Infinite, Incontent

The sports bar had four televisions and one match. England versus Belgium arrived on each screen with a fractional delay, so every chance moved through the room in waves. A gasp began by the windows, crossed the taps, and reached Syd and Oliver after the ball had already gone wide.

The World Cup had filled the place beyond its chairs. England flags hung from the rails. A Belgian supporter in a red shirt stood beneath one of them, holding his pint out of the traffic. Beer sloshed whenever the crowd rose. Phones were checked, returned to pockets, and checked again.

A man near the bar filmed the room whenever England crossed midfield. The woman beside him watched his recording while the match continued over her shoulder.

OliverYou’re watching the people.

SydI’m watching the match.

OliverThe match is up there.

SydPart of it is.

OliverYou missed two corners studying a man’s lock screen.

SydHe has checked it eleven times.

OliverYou counted?

SydI noticed.

OliverThat is counting with vanity.

An England player drove toward the Belgian box. Half the room rose before he had decided what to do. He cut inside, lost the ball, and appealed for a foul.

The referee waved play on. The room accused him of several crimes at once.

SydYou will see the things you think about.

OliverThe man behind us thinks every tackle is treason. You think every phone is a symptom. The referee may be the only innocent person here.

SydI said it applied to me.

OliverYou said it after applying it to everyone else.

A server passed with six pints held above her head. Someone backed into her. A measure of England’s hopes landed on Oliver’s sleeve.

OliverThere. Reality.

SydWet enough to be trusted.

OliverYou think these people have lost touch with it?

SydI think they may be too realistic.

OliverA room shouting at a television is your evidence?

SydPeople used to worry that fantasy would draw us away from reality. Now reality never leaves us alone. Every flood, election, firing, war, trial, market drop, public mistake, and private humiliation arrives before the last one has found a place to sit.

OliverMost of that is not reality. It is selection.

SydSelected reality counts.

OliverThen the problem is not reality. It is scale.

SydToo many realities, all arriving as if they were equally ours.

OliverA war and a bad restaurant review in the same rectangle.

SydThe same vibration. The same red number in the corner.

OliverThe war remains real.

SydThe proportion does not. We have mistaken circulation for proportion.

OliverThat is better than “too realistic.”

SydIt means the same thing.

OliverIt means what you should have said.

Near the taps, a cluster of people shouted. Their television was ahead of the others. Syd turned toward them just as England shot on the screen above his own table.

The bar erupted.

OliverGoal!

Beer lifted from plastic cups. Two strangers seized each other. The man near the bar raised his phone and filmed his own face as he shouted.

Syd looked up at the replay.

SydI missed it.

OliverYou watched it happen to everyone else.

SydI saw the room see it.

OliverThat is not the same.

SydIt may be part of the match now.

The scorer’s name appeared on the screen. Syd reached for his phone.

OliverIt is written above your head.

SydI want to see what people are saying.

OliverThe ball has been in the net for nine seconds.

SydLong enough for blame.

OliverLong enough for you to leave the room without moving.

SydYou will be caught in the thoughts of the things you see.

OliverYou are already caught in thoughts about what other people saw.

SydAn event does not finish when it happens.

OliverThe event finishes. We are the unfinished part.

The replay ran again. On the third showing, half the room looked down at smaller versions of the same goal.

At halftime, the grass vanished from every television.

Commercial breaks began together. A betting company offered new odds. A beer company showed a cleaner sports bar where nobody spilled anything. A phone company promised distance without separation. A delivery service treated hunger as a five-alarm emergency.

The room had permission to look away from the match, so nearly everyone looked at a phone.

The Belgian supporter’s screen lit with the face of a little girl in a red shirt. He held the phone toward the room. Two England supporters made theatrical thumbs-down signs. The girl laughed and waved. They waved back.

OliverThere.

SydYour case.

OliverI was not making one.

SydYou always are.

OliverSomeone who cannot be here.

SydSomeone who is here now.

OliverCareful. You are about to admit the thing works.

SydI can admit evidence.

OliverWith supervision.

