So this was "The Grief of Rumi."
I'll do a sequel in a second.
But I really wanted to read to you a little bit.
We were talking about in the class
that I visited earlier today-- we
were talking about writing in different genres
and writing in fiction or writing in poetry.
And I don't even know, kind of, that stupid difference.
So this is just a book that I wrote called
The Disappearance of Seth.
And it's about this guy named Seth who disappears.
So anyhow, I'll just read this short little--
it moves, it skips back, it's how
it tries to tell the story of--
it tries to tell the story of New York
City after September 11 but before the war in Iraq starts.
And it tells it through these seven characters,
including Seth.
And it tells it in bits and pieces
and continues to move backward through time.
So this is from page 94 of the book.
But it's a scene that happens before the action in the book
ever even starts.
And so it's not only a flashback but it's a deep flashback.
So I'll just read it to you.
Whatever.
It's an excit-- it's a cliff-hanging ending anyway.
So you must forgive me for that, but you will just
have to buy the book to read and figure out what happened.
"In the dark, Seth moves faster.
He loves not to be seen.
Always with Zel, he would turn out the lights.
She would want them on, want to watch him, look at him.
But he was always turning out the lights.
In the dark, he would pretend to be an animal.
He would growl and run his teeth up and down her arms and legs.
He had thought about calling her after
but couldn't think of a single thing to say.
The green tree is dark black in the night.
The leaves, smokey and dry, curling up to scatter.
It had been nearly a month that he hadn't called her.
Passing the subway station on his way
to a friend's place he was staying at,
he suddenly caught sight of the poster.
He had planned to call her immediately,
the day after, the morning after, but was too angry.
He had nothing to say.
The poster read "Have you seen Seth?
22 years old.
5'7".
120 pounds.
Caucasian.
Long, brown hair.
Worked at Windows on the World as line cook, breakfast shift.
Please call."
No photograph of him, of course, because no one in New York
would have one of him.
No one would recognize him now anyhow.
His hair completely in dreadlocks, a full beard
on his chin.
So he was missing to someone.
He recognized the phone number at the bottom of the poster--
Zel.
All the silence disappearing into weeks,
into colder months--
the cinders floating in the air.
Seth crosses the street, walking quickly now,
feeling like a dead man suddenly negotiating
the broken sidewalk.
He hadn't been reborn, hadn't been heroic in any way.
He had missed the train.
And though there was a person in the place who cared about him,
he hadn't called.
Angrier, he noticed a group of young men sitting on a stoop,
circled in cigarette smoke.
"Hey!"
One of them yells at him as he gets closer.
Seth keeps walking.
"Hey, he's talking to you."
Seth is passing the men now, heat blossoming on his arms,
on his face.
One kid jumps down off the stoop and blocks his way.
"Hey, fucking raghead sand nigger."
"Fuck off," snarls Seth, shoving the boy aside with a stiff arm
as he tries to continue.
Seth, sick to his stomach, remembers the first time
he punched a boy in the face when he was 11 years old.
They were studying the Middle East in school
and Seth had brought a book from home with Hebrew
writing in it and a rough black canvas cover.
One of the other boys who had usually teased him
knocked the book from his hands and onto the floor.
At home, Seth's father had taught him
never to even place a book backwards on a table
or upside down on a shelf.
And that any book written any Hebrew script was sacred.
He picked up the book with trembling hands
and placed it carefully on his desk.
Then he turned around to face the bigger boy who
was still laughing at him.
"Let's see you how you like it," Seth
said fiercely and slammed the boy's face
with the heel of his open hands.
Then without looking, he ran from the classroom
down the hall into the bathroom where he sat down on the floor
and cried."