He has been given the assignment to write down, on a pile of one hundred notecards, moments of joy he has experienced over the course of his life. To complete the assignment he must come up with one moment of joy per notecard, totalling one hundred moments of joy. What an irritating project. He is much more inter/ested in problems than in moments of joy. Problems are absorbing — he can lose himself in problems for hours, days, without once getting bored. Moments of joy, outside their contexts, are impenetrable to him. But, having received the assignment from a trusted friend, he resolves, grimly, to complete it. [single chuckle] He puts his moments of joy into categories: food, jokes, sex, reading, the outdoors. Making music is a category. Discovering music is another. He tries to avoid redundancy. For example, he only includes eight moments of joy from the sex category — obviously, there could be more. In the reading category he includes only three moments of joy, out of potentially thousands. His largest category turns out to be the category called friend love. There are seventeen moments of joy in this category, involving sixteen different friends, most of the friends repeating. Since several of his friends in this category have also been lovers, the categories of joy begin to blur. His second largest category is discovering music, which contains fifteen moments of joy. Third is a tie between performing and the outdoors. Fourth is a tie between sex and composing. His fifth largest category is food. Sex and the outdoors are categories which overlap — he's starting to find this assignment pretty interesting. Food and friends overlap of course, as do performing and friends, discovering music and friends. He can't resist texting one of his friends who is in more than a quarter of the memories. This particular friend shows up in every category: sex, performing, food, reading, the outdoors, discovering music. The text his friend sends back is gloomy. His friend has just escaped from a frustrating conversation, details unspecified, with a long-term partner. He attempts to engage his friend in a more enjoyable conversation.

we're sitting outside on a short stone wall by some stairs down to the practice rooms across the street from the performing arts center, (what kind of performing arts?) which is fenced off by some posts about three feet high with a slack chain between them, (when is this taking place?) barely a fence really, (why didn't they build a real fence?) its purpose must be to prevent undergraduates from riding their bikes off of the sidewalk and onto the grass (why undergraduates in particular?) (so is this a place where grass grows naturally?) it's a beautiful Spring day almost Summer (so is this before global warming?) I don't think Bill Clinton is even president yet (president of what?) our friend is eating ice cream from a large paper cup (isn't that wasteful?) he's had a job offer, he tells me (is this a topic you discuss frequently?) he's a computer engineering student but that's not how I know him (do you know a lot of computer engineering students?) I know him because he plays the piano magnificently (is that really true or do you just not know very many piano players?) he's a few years older than me (how many years do you consider “a few”?) when I was younger I wanted to play like him (did you have a lot of role models as a kid?) now I'm twenty, twenty one, something like that (don't you know how old you are?) and I want to play like Thelonius Monk (well is that ever really going to happen though?) our friend has had a job offer, he tells me, (didn't you already say that?) just for the summer, to go to work for a company I will not name, (are you being deliberately mysterious?) (do you want us to guess the name of the company?) it's the recession before the current recession (how do you count recessions?) nobody has job offers (are you including people who got jobs through friends or relatives?) we all have money problems, (are you primarily talking about people you know?) and this job pays well — that dates this story! — (what do you consider a well-paying job?) summer jobs paying well! (are you saying that's no longer possible?) a career building opportunity of the sort you shouldn't pass up when you're in college, (is this really your opinion?) (or are you quoting conventional wisdom?) and my friend seems troubled. (why does he seem troubled?) why does he seem troubled? (do you mind me asking?) well ([pause] do you need time to think about it?) he seems troubled because, (is this difficult for you to remember?) he says, in the world of engineering, (as opposed to what other world?) this is a wonderful job offer, (do you think that's true?) and I wouldn't be working on military stuff myself, (is “military” the key word?) this is him talking, (but it's your memory, right?) (do you think he might tell this story differently?) I wouldn't be working on military stuff myself (does his voice change at all when he says this?) I'd be debugging software (how can he be so confident?) but this company has huge military contracts, (is this common knowledge?) they're a huge company, (do you want us to guess the name of the company?) all their work