Rating: ★★★★☆ Tags: Mystery Detective, General, Fiction

derivative
as
a criticism is itself derivative). We were the first human
beings who would never see anything for the first time. We
stare at the wonders of the world, dull-eyed, underwhelmed.
Mona Lisa, the Pyramids, the Empire State Building.
Jungle animals on attack, ancient icebergs collapsing,
volcanoes erupting. I can’t recall a single amazing thing I
have seen firsthand that I didn’t immediately reference to a
movie or TV show. A fucking commercial. You know the
awful singsong of the blasé: 
Seeeen it
. I’ve literally seen it
all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to
blow my brains out, is: The secondhand experience is
always better. The image is crisper, the view is keener, the
camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions
in a way reality can’t anymore. I don’t know that we are
actually human at this point, those of us who are like most
of us, who grew up with TV and movies and now the
Internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say;
when a loved one dies, we know the words to say. If we
want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know
the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-
eared script.
It’s a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a

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real, actual person, instead of a collection of personality
traits selected from an endless automat of characters.
And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such
thing as a soul mate, because we don’t have genuine souls.
It had gotten to the point where it seemed like nothing
matters, because I’m not a real person and neither is
anyone else.
I would have done anything to feel real again.
Gilpin opened the door to the same room where they’d
questioned me the night before. In the center of the table
sat Amy’s silvery gift box.
I stood staring at the box sitting in the middle of the
table, so ominous in this new setting. A sense of dread
descended on me. Why hadn’t I found it before? I should
have found it.
‘Go ahead,’ Gilpin said. ‘We wanted you to take a look
at this.’
I opened it as gingerly as if a head might be inside. I
found only a creamy blue envelope marked first clue.
Gilpin smirked. ‘Imagine our confusion: A missing
persons case, and here we find an envelope marked first
clue.’
‘It’s for a treasure hunt that my wife—’
‘Right. For your anniversary. Your father-in-law
mentioned it.’
I opened the envelope, pulled out a thick sky-blue
piece of paper – Amy’s signature stationery – folded once.
Bile crept up my throat. These treasure hunts had always
amounted to a single question: Who is Amy? (What is my
wife thinking? What was important to her this past year?

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What moments made her happiest? Amy, Amy, Amy, let’s
think about Amy.)
I read the first clue with clenched teeth. Given our
marital mood the past year, it was going to make me look
awful. I didn’t need anything else that made me look awful.
I picture myself as your student,
With a teacher so handsome and wise
My mind opens up (not to mention my thighs!)
If I were your pupil, there’d be no need for flowers
Maybe just a naughty appointment during your office hours
So hurry up, get going, please do
And this time I’ll teach you a thing or two.
It was an itinerary for an alternate life. If things had
gone according to my wife’s vision, yesterday she would
have hovered near me as I read this poem, watching me
expectantly, the hope emanating from her like a fever: