So Where Does All the Sadness Go? I Asked Him

Here, said Jim, pointing pipeward. It all goes in here.

Jim was pointing at a very large metal pipe in our town’s water treatment plant. It was by far the largest pipe in a room full of large pipes. He rapped the side of it with his knuckles, and the low sound reverberated throughout the cavernous, pipe-filled space.

Now that’s a pipe, said Jim, rapping it again. Now that’s a goddamn pipe.

But then where does it go? I asked.

What now? said Jim.

Where does all the sadness go once it’s in the pipe? I said.

Well, come on over here, Cub Scout, and I’ll show you, said Jim.

I hated it when Jim called me Cub Scout. But I hated it even more when he called me Simon, because he would always pronounce it Soy-man. Hey, Soy-man, where’s your pumpernickel? he’d sometimes say with unhinged glee, for reasons that elude me to this day.

Jim retrieved the schematics of the water treatment plant, unfolded and spread the thin paper out on a nearby table, and then began to trace the path of all the sadness with his index finger, the tip of which was still charred from when he taught me about lava.

It all goes in here, and then it hangs a right here, said Jim, zigging.

Then, after it loops around here, it goes down here, he said, zagging. And then it…

Jim’s face went slack.

Then it…, he said.

His finger traced and then retraced and then re-retraced.

Wait, he said. Wait a second. What the shit?

I mentally extrapolated from the tip of Jim’s burnt finger.

Doesn’t that…go right into everyone’s tap water? I said.

OK, that’s a major design flaw, said Jim. This was supposed to have been fixed months ago. It’s an easy fix, too. All you need is a simple U-valve right here.

Jim pointed at a junction in the pipage.

Here, said Jim. See? A U-valve would fix this right up, send the sadness on to where it’s supposed to go.

And where’s the sadness supposed to go? I said.

The local waterways, said Jim.

The local waterways? I said. You mean the plan all along was to dump all the sadness into the local waterways?

Oh sure, said Jim. Sure, sure. Well, we would only dump it into the waterways that are getting too big for their britches. You know, the rivers that think they’re God’s gift to the water cycle. The streams that are always trying to rub it in.

Rub what in? I said.

There’s this one uppity crick at the south edge of town that’s been chafing my hide for years now. The frogs in there…the way they look at you…you wouldn’t even believe it.

Jim looked up and winced.

You wouldn’t even believe it, he said again.

The pipe sprung a leak right then. A stream of sadness went right into Jim’s open mouth.

You can close your mouth, you know, I said after a few moments.

I know that, Simon, said Jim, his eyes wide and wet. I know.