"Come to the table. It's time to eat."
"In a minute. In a minute."
"Not in a minute. Now. Come now. Come, sit."
"Wait, goddamn it. I want to finish what I'm doing."
"Alright already, so finish."
"Okay then."
"Okay, okay. No problem."
"So what's for dinner anyway?"
"So you're coming?"
"Yes, I'm coming. I'm coming."
"Right now?"
"Right now."
"Good."
"So?"
"So what?"
"What's for dinner?"
"Oh, right. For dinner is a nice pot roast. With potatoes and carrots and warm dinner rolls. Delicious and it will stick to your ribs."
"Sounds good."
"Sounds good? You know it's good."
"So let's eat."
"So sit already."
(sits down)
"Good. I'll bring your dinner."
"Before you do that, I want to ask you a question."
"A question? What's this now?"
"Sit down."
"I have to sit down?"
"Please. Sit down."
(sits) "So, what's all this? I have to sit down?"
"I need to ask you something."
"So ask already. The dinner will get cold waiting."
"Don't worry about the dinner. It will be fine."
"Who's worrying?"
"So listen to me. I need to know something."
"I'm all ears."
"What would you do if I was gone?"
"What? Why would you be gone. Murray, don't scare me like this!"
"It's a hypothetical, a what if..."
"What if? What if you give me a heart attack asking questions like that?"
"Now now. Don't overreact. It's just a question."
"What kind of question is this? Why do you ask me a question like this?"
"Trust me to know when I should ask a question!"
"What's going on, Murray? Is something wrong with you? Are you sick?"
"No no, I'm fine. I'm fine. I just want to know what you would do?"
"But why?"
"But answer me, would you please?"
"I wouldn't know what to do if you were gone."
"But if it happened, what would you do?"
"I don't know what I'd do. I'd grieve. Why, Murray, why are you asking me?"
"It's just that..."
"It's just what?"
"It's just that, nothing lasts forever."
"No."
"Nothing, no."
"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with you?"
"I'm sure, I'm sure, but who knows about tomorrow?"
"Let me tell you what I know. Dinner is ready and it's going to get cold. That's what I know. I don't know anything about tomorrow, except I bought some chops and fresh green beans and some nice fruit, I'll make a nice fruit salad. You'll be here?"
"I'm planning on it. It's just that you never know."
"No, you never do."
"No."
"So, what brought this on?"
"My hands."
"Your hands? What about your hands?"
"My hands don't work like they used to. They're stiff."
"Sure they are. All your life you worked hard with those hands." (takes his hand in hers)
"They're turning to stone."
"What?"
"To stone. They're turning to stone. I'm turning to stone. Gravity is pulling everything into the ground, and nothing can keep on standing for long. Nothing can stand. Everything grows old and then back into the ground it goes, and over time, well over time, it all turns to stone. You can go and look at the layers on that ridge outside of town. You can see the layer of limestone in between the layers of granite and basalt and sandstone. That layer of limestone, that's made of old bones, sea creatures they were, millions of years ago. And what are they now? Stone. Everything goes back into the ground. And my hands are getting so stiff, I can feel the calcium deposits in the joints. Calcium. That's stone, too. My bones are turning to stone. Oh, never mind, I don't know what I'm talking about sometimes. I just get to noticing how things are changing, and it makes me think, and well, I'm not going to live forever."
"No darling. You're not going to live forever. Neither am I. But we're alive now, right?"
"Right. You're right of course. I don't know what I was worrying about. Don't listen to me."
"I always listen to you. Don't be silly. I'll tell you what, I'll think about it."
"What?"
"I'll think about what I would do if you were gone."
"Well don't think too much. I wouldn't want you to get ideas."
"Ideas? What kind of ideas am I going to get, after all these years?"
"You know what? I like sitting here like this. We don't do this often enough. We should talk like this more often."
"It's been a while since we sat and held hands."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Short Story: When I Left The Party
When I left the party, it was half past ten, pitch black outside and raining. All I had to wear was a thin short jacket, so I turned the collar up and tucked my purse as far under my arm as I could, and I headed straight for the subway station a couple of blocks away. The lights from business signs and streetlights glared on the wet pavement and every step I took caused a splash of water to wash up around my feet.
