Here, in place of the Doc one final time, I find I can no longer manage plurality — being in company — or even, for that matter, being. I carry on, naturally — what would I do except that? — but with nothing left to it other than to be alone. Alone and, well, virtual. Look, I’m not even here.
A terrible condition to be in, no doubt about it; that of unmitigated individuality, egocentric monomania, with only ever room for one. Bereft of the capacity for dialogue, for that vibration in the air between two (or more) people. No place here for community. No place for liking or loyalty or love.
How do we build anything, without each other? How am I meant to go on without you? You were my collaborator, my navigator, my colleague, my partner in crime. You were the love of my life. Without you, I became nothing.
It would appear I can go on, after all.
Hearing my empty voice echo around our recently-vacated hall, it might occur to you that I’m talking only to the brickwork, the floor, the air. You’re right, I am. What could I do differently? Where once you were, you are no more. What we were together turned into only you and me. We fragment; we all fragment like that. The gap can only get greater, the connection weaker, more forlorn, more lonely. The dwindling contact ever more faint.
Hello? Are you there?
No. When we come down to it, in the final reckoning, no-one will pick up the phone. It can all only end one way.
And maybe, too little, too late, unheard in the crackling fadeout: a goodbye.
Goodbye, cruel world.