Timothy C. Goodwin

Listen to Jennifer Byrne read Timothy’s story

Because you don’t get a lot of time in this universe, and you have to show your work: where you went, what you did. The more souvenirs you have, the more you can show the universe you were here. That you did more than anyone else. But this tiny lava rock—light as lettuce but sharp as an unclipped toenail meeting you in bed—ate everything in my bag: the map I got at the Ranger Station just after sunrise, my just-in-case sweater, my Clif Bar, all crushed to dust. Still, I had to have it. I was here, in Idaho, and I needed to show that. But at home its edges ground through my desk, my desk clock, my desk calendar. Gone were my dates and times. I moved it to my dresser; it sawed through my dresser. My closet. Clothes, shoes, hats, all ground to a fine powder. When it then went for my collection, I tried to get rid of it, and it bit me; I dropped it; it rolled out of sight and went to work: my souvenir Constitution, ripped and eaten from my wall. The coaster from that bar in Ireland, swiped from a shelf. The plastic wristband from my ER visit for the broken arm. The chair Marlene bought me. The Atari 2600 I was saving for display, the cassettes I was hoping would prove my taste, the journals that would prove I had good sense. My photo albums—all the people I had photographed, the smiles, the awkward moments, the vistas I tried to frame—gone. The tickets to all the shows I went to. The tchotchkes, the Limited Editions, the handmade. All my evidence, swallowed. It burped up my student loan debt. It ate my job. My parents went quietly. Then, nothing left. I stood in the center of my room, among the dunes of Me, and soon enough: I felt it. On my toe. Just a little nibble, a little pinch. I took a deep breath, and joined the dust oranged by the sunset, floating on and forever, evidence that the universe was here.

Timothy C Goodwin lives in NYC, and has been fortunate enough to have recent work included in Twin Pies, HAD, Dishsoap Quarterly, JAKE, and elsewhere.

Read more from Timothy:

Twin Pies Literary – ‘My Head is Suddenly Just a Skull‘
Had – ‘Yes, There Was an Incident at the Giant Foam Block Mountain‘