Soon enough my shoes were soaking through. Even my ankles were getting wet from splashing water. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to walk around what appeared to be a continuous puddle that covered the entire sidewalk. The only variation was depth. What a change, I thought, from the recent heat wave we’d been having. I walked as quickly as I could while trying to avoid the splashing, but pretty soon there was no point. The water was soaking through my jacket and through my shirt, so that my upper back felt chilled and wet through. My hair was dripping.
I was wondering if I should have stayed at the party. But I had come too far to go back. I was committed. I didn’t see him until it was too late, and he was tapping me on the shoulder.
"Excuse me. Can you tell me how to get to the subway station?" he said.
I jumped back and it took me a second to get hold of myself. He had caught me totally off guard. His blue eyes were clear and kind, his smile disarming. "Oh, yes, I ‘m going there myself."
"Oh, so can I just follow you?"
"Would that be okay?" he asked.
"I guess so."
"I’m not from around these parts, and I got disoriented. I was at this party on Riverside."
"On Riverside? I was at a party on Riverside."
"I was at Ellie’s birthday party. Were you there?"
"I was there. I can’t believe I didn’t see you. Let’s walk."
"Okay, yes. It’s wet out here." He chuckled and his face softened. "Nice weather we’re having."
"Well," I said, "it’s not the best. It’s this way." I led the way down Broadway. "It’s just a few blocks."
"So, are you a friend of Ellie’s?"
"Yes, we went to high school together."
"Oh really? I know her from work."
"Oh you guys work together?" I asked.
"Yes, at Childville."
"Childville? I never heard of that. What is that?"
"Childville is a foster care facility for special children. I’m a counselor there. So is Ellie. She plays with the children. She’s very special."
"Oh. So special children, what does that mean?"
"These children are autistic. They’re very special in their own ways."
"Oh wow. That sounds interesting. Oh here we are." We had arrived at the subway station, and we stopped together on the top step.
The light from the tunnel made the pavement shine where we stood. We started down the stairs and out of the downpour.
"I’ll have to figure this out," he said. "I don’t think this is the way I came. Can you tell me which way the train goes from here?" he asked.
"Well, basically it goes uptown or downtown, and you can connect from there."
"Well I guess I need to go downtown. I’m headed for Brooklyn."
"Oh really? Me too. Where in Brooklyn do you live?"
"I live in Park Slope. Where do you live, if I may ask?"
"I live in Carroll Gardens, on President Street and yes, you may ask," I said. There was something very charming about this Childville counselor with the bright blue eyes and the winning smile. I was glad we were going to be riding together part of the way.
"Do you mind if I ride with you on the subway?"
"Not at all. In fact, I’m glad we’re going the same way," I said.
We deposited our tokens in the turnstile and walked through onto the deserted platform. The northbound train roared into the station on the opposite side of the tracks.
After a moment, it disappeared into the tunnel headed uptown to the Bronx. A handful of people walked to the exit and disappeared, leaving the platform empty. The station was silent, a hollow sound with just a hint of a rumble fading into the distance.
As we stood together on the platform, I was at a loss for words, but acutely aware of how attractive I was finding this man. A realization was dawning in my mind, something unprecedented, something unique. I shook the water from my hair and brushed beads of water from my shoulders. My new friend chuckled.
It occurred to me there is just so much water you can absorb, and I thought maybe I was approaching that limit. My shoes felt soggy, and even in the heat of the subway I felt a chill.
The southbound train finally rumbled into the station, screeching its way around a curve in the tunnel. The doors clanked open and we got on. The train was nearly empty so we had our choice of seats. We sat down side by side. I noticed he carried a spiral bound notebook under his arm. Now he took it out and opened it.
He started to make notes on the page. I couldn’t help wondering what he was writing, but I tried to be discreet and mind my own business. He seemed lost in private thoughts.
After a few minutes, he looked up at me and smiled. "I was just making a few notes," he said, "about the party, the rain, meeting you."
"Are you a writer?" I asked.
"I write poetry, yes. I would have to say I am a writer."
"Really, that is really cool," I said. I was dying to hear something he’d written, but didn’t know how to ask. The moments passed and the subway rumbled. Our elbows rubbed against each other.
