The Saving Grace of Space
The space in between us and another person, us and ourselves, and us and life may look like ordinary air, but don’t ever treat it that way.
I never considered what the descent into madness looks like, but as they say, you know it when you see it.
The space that surrounded the madman and I was the size of small conference room, only it was well lit with natural light, thanks to a large window that faced the street. The space was an office. It was located on the first floor of a lovely brick building, on a quaint street that overlooked the water.
The sun was just starting to make its decent. Shadows from blossoming trees cast layers of light into the well-decorated room: a chestnut leather occasional chair sat catty-corner to a natural woven sofa; a large model boat perched in the window behind half-drawn shades; photos and memorabilia hung on the wall.
Photos and memorabilia. That was the first sign that all was not okay with this man.
On two of the four walls, with barely an inch between them, was not one, not two, not eight diplomas; more like ten. Admittedly, this man had earned a few degrees in his life, and it’s certainly not uncommon for people to frame the paper that recognizes their academic…