has military applications (are we supposed to know what that means?) I'd be there for two months (is that a long time or a short time?) I wouldn't be working on military stuff myself (do you think he's protesting too much?) I just don't know if I want to work for this company (is this the crux of the problem?) it's only for the summer (is that so bad?) it's an important opportunity (why would he pass that up?) also there's the money (money's important, right?) I should probably go (didn't you say none of your friends have jobs?) (do you think that says something about you?) and I'm wondering, ([beat] wondering what?) do college students even have conversations like this any more? (well have you tried asking them?) I mean, turning down a job because you don't agree with the employer's morals (is that what's actually happening though?) that just seems like privilege now (oh boy) (are we really going to go here?) like everything that doesn't suck seems like privilege now (should people be shamed for their privilege?) (can you phrase that in a less loaded way?) like a lot of things that do suck seem like privilege now (how can it be privilege if no-one wants it?) (should we be having this conversation, given our own demographics?) (well who would benefit from us not having it?) (is there some way to open this up to a wider variety of people?) we're sitting outside on a short stone wall by some stairs down to the practice rooms across the street from the performing arts center, fenced off by some posts about three feet high with a slack chain between them, barely a fence really (is this the same story or has it changed?) it's a beautiful Spring day almost summer (do stories have cyclical rhythms, like seasons?) (is that a cynical or a hopeful metaphor?) I should go, says my friend. I should do it. It's not such a compromise, it's only two months. (but it's not just two months is it?) (how does time change functions in this story?) And I say You know what? Don't go. Stay here. (are those the exact words you used?) And he says thank you! I've been trying to find someone to tell me that! Everyone else has told me I should go! (how did you feel when he said that?) And he doesn't go. It's a beautiful summer. I'm twenty, twenty one, something like that. (what does the author's use of the present tense indicate?) we eat a lot of ice cream from large paper cups (does anyone else feel like the paper cups are important or is it just me?) and we ask the question: Why was I the only one who said don't go? He had other friends. (how does the word friend change functions in this story?) Why was I the only one who said don't go? Fast forward one quarter century, I wonder what has become of this friend I google him (does anyone still know what that means) turns out he's been programming for Linux (does anyone still know what that means) and he plays keyboards in a band led by a successful songwriter

He spends Christmas Eve with some married friends. He plays their piano and the family sings along. He's a big hit. They want him to come back next year. It's about eleven p.m. when he leaves their party. There's a guy he's been talking to online. They've made a plan to end up back at the apartment where he's staying. Let's call the guy Oscar. Oscar's been in the country for a few years. Most of his family's in Puerto Rico. The rest are in Atlanta. Oscar and his family are not on speaking terms, especially on Christmas — Oscar's sister being the sole exception. Oscar's working the reception desk at a hotel in Times Square. His shift ends at eleven p.m. Our friend would love to meet Oscar outside the hotel, perhaps holding a gift. There should be light snow falling. But it's almost seventy degrees outside, at eleven p.m., on Christmas Eve, in Times Square. The weather has made national headlines. Our friend is sending texts to Oscar, receiving none back. After each text he sends, our friend waits at least five minutes — he doesn't want his stream of texts to become oppressive. Our friend is tempted to walk to the hotel where Oscar works. It would be a twenty-five minute walk from Stuyvesant Town to the hotel. Our friend is tired. He doesn't know if showing up at the hotel where Oscar works would be creepy. He decides to walk to a subway by an indirect route. The indirect route will add time during which Oscar might text. He walks past several displays of lights. Ten minutes pass. Ten more minutes pass. Oscar is too nervous to text our friend. Oscar is at the end of a nine hour shift. Oscar's co-worker, who should be coming to replace Oscar, has called in. The co-worker's girlfriend has had an emergency. The co-worker won't be able to come in. Can Oscar please cover the shift for him? Oscar is too nervous to text our friend with this message. Oscar wants to make a good first impression when meeting our friend. Oscar is trying to find someone else to cover his co-worker's shift, at 11pm, on Christmas Eve. This is not going to happen. Oscar can't leave the hotel until his replacement arrives. His replacement isn't going to arrive. Oscar will be working at the hotel eight more hours. Oscar feels pathetic. Especially because his co-worker's story is a transparent lie. There's no