"Yesterday when it was summertime out, I wrote a little poem. Would you like to hear it?" he asked.
"Yes, by all means. I’d love to," I said.
He turned a few pages in his book, and then he read,
"I took a walk and ate the sun.
The peach man sold a ripe one.
God it was hot."
"Wow, that’s great," I said. "I really do like that."
"Okay, I will dedicate it to you. What’s your name?" he asked.
"Renee," I said.
"I’m pleased to meet you, Renee," he said. Then he wrote "For Renee" on the page.
He tore it out of his book, folded it and handed it to me.
"You know," he said, "I left the party early because I wasn’t having much fun there. I felt out of place. But now I have to admit something good came from that party after all. I guess I’m trying to say I’m glad to have met you."
"Thank you," I said. "I feel the same way. At first when you walked up to me, I was a little scared. But now I’m glad I left when I did."
"Maybe, dare I say it’s fate?" he said.
He laughed a little nervously.
"Maybe," I said.
"When do you get off?" he asked. "I think you’re first. Am I right?"
"I get off at Carroll Street, before you get to Park Slope."
"May I walk you home?" he asked.
I agreed immediately, and I was wondering at how glad I was that he had offered to prolong our time together. We walked out of the subway together. It was still raining outside. I could feel myself bracing against the chill night air. I was still soaking wet. He put his arm around my shoulder, and it felt good.
A drunk came out of the darkness swaying heavily from side to side and stumbling toward us. His jacket was torn and dirty and his hat was smashed on his head like it was an outgrowth of his matted hair. His pants were stained and torn at the bottoms. His shoes were laceless workboots, hanging open at the tops. As soon as he saw us, he started to reach into his pocket for something. We both instinctively backed away, but he lurched into us as if propelled from behind. I saw the knife in his hand flash in the streetlight.
An instant later I saw it disappear into my new friend’s stomach. For some reason, the first thought that flashed into my mind was that I didn’t know his name. How could I have forgotten to ask his name? The drunk pushed. He fell back onto his knees beside me. Then the drunk reached out and grabbed my purse. I let go of it, trying to give it to him so I could get away from him. I could smell his rancid breath on my face and his shoulder leaned against me as he pulled the purse off my shoulder.
As soon as he had the purse, he stumbled away and disappeared. I got to my knees.
"I won’t leave you," I said. He looked up at me and I could see the color had gone out of his face. He tried to speak but no words came out. He looked down at his hands, and we both saw the blood pooling there on his shirt. "The guy got my cell phone," I said. "We have to call 911." He nodded in the direction of his own jacket pocket and I reached into his pocket and found his cell phone.
While we waited for the paramedics, I helped him get down into a seated position against the subway entrance. The rain just kept coming down and we sat together in a puddle. He leaned against me, and I tried to hold him up as best I could. "What’s your name?" I asked. He didn’t answer, but one of his hands reached out to find mine and he held on. It took an eternity before the medics arrived. As they laid him on a stretcher, he leaned over in my direction. "Rand," he said. I reached over and touched his shoulder.
I climbed into the front seat of the ambulance and told the driver my story on the way to the hospital. "He’s going to be okay I think," he told me. "He’s lost some blood and he’s in shock, but it looks like a shallow wound. Pretty worried for somebody you just met, huh?" "Yeah," I said. I felt a growing awareness that something had changed in my life, a corner had been turned and there was a new chapter starting. This stranger in the back of the ambulance was more important to me than anyone else in my life.
At the hospital, I had to stand in the hallway while he was in emergency, so I made a report of the robbery to a police officer who was on duty there. Apparently, they get a lot of crime reports in the emergency room. He seemed to take it all in stride. I’d been there about an hour when the officer found me again. They had found a purse and wallet lying in a trashcan just a block away from the subway station where we were attacked. The officer presented me with a plastic sack full of soaking wet things.
My wallet and all my cards were still there, as was my checkbook. Only the cash was gone. I confirmed it was my stuff, and the officer told me it was typical for this type of crime. "He should have just asked me for some money," I said. "Would you have given it to him?" the officer asked. "Yes," I said. "I would have. Not all of my money, but I would have given him some cash." "Guess he didn’t know that," the officer said. I thought about that and about all the times I had walked those streets alone.
