I was so tired of talking. By the end of the day, the story got much shorter. The ending changed every 12 minutes, so really, why bother. And every ending gave new color to the story - and so I just gave myself to the idea that history is fluid, and as much as we like things to be permanent and fixed, it's all just motion, and until perspective comes and sets it into a mold, well, it's just information.
By 11pm, I was standing at the place where the atom got split. The sculpture marking the former site of Fermi Lab, below where the U of C football field was. Whenever I think of Fermi Lab, I always imagine what if there had been a major atomic reaction during a game. I imagine a massive explosion on 30th yard line, players and cheerleaders being vaulted into the air and landing on the laps of parents of the away team, of helmets and cleated shoes flying, perhaps breaking through the big bass drum of the marching band. If it was an atomic explosion in a teen gross out movie, that would happen for sure, or else a severed hand would land in the tuba.
The sculpture marking the atom split, it looks like a skull, a phi, the innards of a door lock. Little marks slicing out like sun rays, on the ground. As a sculpture, it makes a lot of sense. As a sculpture, it is easy. I said to Miles " I want to make things like this, but I know I do not have the patience or the tenacity. See all the etched marks on this side. I wouldn't have made it that far. I'm just not that kind of person." I just cannot imagine ever having that kind of time. That kind of time only xists for the jailed, the extremely poor and the extremely rich, I believe.
We were thirsty, so we bailed from the contemplative spot.
Miles smoked, I spit, we barely spoke - only of simple things.
I said: "Look at that."
He said: "Look at this."