emergency. The co-worker wants to spend Christmas Eve with his girlfriend. The co-worker, and probably his girlfriend too, are thinking: Oscar's single, he won't have Christmas Eve plans. Oscar will understand, this is a very special evening for us, we've hardly had any time together recently, Christmas is for families, bullshit bullshit all that bullshit couples say. Oscar's awesome, Oscar will be totally glad to do this for his coupled friend — what are single gay friends for? Oscar's checking another couple into the hotel. Why do we tell the story of Oscar? Well, Our friend finally receives a text from Oscar, explaining the situation. Oscar's text says nothing negative about his coworker. Our friend gets it. Does anyone here not get it? Oscar will work at the hotel for eight more hours. Oscar will then sleep in a room at the hotel from 7am to 3pm. Oscar will then clock in his Christmas shift at 3pm, and meet our friend at twelve a.m., December 26th, which is arguably still Christmas. A strange form of insect, not exactly a roach or bedbug, has been seen in the rooms of the hotel. This has never happened before. Both the size and the numbers of the insects are surprising. Customers complain of insect bites. Dealing with the insects is not Oscar's department. Oscar can only offer to refund the hotel patrons' money. Over the course of the next twenty four hours he refunds tens of thousands of dollars. The room in which Oscar sleeps is insect free. He removes his hotel uniform, changes back into the clothes he wore to work yesterday, and takes the subway to the neighborhood when our friend is staying.

we wanted to celebrate our friend's escape from an abusive marriage (a marriage many years before Oscar) (these stories, you may have noticed, are not in chronological order) we wanted to celebrate our friend's escape from being shamed for his sexuality being forbidden to leave his house being forced to give up his money being screamed at when he forgets to pay a bill being isolated from his friends the list goes on and yes, our friend did escape from that marriage thank god for divorce and then our friend entered into a new relationship so similar to that marriage, in so many ways, that we were forced to recognize the truth of what some therapists say: what many people seek in a partner is a chance to fix what went wrong with their last partner so we unwittingly seek out partners who provide us with the same problems our previous partners did again and again and again what we need to escape is not just the relationship but the relationship pattern but, of course, by the time the pattern manifests itself in your relationship, you've already been in the relationship for some time you've already invested in it and what you invest in an abusive relationship will rarely be returned to you intact if you invest kindness in the relationship the abusive partner will attack your kindness telling you your kindness is in fact a flaw, a deficit or telling you your kindness is a disguise for cruelty or meanness your kindness would normally be telling you to leave but now your kindness is telling you to stay, because if you stay, you will have opportunities to prove that you are kind and that your kindness is good you want the abuser to see your kindness in a positive light as it would normally be seen you want your kindness to prove you deserve to stay in the relationship you see, the abuser has weaponized your kindness against you if you are intelligent, the abuser will do the same with your intelligence if you are selfless, the abuser will do the same with your selflessness if you are moral same thing the abuser will weaponize your best qualities against you and if you escape this relationship, you will carry these qualities into your next relationship, still weaponized these qualities whose main purpose has become to keep you in the relationship you will be stronger, and better at fighting, but also tired from fighting tired from being strong tired from experiencing your best qualities as weapons in a fight with all of them on the wrong side you will feel correctly that you are damaged but you will be unable to locate where the damage is because what has been damaged is your ability to see what you, and your best qualities, should be fighting for

There are so many things that can go wrong with a car. His car, in particular. There's a rear light that flickers. A rear bumper that's come loose. The registration sticker expired recently. When he has time, he'll do something about that. Time, right. He doesn't care about nicks and scratches. He's been through a lot, why should his car be different? It's a warm night. He dropped his friend off at the uptown apartment. Usually they would take the subway. Why did they take the car tonight? He doesn't mind driving at night but there's no place to park. He's circling the blocks around his apartment. The circles get larger and larger, more aimless. A quick turn through a stop light, no other cars around, except for all the parked ones. Maybe there's a space down this street. Maybe there's free ice cream and a pony, too, who knows. Then the red and blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror. Oh god. So we have to say