SERIES OF RATIONALITIES

Monthly Issue Contributor
Jul 25
9 min read

Updated: Jul 26

By: Gage Fauber

JULY 2025 ISSUE

Memoir Essay

Editor: Christian Pan

FLOWERS — <a href="https://www.vecteezy.com/free-photos/sky">Sky Stock photos by Vecteezy</a>

8 September

My uncle Jeff quoted something to me recently: “In doing what we ought, we deserve no praise, because it is our duty”.

He’s not sure who said it, originally, and I’m not quite sure why he felt the need to recite it to me. I responded with something that signaled shared satisfaction and approval, though, waiting for him to say more and maybe elaborate on why he felt it was important to recite this. But the conversation fizzled out, his words becoming ashes to the gaming session that awaited us.

It’s now a few weeks later, and I’m relaxing on an attractive Sunday evening. A movie is playing in the living room, the weather outside is sub-65 degrees, and I’m surrounded by loving friends.

At one point, while driving to the gym, I spoke with my uncle on the phone. I took this opportunity to ask what that quote meant to him. He said, “When you simply do what’s right, you don’t deserve any praise. All you did was what a reasonable person should do.”

In that case, I wondered, who determines what is “reasonable”? Does the right thing equal one's intentions? What if one's desires are another person´s fear? These are some of the things I’ve been struggling to grasp ever since he told me how he felt.

After some quick research online, I learned that the quote came from St. Augustine, as well as a man by the name of Joseph Addison, and that it appeared on the hit sitcom Silicon Valley. I think Jeff was drunk, or high (or maybe both), when he told me this quote. He’s someone who reeks of wisdom, as well as whiskey or weed, sometimes. It oozes from his pores, but on occasion leaks out spontaneously. I’ve underestimated him, at times blowing off his words, and leaving them to rest. Other instances, like this one, unbeknownst to him, I’ve given his thoughtful insights extensive care.

12 September

It’s Thursday, and uncomfortably hot outside. I’m sitting inside of Coffee Hound, a local coffee shop on the campus of Illinois State University . Their fall menu was introduced recently, and so I ordered a pumpkin spice latte while waiting for my friend Mik to get here.

It’s chilly inside Coffee Hound. This place is designed to attract the hipster crowd of the campus. It´s a pretty diverse group here today: one of the baristas is a sweet black man with glasses and an afro. He’s a welcoming face to all of the customers, and handles any spice thrown his way with grace. Next to him behind the counter is a white woman with bright colored hair, who I think is the lead barista in this joint, and another gal with a wolf-cut and some cool leg tattoos who keeps coming in and out of the back. People are walking in and out of the Hound, some grabbing their drinks before disappearing back onto campus, while others have locked this space down, claiming this cafe as their sanctuary for a few hours.

Mik finally came in, and sat down across from me. We talked for a while. We sipped our autumnal beverages as she told me stories about her old friends, former hookups, and someone she had to begrudgingly interact with on the way over here to meet me.

Those two hours happened spontaneously. I never planned to get coffee, or sit down. I texted Mik on a whim, incorrectly believing she’d be busy. I’ve come to realize that the things we do on a whim can be beneficial. I often forget that supportive people are all around me. People are full of love if you give them the opportunity to love you; something else I’m learning.

26 September

It’s now been over a month since Jeff recited that quote to me. I’m on the train heading back to Chicago for the weekend, and I can’t help but think about his explanation, “When you simply do what’s right, you don’t deserve any praise. All you did was what a reasonable person should do.” Admittedly, my wits have been tested.

In two days it’ll be homecoming, my niece's birthday, and my cousin's funeral. A day for the celebration of life, as folks like to call it today. Campus will certainly be bustling with all of the tailgates, bars, parties, and friends igniting the town. My brother’s house will be fascinating: two families that know next to nothing about each other will be gathered to celebrate my two-year-old niece. I’m not too sure what will come of these two strange in-laws who will find themselves piled into the same environment; however, I expect pizza, booze, cake, laughter, and a smile on my niece's face to be the most likely outcome.

If you asked me about my cousin Nick’s life here's what I would say: he was a man that was loved by far more people than he was ever aware of, but who from a young age was set up for failure. He was healthy a few years ago. But the place where he spent his early years was unforgiving, a small town in the middle of nowhere Illinois called Saunemin where he and my other cousins grew up. As of 2022, the population of Saunemin was 405 people. The town has a gas station, a bank, a post office, one elementary school and a single bar. That’s it. The nearest grocery store is a 20 mile drive and if you’re lucky, a friend or two may come into town to visit, but like everything else, it´s limited.

Brian Reed, a journalist for Serial Productions, a podcast from the New York Times, hosted an award-winning series a while back called S-Town. The story focuses on a man named John B. McLemore in Woodstock, Alabama, a small rural town that has a few mysteries which Reed attempts to uncover. “S-Town” stands for “Shit Town”, and for good reason. By the end of the series, John commits suicide because of the weight of living in that town. Similar to Woodstock, Saunemin is another S-Town that swallows the lives of anyone who resides there. John and Nick are the results of shit-towns, two geographically different places, yet whose terrorizing outcomes are exactly the same.

