Goines On: Goines speaks to G

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Goines’ heart sped up the morning he realized that he knew almost as much about his creator as his creator knew about him! Goines, a character in his creator’s fictional portrait, on a par with his creator!…So why had Goines been content to let the author lay out Goines’ thoughts and doings without Goines ever raising his hand to speak out to him?
    Goines had learned recently that that author – why not just call him “G” for short? – had a sonnet published on Highland Park Poetry’s Facebook page. Goines even knew that G’s sonnet commented on a sonnet by Shakespeare. Furthermore, Goines knew that G felt proud of the recognition this publication accorded him, which made Goines wonder how serious G could be in criticizing Facebook. Wasn’t that a bit two-faced?
    Goines observed that even though G was no longer on Facebook, he had figured out how to access the Facebook page where the sonnet appeared. G could admire his poem, even if he couldn’t comment on it.
    Goines sensed that G was toying with the notion of asking his friends who were still on Facebook to go “like” his sonnet. When the editor emailed G about his sonnet’s being on Facebook, she had asked him to like her poetry page, assuming that he was “on” Facebook – wasn’t everybody? Goines felt funny being able to see that G wanted to oblige but was hesitant to ask people to go like her page in his stead. Hmm, thought Goines, was G now using Goines to ask them?
    That last thought put Goines in mind of the way God used people. There did seem to be something vaguely theological about the Goines/G relationship, but surely that was a fantasy. G was no god, even if he was Goines’ creator.
    “May I tell you something?” Goines had almost raised his hand before speaking. “In my own voice?”
    G didn’t respond immediately. He seemed to be stroking his chin, clearing his throat. At last, he said, Are you sure you HAVE your own voice and it won’t just be me speaking through you, the way Shakespeare spoke through Bottom, for example, in the lines ‘I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream past the wit of man to say what dream it was’?
    Goines felt uneasy about G’s reply – what was that about a vision, about dreaming? – but relieved to have been heard. “So...you like my idea that there might be something theological about our relationship….”
    Oh, I don’t know about that. But never mind, just get on with it. What do you want to tell me?
    “All right. Here it is. That sonnet you wrote about Shakespeare, I want to ask you something about it. In its last six lines, you say of Shakespeare:”

But he acknowledged his lover’s sad date
with mortality, foresaw the decline
that was theirs and all mankind’s final fate,
and penned eternal lines to serve as shrine:

They would stop his lover from turning gray,
so long as their words lived another day.

Goines paused a moment to let G savor the lines before continuing: “What I want to ask is, do you think Shakespeare really believed his own lines were ‘eternal’?”
    G narrowed his eyes. Who can know that for sure? But I don’t think he would have penned anything without believing he was achieving some portion of immortality by it.
    “A portion of immortality? So...not literally eternal, then?”
    I’m just trying to ‘live another day’ myself. Why do you think I created you, Goines? You’re sort of my stand-in Bottom.
     Goines made a harrumphing sound. “Well, if that was your motivation, I guess I should feel flattered.”
    Shakespeare, anyway, has lived for quite a few more days....
    “And you’ve just managed to link your name to his on Facebook....”
    Goines’ eyes widened at the way G’s face crinkled into a grin.

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