it now: If you've been assuming our friend is white, well... okay, don't beat yourself up about it, but you have to stop assuming it now. Right now, at the moment when the lights flash in the rearview mirror, in the neighborhood with all the parked cars, after midnight. Our friend has rehearsed for this moment, the moment happening right now. He goes through the checklist in his mind. Each item on the checklist helps him stay calm. Stopping the car, turning on the light in the car, taking his wallet out of his pocket, taking out his driver's license, placing it on the dashboard, rolling down the window, taking off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves, putting both his hands on the steering wheel, what else oh yes doing all this without looking rushed, looking in the mirror, where the officer walking toward his car is getting larger and larger. He got through the checklist in under fifteen seconds. And then the flashlight beam hit his eyes. “Whaddaya doing out here tonight?” “Just looking for a parking spot. Sir.” “Where you from?” “This is my neighborhood, sir. I live a few blocks away.” “If you live a few blocks away why are you parking here?” “There weren't any parking spots closer to my building, sir.” “Where's your license?” Checklist item number five sure did its job. “My license is right here on the dashboard, sir, would you like me to hand it to you?” “Let me see it. Where's your registration?” At which point, our friend realized he forgot to take his proof of registration out of the glove compartment. That was checklist item number — what, six? Doesn't matter now. Now a story unfolds in the space of ten seconds, each second different from the last. Our friend experienced these seconds in a kind of elongated time. We will tell you about each of the ten seconds. Second number one was a pause. During the pause, our friend felt his hands begin to tremble against the steering wheel. He heard voices in the future saying “His hands were trembling”. Trembling hands, that proves he was on something. What type of something? Any type of something. Doesn't matter now. Second number two. His voice spoke, mostly to drown out the voices in the future. “It's in the glove compartment.” He heard his voice shaking. Shaking voice. Proves he was on — same thing. Something. Second number three. His voice dug in deeper. “There's nothing else in there,” his voice said. Meaning the glove compartment. That was a lie. When was the last time he'd cleaned the glove compartment? There's all sorts of garbage in the glove compartment. The officer couldn't possibly believe our friend has an empty glove compartment. Nobody has an empty glove compartment. Now, if he were to open the glove compartment, the officer would see the garbage in the glove compartment and jump to conclusions. Second number four: another pause. It's a pause too long. The officer steps back from the car. “Get out of the car.” Our friend hears a click. The click was second number five. Our friend's hands tremble against the steering wheel. He can't get out of the car without opening the door. Which would mean reaching for the door handle. Which means the officer would lose sight of his hand, would see him reaching down for something. What type of something? Second number six. He has the idea that he could reach through the open window and open the door from the outside. But if he reaches through the window, the officer will think he's trying to grab the gun which is now pointed at him. “I'm going to open the car door,” his trembling voice and hands say. “Don't move!” shouts the officer. Second number seven. He freezes. His face and hands framed in the driver side window, the round beam of light. A wind blows up. The wind sweeps the back of his hands, the back of his neck, as if they were fields of spoiling crops. A stack of multicolored notecards on the passenger seat beside him lifts into the wind. It's as if the wind — this is second number eight — is coming from inside his car. The notecards blow out the car window, into the officer's face. The officer waves his arms against the sudden cloud, his fingers clench the gun, and it's second number nine: a hail of bullets launched into a swarm of notecards — the notecards slice at the officer's hand, the gun falls to the pavement. Concrete shards splay into the air, air and ground now joined. Darkness. A far off dog bark. A split second of rain. Second number ten ... has to be inferred. A lamppost drizzles dim light through mist. No one experiences it. The dog barks, just once again. Our friend is slumped in his driver's seat, chin on chest. The police officer is nowhere to be seen. When backup arrives, some minutes and some seconds later, they find the officer's gun on the ground, bulletholes in the car, our friend passed out in his car, unharmed. He seems to have fainted. Otherwise he seems fine. A raven, perched on the roof of our friend's car, flies off as the officers approach. They find our friend's license and registration displayed clearly on the dashboard. Next to him, on the passenger's seat, a pile of one hundred multicolored notecards, neatly stacked. The notecards describe moments of joy he has experienced in the course of his life.