I talked to Nick a few weeks before he overdosed. I told him I loved him and said my goodbyes. I’m content with his death, but I’m also kind of numb to it. I’ve lost too many people in my life to addiction, including my own father. Honestly, I didn’t feel the need to go to his funeral. I planned to stay on campus this weekend and party with my friends. Yet, I’m on a train to Chicago to visit my dead cousin–

All you did was what a reasonable person should do.

Stories tend to write themselves.

10 October

I woke up angry today because I woke up. I’ve found that the duties we ought to do can sometimes just be our daily agenda. My friend Hannah brought up this idea the other day. “Maybe simply existing is our duty,” she told me, “so even an average day is worth documenting and reflecting upon.”

I already went to class today, and later I will go to the gym and eat dinner. Tonight, I’ll take my medicine and fall asleep to an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. No substance to this day. Nothing really worth waking for. Hopefully tomorrow will be fruitful, though I’ll probably sabotage myself again when my eyes open.

11 October

If the point of my existence is to do the right thing, then why am I here? Do we live because we are afraid of death, or are we afraid of death because we know what it is like to live?

I live every day of my life going through various routines. I regularly wake up, then escape, then drink or eat, escape again, smoke, talk, escape some more. Escape, escape, escape. Why do I obsess with the escapable? My life is both satirical and illiterate, and I am both its playwright and its star in this endlessly repetitive show. And yet somehow, I cling to the belief that life can be a sober one.

I am listening to one of my professors talk about coffeehouses in the 1660’s. But why the fuck should I care? Why should anyone care what you’re saying to us, I want to shout. I keep waiting for some civil unrest to break through her mouth´s monotone delivery, but it never does. This class is its own little club, in this room with men and women and chairs and tables and laptops and phones and bottles and shirts and shoes and hats and chargers and mouths and noses and eyes and ears and faces and every molecule you could think of stored in here. So why do we all feel so empty so much of the time?

I try to create a world of love and laughter, but it becomes shattered. I could try to prevent it but I don´t. Your unmistaken smile cries out for tears of joy, yet anarchy rules you—

I’m the creator.

You only know what you hear about me: a lover and the King of Angels. Yet I will reign hell upon your incubus world when I am ready. Shrieks will guide your fear, maybe down the wrong path where I will swallow all of your joys whole and leave them to rot in the deepest depths of my pit.

Non-believer, anti-Christ, atheist are my real names. I can’t give my love to a puppet master who constantly fails us in our lives. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you? Fuck you!

Today I am The One who will lead you all for the rest of eternity. Love me, follow me, reside in me, and I will show you nirvana. Disobey me, and you will be sent to an eternal well with which you will have to drink shit water and eat rats for survival. This is not the only time I’ll speak of this. Follow me and I’ll speak of it for all eternity so you may never forget that I am a righteous man who will punish evil.

33 AD- My duty ought to have been to nail that long haired freak to that cross, to save the world from an eternity of misbelief.

29 October

I sometimes look at a blank screen in disgust.White is my least favorite color.

When you simply do what’s right, you don’t deserve any praise. All you did was what a reasonable person should do.

4 November

“All men are trash.”

“Did I hurt your man feelings?”

“You’re just a silly man.”

I thought it was some kind of misunderstanding the first time she made these types of remarks. The truth is evident now, though: she´s obsessed with hating men. Every shift, it´s the same thing. The same hatred.

I noticed how angry I got when I saw we were working the closing shift together again. She´s the type of human that weighs down on your back. She’s draining. Her words are that of a leech, because what am I supposed to say to a childish mind—any argument would spark a new justification for her. So whenever she makes a comment I, in a non-aggressive tone, say “yeah go fuck yourself.”

My professor asked us to write about our experiences with micro aggressions. I raised my hand, as I always do, ready to share what I wrote. Thrilled to prove that even a man, yes, a white man, can experience everyday slights. I felt alone in that room when I got done reading. Shunned to be a man with feelings. My professor thanked me for sharing, followed by, “But I agree with you, Gage. Men do suck.”

Silence. It wasn’t worth explaining to my male professor that I understand that there are bad men in the world, as well as bad women and bad nonbinary folks, too. It´s a conversation I don’t think most people are open to having, which is a shame.

Our discussion went on, and then a few minutes later a woman in our class made a comment. “Everyone experiences microaggressions,” she said, “women and..m..men.”

I noticed that little hesitation there. Ironic.

***

Her adult hands touched my boyish body. 18 and 13. I turn and look over my shoulder in disgust—

I’m a man, I should’ve liked it.

I’m a man, I should’ve liked it.

Afterwards, I don’t pat myself on the back.

I’m a man.

And I hated it.

Men die by suicide at a rate four times higher than women.

36,000 men every year.

Their duties are that of death.

It’s what they felt they “ought to do.”

No praise is necessary.

Just thousands of grievances.

Gage Fauber

Gage Fauber is a 21-year-old undergraduate student studying Creative Writing at Illinois State University. He is originally from Chicago, Illinois.

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