indigo

by Joseph Labriola

The man seemed normal enough. Middle-aged, middle-height. Sitting at the bar with a half-full beer on his right and a cracked-case iPhone on his left. But of course it was his book that caught my attention.

Even the bar was normal. Not overly casual or fancy in its patronage. Half capacity. A perfectly tenable Thursday evening.

But that man. I passed by with my friends on our way out. He wasn't a thought in my world before—and still isn’t in theirs. But he was at that moment—and he still is in mine.

And that book. Okay, it wasn't the book, so much as his relationship to it—if that makes sense. It was simply, precisely because probably no other book would have caught my attention. But this one. This one, of course, was special. This one, of course, was blank.

Just unmarked, creamy, perfectly pressed pages. No words, no letters, no wrinkles. Just a slight bend as he calmly flipped to the next one—just as blank. Not a thought. Just another page. Just blank.

But there he sat, as genuinely engaged as a scholar analyzing War and Peace. A theologian studying The Old Testament. Yet he was neither—just a very average-looking man. Reading—not just staring—at a blank book that stared just as blankly back at him.

He might as well be staring at the edge of the universe, I remember thinking, but still don't know why.

I swear, the book was blank. But I just can't stop thinking about it. And I just can't figure out why.

Photo of Joseph Labriola

BIO: Joe Labriola is a professor of writing at Stony Brook University in New York, where he is also the Environmental Club’s Faculty Advisor. His short fiction focuses on speculative themes or issues relating to nature and environmental topics. He is an avid beach cleaner and sustainability advocate, hosting regular cleanup events and lectures. You can most often find him scouring the beaches for trash, treasures, and his inspiration for his next story.