe in the possibility of holiness. And if there is no possibility of holiness, why bother writing at all?
    The answer to his question strikes him as suddenly as an accident.
    He must write to save himself.

 
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    THE END TIME IS YOUR TIME
    Alice has always been trying to save me.
    The bus to Westing was full of newsies from recovery centers all across Virginia.
    I had a window seat, and Alice had the aisle seat right beside me. I was pretending to be asleep so I wouldn’t have to exchange pleasantries, be pleasant.
    The ride was long and bumpy, the outside world a thin windowpane away, which I would occasionally peek at, but there were soldiers on our bus, soldiers with guns. One of the soldiers sat across the aisle from Alice and me. He was in his early twenties, with faint blond wisps for a mustache and a rifle in his hands.
    Alice reached out a hand. “Hi,” she said, with a wide smile. “I’m Alice Witaker. I’m very pleased to meet you. What’s your name?”
    He stared at her like she had three heads.
    â€œNot supposed to speak to you,” he said finally. “You’re cute and all, but I got my orders, and it’s nothing personal or anything.”
    â€œOh,” Alice said, her hand wavering in the air. “Oh, okay. I understand. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”
    â€œIt’s nothing personal or anything,” the soldier