The doctor came out to talk to me. "Are you related to Mr. Roberts?" "I’m a friend," I said. "Well he’s lucky you were there with him. He lost a lot of blood. But he’ll make a full recovery. He just needs to rest. We’ll keep him here at least overnight. You can see him now." "Thank you" was all I could think of to say. He nodded and walked away. I went into the room where Rand was laying quietly, tubes extending from his arm. His color was a lot better than the last time I had seen him.
"Hey," I said.
"Hi. You didn’t leave."
"I told you I wouldn’t leave you," I said. "So, how do you feel?" I asked.
"A little weak," he answered.
"Understandable," I said. "You just took a hit, as they say."
"I’m sorry I wasn’t much help," he said. "He got your purse, didn’t he?"
"Yeah. He got my purse. Look, I’m just sorry you got hurt. That guy came at us so fast, there was nothing you could have done."
"No I guess not."
"I didn’t know what to do."
"I know."
"I’m really glad you had a cell phone."
"Yeah."
"Thank you for staying with me and calling for help," he said.
"You’re totally welcome. Are you kidding? Of course."
"Guess I’ll walk you home another time."
"Yeah. Is that a promise?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
He got quiet then and closed his eyes, so I sat down in the room. Sleep overtook me like a tidal wave the instant I sat down. I dreamed about swinging in the park as a little kid, and it felt like I was flying. When I woke up, he was sleeping soundly. My watch said 2:00 a.m. The nurse came in to check on Rand.
Even though I didn’t ask her, the nurse brought me a warm blanket and a pillow. I realized she had it right: I wasn’t leaving. The thought of going home alone after what had just happened was too scary. I decided I’d wait until morning to face the world outside again. I laid the contents of my wallet out on the heating unit to dry and curled up in the chair. Some part of me was tied to this man now, this man I hardly knew yet knew so well. Ellie’s party seemed like a scene out of another life.
Soon enough my shoes were soaking through. Even my ankles were getting wet from splashing water. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to walk around what appeared to be a continuous puddle that covered the entire sidewalk. The only variation was depth. What a change, I thought, from the recent heat wave we’d been having. I walked as quickly as I could while trying to avoid the splashing, but pretty soon there was no point. The water was soaking through my jacket and through my shirt, so that my upper back felt chilled and wet through. My hair was dripping.
I was wondering if I should have stayed at the party. But I had come too far to go back. I was committed. I didn’t see him until it was too late, and he was tapping me on the shoulder.
"Excuse me. Can you tell me how to get to the subway station?" he said.
I jumped back and it took me a second to get hold of myself. He had caught me totally off guard. His blue eyes were clear and kind, his smile disarming. "Oh, yes, I ‘m going there myself."
"Oh, so can I just follow you?"
"Would that be okay?" he asked.
"I guess so."
"I’m not from around these parts, and I got disoriented. I was at this party on Riverside."
"On Riverside? I was at a party on Riverside."
"I was at Ellie’s birthday party. Were you there?"
"I was there. I can’t believe I didn’t see you. Let’s walk."
"Okay, yes. It’s wet out here." He chuckled and his face softened. "Nice weather we’re having."
"Well," I said, "it’s not the best. It’s this way." I led the way down Broadway. "It’s just a few blocks."
"So, are you a friend of Ellie’s?"
"Yes, we went to high school together."
"Oh really? I know her from work."
"Oh you guys work together?" I asked.
"Yes, at Childville."
"Childville? I never heard of that. What is that?"
"Childville is a foster care facility for special children. I’m a counselor there. So is Ellie. She plays with the children. She’s very special."
"Oh. So special children, what does that mean?"
"These children are autistic. They’re very special in their own ways."
"Oh wow. That sounds interesting. Oh here we are." We had arrived at the subway station, and we stopped together on the top step.
The light from the tunnel made the pavement shine where we stood. We started down the stairs and out of the downpour.
"I’ll have to figure this out," he said. "I don’t think this is the way I came. Can you tell me which way the train goes from here?" he asked.
"Well, basically it goes uptown or downtown, and you can connect from there."
"Well I guess I need to go downtown. I’m headed for Brooklyn."
