The obsidian paver

by BRK   

Gil doesn’t believe in the old myth about obsidian paving stones and how stepping on them changes reality without you even noticing.

“—Oh, and we should stop at the bookseller’s. Pierre’s birthday is coming up and—”

“Gil, stop! Don’t move! You’re about to step on a—”

“What? What is it?”

“Uh—nothing, I guess. I was sure for a second that stone you’re standing on—”

“What?”

“It was—I swear, Gil, it was an obsidian paving stone.”

“An obsidian paving stone? Really?”

“I’m not joking.”

“Uh huh. Was that all? Did you maybe see Hansel and Gretel being chased across the plaza by Baba Yaga, too?”

“They’re real! I saw it! That stone was obsidian!”

“This stone.”

“Yes!”

“This perfectly ordinary travertine limestone paver.”

“I know what I saw.”

“One meter square, kinda gray.”

“Fine. Go ahead, make fun of me.”

“Wait, I think I see another one!”

“Where?”

“Over by the fountain! No, sorry, I was wrong, that one’s made of gingerbread.”

“Funny.”

“You’re the one that brought up children’s stories.”

“Fine, forget it. Just keep walking.”

“I mean, you don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?”

“We’ve already established that you don’t. Just leave it.”

“But—here, stop. Look around us for a second, Marco.”

“Gil—”

“Just humor me. Look around. What do you see?”

“Here we go.”

“An entire city plaza, right? A hundred meters to a side, filled with people—locals, tourists, shoppers, buskers, all of them constantly slapping their feet onto every single paving slab in the square. All day long.”

“Gil—”

“Thousands of people, every day, for centuries. Centuries. Right?”

“Gil, that’s—”

“Right?”

“Yes. But—”

“Which means that if these creepy disappearing and reappearing obsidian pavers of yours really existed—you know, popping up and going away again in random places in the square—you see what that would mean, right? Everyone would be constantly stepping on them and changing reality without even knowing it.”

“That’s the point, though. They wouldn’t know it.”

“C’mon. A million changes to reality? Happening all the time? Someone would notice.”

“How? The whole premise of the myth—”

“Aha, see? You said ‘myth.’ You admitted it’s all rubbish.”

“The whole premise of the legend—”

“That’s not any better.”

“—is that the obsidian pavers reshape reality in one specific way, usually small, without anyone noticing. Not even the person who stepped on the stone, whose imagination unconsciously provided the change, ever knows it even happened. Big changes only happen with especially strong-willed individuals. I bet most of the changes are pretty micro.”

“Pfft. Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“Are you?”

“It’s crazy. The entire story of Ludwig and the Forgetful City is ridiculous. It was obviously made up by someone who lived their whole life under a wicker basket and never saw a city in their life.”

“Stop being a jerk. You don’t want to believe I saw it, fine.”

“Anyway, according to you I was the one that stepped on the obstone, right? Let me tell you, this is not the reality I would imagine, unconsciously or otherwise.”

“Oh, Gil’s grumpy about the world. What a novelty. Alert the media!”

“It’s just dumb. Why does everyone on Earth have to look exactly like me? It’s confusing. As Warhol once said, if bears can have different faces, why can’t people?”

“It says a lot that you think everyone looks like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gil, we all look exactly the same. Everyone looks like you, everyone looks like Prince Etienne, everyone looks like that bendy acrobat over there. It’d be just as true to say you look like me.”

“No… no, I’m pretty sure you look like me, Marco. And honestly, you should be grateful.”

“Ha, ha. That’s a pretty smug smirk on that handsome face of yours.”

“Naturally. Even so… a city packed with fit, good-looking eye-candy aside, you have to admit it’s a drag. I’m so tired of having to give a DNA swab every time I use my credit card at the corner shop.”

