USA, Beckley WV

There is after all a subtle yet pivotal difference between joking, half joking, exaggerating and telling the truth.

My guide to Beckley, West Virginia introduced himself as “Porker.” As might be imagined from his self-styled moniker, Porker could not see his toes without the aid of a mirror. After a week with Porker I no longer noticed this girth, though its profound nature had in no way diminished. When I looked at him I saw something so disturbing that my sleep was haunted with nightmares the likes of which Poe could never have imagined. These dreams would not end with the rising of the sun but only grew lighter and filled with unwelcome detail. My time in Beckley split between the murky imagery and horrid uncertainty of night, and the crisp, terrifying light of day where nothing could hide and every detail thrust itself into my consciousness.

It is, of course, possible that my torment was the result of a simple misunderstanding, or a joke left to fester without the punch line. If this was the case Porker showed no interest rectifying this state of affairs nor did he make efforts to end my suffering. Instead he gleefully watched as I lived and breathed the dreaded images burned into my brain where even blindness could not have saved me.

“You know what they say about these parts is true?”

If only I had answered this question differently, then I might have walked through one more anonymous town without incident or regard. What was I to say though? I suppose I might have replied “Yes I know,” and then just hoped to leave the conversation at that. It was my naiveté, my honesty, my ignorance that drew me to my stygian torment. I was led by a bloated devil offering a plastic peal of knowledge. I replied, “No, what do they say?” And I sealed my fate. Never again would I find comfort in the warmth of the sun, the security of an embrace, or the innocence of dreamless sleep.

Looping his soft hairy arm around my shoulder Porker pulled me tight and replied, “We all do it. I’ve had my brothers and sisters.” Porker let a lewd grin draw across his face before he continued on, “We should get back to work.”

Was Porker joking, half joking, exaggerating or telling the truth? I could have happily continued on with this uncertainty. Without knowing the answer I could have just assumed the truth to be whatever felt convenient and comfortable. Ignorance can be a soothing thing when knowledge tears at you with claws that never let go.

Now I am prepared to extend a luxury I was never offered. Live happy and read no further, or read on, drawn by the curiosity of a fool straight into the abysses and be happy never more.

Porker has no sisters.