"Oh really? Me too. Where in Brooklyn do you live?"
"I live in Park Slope. Where do you live, if I may ask?"
"I live in Carroll Gardens, on President Street and yes, you may ask," I said. There was something very charming about this Childville counselor with the bright blue eyes and the winning smile. I was glad we were going to be riding together part of the way.
"Do you mind if I ride with you on the subway?"
"Not at all. In fact, I’m glad we’re going the same way," I said.
We deposited our tokens in the turnstile and walked through onto the deserted platform. The northbound train roared into the station on the opposite side of the tracks.
After a moment, it disappeared into the tunnel headed uptown to the Bronx. A handful of people walked to the exit and disappeared, leaving the platform empty. The station was silent, a hollow sound with just a hint of a rumble fading into the distance.
As we stood together on the platform, I was at a loss for words, but acutely aware of how attractive I was finding this man. A realization was dawning in my mind, something unprecedented, something unique. I shook the water from my hair and brushed beads of water from my shoulders. My new friend chuckled.
It occurred to me there is just so much water you can absorb, and I thought maybe I was approaching that limit. My shoes felt soggy, and even in the heat of the subway I felt a chill.
The southbound train finally rumbled into the station, screeching its way around a curve in the tunnel. The doors clanked open and we got on. The train was nearly empty so we had our choice of seats. We sat down side by side. I noticed he carried a spiral bound notebook under his arm. Now he took it out and opened it.
He started to make notes on the page. I couldn’t help wondering what he was writing, but I tried to be discreet and mind my own business. He seemed lost in private thoughts.
After a few minutes, he looked up at me and smiled. "I was just making a few notes," he said, "about the party, the rain, meeting you."
"Are you a writer?" I asked.
"I write poetry, yes. I would have to say I am a writer."
"Really, that is really cool," I said. I was dying to hear something he’d written, but didn’t know how to ask. The moments passed and the subway rumbled. Our elbows rubbed against each other.
"Yesterday when it was summertime out, I wrote a little poem. Would you like to hear it?" he asked.
"Yes, by all means. I’d love to," I said.
He turned a few pages in his book, and then he read,
"I took a walk and ate the sun.
The peach man sold a ripe one.
God it was hot."
"Wow, that’s great," I said. "I really do like that."
"Okay, I will dedicate it to you. What’s your name?" he asked.
"Renee," I said.
"I’m pleased to meet you, Renee," he said. Then he wrote "For Renee" on the page.
He tore it out of his book, folded it and handed it to me.
"You know," he said, "I left the party early because I wasn’t having much fun there. I felt out of place. But now I have to admit something good came from that party after all. I guess I’m trying to say I’m glad to have met you."
"Thank you," I said. "I feel the same way. At first when you walked up to me, I was a little scared. But now I’m glad I left when I did."
"Maybe, dare I say it’s fate?" he said.
He laughed a little nervously.
"Maybe," I said.
"When do you get off?" he asked. "I think you’re first. Am I right?"
"I get off at Carroll Street, before you get to Park Slope."
"May I walk you home?" he asked.
I agreed immediately, and I was wondering at how glad I was that he had offered to prolong our time together. We walked out of the subway together. It was still raining outside. I could feel myself bracing against the chill night air. I was still soaking wet. He put his arm around my shoulder, and it felt good.
A drunk came out of the darkness swaying heavily from side to side and stumbling toward us. His jacket was torn and dirty and his hat was smashed on his head like it was an outgrowth of his matted hair. His pants were stained and torn at the bottoms. His shoes were laceless workboots, hanging open at the tops. As soon as he saw us, he started to reach into his pocket for something. We both instinctively backed away, but he lurched into us as if propelled from behind. I saw the knife in his hand flash in the streetlight.
An instant later I saw it disappear into my new friend’s stomach. For some reason, the first thought that flashed into my mind was that I didn’t know his name. How could I have forgotten to ask his name? The drunk pushed. He fell back onto his knees beside me. Then the drunk reached out and grabbed my purse. I let go of it, trying to give it to him so I could get away from him. I could smell his rancid breath on my face and his shoulder leaned against me as he pulled the purse off my shoulder.