Syd opened the notes on his phone. Oliver leaned across the table.

OliverWhat did you write?

SydInfinite content. Infinite complaint. Every event grows a cloud of predictions, suspicions, jokes, symbols, warnings, and consequences.

OliverBetter. You stopped trying to make “penumbra” carry the whole argument.

SydA shadow is not right.

OliverThe child on that phone was not a shadow.

SydNo.

OliverThe witness who uploads a video is not a shadow.

SydNo.

OliverThe person asking for help is not a shadow.

The advertisement changed. Brown floodwater stood at the window line of a house. A number appeared beneath it.

Oliver took out his phone, tapped twice, and set it down.

SydDid that settle it?

OliverIt answered this one.

SydHow do you choose which one?

OliverBadly.

SydThat is my point.

OliverNo. Your point is that a demand becomes unfair when you cannot answer all of it.

SydThe screen asks for a feeling but cannot tell you where the feeling should go. Then the next thing arrives before the first feeling has become anything.

OliverIt gave me a number.

SydYou know what I mean.

OliverI do. The person in the water may prefer my bad proportion to your good boundaries.

SydThat is fair.

OliverYou dislike saying that.

SydI dislike how often you earn it.

The second half began before the advertisements had fully left the televisions. For several minutes, neither man spoke.

Belgium equalized.

The supporter in red rose so quickly that his stool fell backward. An England fan caught his pint before it followed. The Belgian supporter shouted, apologized, then showed the little girl his view of the room. She was celebrating several seconds behind everyone else.

Oliver watched the pitch. Syd checked his phone.

OliverWhat now?

SydReactions.

OliverYou saw the goal.

SydI saw the ball go in.

OliverThat was the event.

SydNot the whole match.

OliverThe event is complete. Our understanding is not.

SydYou used to say I made truth too local.

OliverYou did.

SydLocal is the point. None of this is. Every response arrives at once, from nowhere in particular, and tells you it belongs in your head.

OliverThen put the phone down.

SydThat is not an argument.

OliverIt is an experiment.

Syd placed the phone face down. Oliver’s vibrated against the table.

SydYours.

OliverI know.

SydWork?

OliverNo.

SydThen what?

OliverSomeone I owe an answer.

SydAnswer them.

OliverI do not know the answer.

SydSo you check everything else.

OliverApparently.

Belgium attacked again. The crowd tightened, shouted, and relaxed when the shot passed the post. Oliver looked at his covered phone.

OliverI do not go online only to know things. I go to escape the person who is doing the knowing.

SydAnd does it work?

OliverFor a minute.

SydThen?

OliverThen I find him there too.

SydI am sorry.

OliverWere you?

SydNot at first.

Oliver nodded. The crowd began another chant. The man near the bar filmed it, checked the recording, and missed the end.

SydI am sorry.

OliverI know.

The final ten minutes arrived with the score level. Every attack seemed conclusive until it was not. Sponsor logos changed in the corners of the televisions. Live odds moved beneath the score.

Syd’s phone lit on the table. A headline filled the screen. He read the first few words.

OliverLeave it.

SydIt may be important.

OliverThe ball is in the box.

Syd turned the phone over.

England crossed. The first shot was blocked. The rebound fell to another white shirt. A Belgian defender cleared the second shot from the line.

The room became noise, elbows, breath, glass, flags, and open mouths. Beer ran down Syd’s cuff.

SydI saw that.

OliverAll of it?

SydEnough.

The final whistle sounded with the match level.

For one breath, the bar was only a room again. Then the explanations began. Phones rose. Clips arrived. Tables became studios. Every missed chance started a second life.

The broadcast cut to a panel beneath a sponsor’s logo. Behind the commentators, the equalizer began again from another angle.

SydStay for the analysis?

OliverNo.

SydYou said our understanding was unfinished.

OliverIt can remain unfinished tonight.

SydStilling your mind, or filling your mind.

OliverNeither.

SydWhat, then?

OliverMoving on from the thing that just ended.

They left. Behind them, the equalizer began again from a fourth angle.