“Maybe. I don’t mind the Great Sameness, though. Seeing my own mug on all the famous people in the history books made me feel like I could do anything. War hero, inventor, astronaut…”

“…Accountant…”

“Hey, you gotta have accountants. Without us there’s be no business and no government.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Anyway, if we didn’t all look alike it wouldn’t be a thing that you get to hold hands with your buddy when you’re walking through a crowd, so you don’t lose track of your friend in a sea of identical faces.”

“So, you ‘get to’ hold hands with me, huh? Interesting.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that so as not to inflate your ego.”

“Too late. What else do you want to ‘get to’ do? Maybe make out a little? You are pretty dashing.”

“Me and everyone else. Anyway, don’t tease people like that unless you’re prepared to deliver.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is, is it? I might just be persuaded… to…”

“To… what? What are you looking at?”

“Nothing, it’s just—that acrobat you mentioned earlier, the really limber one. He was walking around on his hands for the crowd and I thought for a second…”

“You saw one, didn’t you! You saw an obstone!”

“I thought—no. No. It was just a shadow, that’s all. A trick of the light. I mean, clearly it’s not there now.”

“It wouldn’t be, though, would it?”

“Stop. What were we talking about?”

“I dunno, something about everyone looking like you?”

“Phew, I wish. Soooo… why are we holding hands, again?”

“I dunno, it feels kind of… normal, somehow?”

“Huh, I guess. Kind of.”

“Anyway, I’m not letting go. Just to annoy you.”

“Fine. Oh, hey, there’s the bookseller’s. I wanted to get that present for Pierre, and—no, wait, there’s a chocolatier next door. Even better!”

“I dunno, Gil. Pierre’s pretty hung already.”

“Ugh. Marco, chocolate does not make your dicks grow. That’s totally a myth. Like kissing your best friend makes your tongue stretchy, or cashews trigger male lactation if you eat them for a month straight.”

“Right. So explain to me how our chocolate-craving buddy Pierre had 25-centimeter cocks back when we knew him in school and now they’re both, like, nearly 40 centimeters—and almost thick as his left wrists on top of it. I swear, police could use those things to subdue criminals.”

“Uh huh. And you know this very detailed information how?”

“How do you think? We all sucked cock in uni, right? At least us hoi polloi did, I don’t know about your sort.”

“It’s one of the many things we have in common. Everyone has more erections than they know what to do with at that stage in their lives.”

“Exactly.”

“It sounds like you enjoyed… perpetuating the tradition.”

“Let’s just say I kept doing it after graduation. With certain people.”

“And not me? I am deeply, deeply offended.”

“Uh huh, I can tell. Go work your way through a Godiva sampler and get back to me.”

“My word. Marco, buddy, I had no idea you were such a size queen. As a bit of advice, I suspect you wouldn’t regret helping a fellow out once you find out how much you’ve been… underestimating him.”

“Do tell.”

“Scoff if you like, but you’re missing out.”

“I bet.”

“How about you? Shall I buy you a bit of cocoa-infused nether-parts improvement? Maybe an extra-mocha latte at the Multijava over yonder?”

“Uh, no thanks. I’m already… anyway, it’s none of your business.”

“Come on, if I’m going to be mashing half of my hands with someone all around town for the day I should at least know their dick size.”

“I think those are two different levels of, um, intimacy. Anyway, you’re clearly already in love with your mirror.”

“I am not.”

“Please. There hasn’t been a boytaur as obsessed with his own beauty as you since Narcissus. I really don’t want to be the ‘other man’ in that relationship.”

“Heh. You’re just jealous.”

“Maybe a little.”

“You know, Marco old pal, I’m starting to think we should go back to my place and have a little genital reveal party. I feel as though we might both be pleasantly surprised.”

“Gil, c’mon. You know I want to, but you’re not into guys, remember?”

“Yeah, but you’re not ‘guys.’”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m actually kind of serious. I checked, and you’re easily the second-cutest man in this entire plaza. Possibly the second-hungest, too.”

“That’s not a word.”

“The look in your eyes says you don’t care about lexical validation right now.”

“Okay, you know what? Just… shut up and kiss me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

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