As soon as he had the purse, he stumbled away and disappeared. I got to my knees.
"I won’t leave you," I said. He looked up at me and I could see the color had gone out of his face. He tried to speak but no words came out. He looked down at his hands, and we both saw the blood pooling there on his shirt. "The guy got my cell phone," I said. "We have to call 911." He nodded in the direction of his own jacket pocket and I reached into his pocket and found his cell phone.
While we waited for the paramedics, I helped him get down into a seated position against the subway entrance. The rain just kept coming down and we sat together in a puddle. He leaned against me, and I tried to hold him up as best I could. "What’s your name?" I asked. He didn’t answer, but one of his hands reached out to find mine and he held on. It took an eternity before the medics arrived. As they laid him on a stretcher, he leaned over in my direction. "Rand," he said. I reached over and touched his shoulder.
I climbed into the front seat of the ambulance and told the driver my story on the way to the hospital. "He’s going to be okay I think," he told me. "He’s lost some blood and he’s in shock, but it looks like a shallow wound. Pretty worried for somebody you just met, huh?" "Yeah," I said. I felt a growing awareness that something had changed in my life, a corner had been turned and there was a new chapter starting. This stranger in the back of the ambulance was more important to me than anyone else in my life.
At the hospital, I had to stand in the hallway while he was in emergency, so I made a report of the robbery to a police officer who was on duty there. Apparently, they get a lot of crime reports in the emergency room. He seemed to take it all in stride. I’d been there about an hour when the officer found me again. They had found a purse and wallet lying in a trashcan just a block away from the subway station where we were attacked. The officer presented me with a plastic sack full of soaking wet things.
My wallet and all my cards were still there, as was my checkbook. Only the cash was gone. I confirmed it was my stuff, and the officer told me it was typical for this type of crime. "He should have just asked me for some money," I said. "Would you have given it to him?" the officer asked. "Yes," I said. "I would have. Not all of my money, but I would have given him some cash." "Guess he didn’t know that," the officer said. I thought about that and about all the times I had walked those streets alone.
The doctor came out to talk to me. "Are you related to Mr. Roberts?" "I’m a friend," I said. "Well he’s lucky you were there with him. He lost a lot of blood. But he’ll make a full recovery. He just needs to rest. We’ll keep him here at least overnight. You can see him now." "Thank you" was all I could think of to say. He nodded and walked away. I went into the room where Rand was laying quietly, tubes extending from his arm. His color was a lot better than the last time I had seen him.
"Hey," I said.
"Hi. You didn’t leave."
"I told you I wouldn’t leave you," I said. "So, how do you feel?" I asked.
"A little weak," he answered.
"Understandable," I said. "You just took a hit, as they say."
"I’m sorry I wasn’t much help," he said. "He got your purse, didn’t he?"
"Yeah. He got my purse. Look, I’m just sorry you got hurt. That guy came at us so fast, there was nothing you could have done."
"No I guess not."
"I didn’t know what to do."
"I know."
"I’m really glad you had a cell phone."
"Yeah."
"Thank you for staying with me and calling for help," he said.
"You’re totally welcome. Are you kidding? Of course."
"Guess I’ll walk you home another time."
"Yeah. Is that a promise?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
He got quiet then and closed his eyes, so I sat down in the room. Sleep overtook me like a tidal wave the instant I sat down. I dreamed about swinging in the park as a little kid, and it felt like I was flying. When I woke up, he was sleeping soundly. My watch said 2:00 a.m. The nurse came in to check on Rand.
Even though I didn’t ask her, the nurse brought me a warm blanket and a pillow. I realized she had it right: I wasn’t leaving. The thought of going home alone after what had just happened was too scary. I decided I’d wait until morning to face the world outside again. I laid the contents of my wallet out on the heating unit to dry and curled up in the chair. Some part of me was tied to this man now, this man I hardly knew yet knew so well. Ellie’s party seemed like a scene out of another life.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Script: School Of Hard Knocks
SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS
By Roseanne Lasater
A woman gets into her car and closes the door. There is a young stranger in the back seat.
JAMES
Don’t scream
DONNA
What?
JAMES
Don’t scream. Just sit still and listen.
DONNA
What the…who are you? And why are you in my car?
JAMES
Be quiet and listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you.
DONNA
Hurt me? What? You need to get out of my car!
JAMES
Please don’t make me hurt you. I just want to talk to you.
DONNA
Talk to me?!
JAMES
Yeah, talk to you.
DONNA
You want to talk to me?
JAMES
Yes. Talk to you. That’s all.
DONNA
What do you mean, you’re not gonna hurt me? Do you have a weapon? Is this a robbery?
JAMES
No. I don’t want to rob you. No weapon. Nothing like that. Really. Like I said, I just want to talk to you. I’m not gonna hurt you.
DONNA
Then why did you say it?
JAMES
Look lady, you seem like a nice person. I just want to talk.
DONNA
What? Do you always make this much sense? Who the hell are you anyway? And why are you picking on me?
JAMES
Like I said, you seem like a nice person.
DONNA
Based on what? You don’t even know me. Do you?
JAMES
No. But I can tell.
DONNA
Well, you’re wrong.
JAMES
Lady jeez.
DONNA
Now just get out of my car!
JAMES
Look I don’t mean you any harm. I just want to talk.
DONNA
Oh for Christ’s sake.
JAMES
Please?
DONNA
Please. Is that the problem? I didn’t say please? Okay then. Please get out of my car!
JAMES
No.
DONNA
No.
JAMES
Right. No. I just need to talk. And like I said, you look like a nice person.
DONNA
Thank you I think. So what could possibly be on your mind that’s so urgent and important, that you would ambush somebody to listen to you?
JAMES
I just got back from Iraq.
DONNA
Oh?
JAMES
Yeah. Three weeks ago.
DONNA
Okay, so now you’ve got me curious. What happened? You got home and found out your girlfriend didn’t want you back?
JAMES
No, no, it’s nothing like that. Something happened over there, and I can’t talk to anybody about it, and I just have to talk about it. I need to talk about it. But if I don’t get it out, I think I’ll explode!
DONNA
And you don’t have a weapon?
JAMES
No.
DONNA
Okay. So you pick a complete stranger?
JAMES
It’s just a feeling I had about you. As soon as I saw you shopping in the mall, I had this feeling that you could help me. So I followed you out, and when you put your packages in the car and went back inside…you really should lock your car.
DONNA
Boy, you really are desperate.
JAMES
Yes…I am.
DONNA
So why didn’t you go to a chaplain or somebody like that? A counselor maybe? I mean, for Christ’s sake, this is a parking lot at a shopping mall. Come to think of it, why don’t you go to the VA? You need professional help. I’m just an old lady who shops at The Rack. Why me?
JAMES
I don’t know. I guess I’m too ashamed to talk to anybody who knows me. And I don’t know any professionals. I’ve never been to a counselor. And like I said, I had a good feeling about you.
DONNA
Okay, well just keep this good feeling friendly, okay?
JAMES
Don’t worry. Please, just listen to me, okay?
DONNA
Okay. Okay already. I’m listening. Shoot.
JAMES
Okay. Well, it started out we were just fooling around. Just having a little fun. We didn’t mean anybody any harm. But then it all went wrong, in the blink of an eye, it ended up bad. Really bad.
DONNA
Uh huh.
JAMES
Yeah, cause I was a helicopter pilot over there, see? I was part of the ordinance crew that outfits the choppers with armaments. Before they get deployed in the field. We have to make sure everything is in tip top shape and ready to go. So anyway, part of it is to take them out, the helicopters, you know? We had to take them out on a test flight before deployment. It’s really routine, you know. After a while, it got really dull. So we came up with ways to make it more interesting, and have a little fun.
DONNA
Yeah. I get the picture.
JAMES
Yeah. So anyway, we’d be flying out over the desert and there would almost always be refugees, you know, civilians on the roads…just poor people making their way into the city trying to get away from the fighting. They’d always be in groups, in families, with kids and old people, all together, and they’d have these carts of stuff, all their worldly possessions, all tied onto a cart, even furniture, all kinds of stuff. And they’d always be there, walking along like little caravans.
DONNA
Okay. Got it. So what did you do?
JAMES
So just for fun, we’d buzz ‘em. Do you know what that means?
DONNA
Yes, I think I do. But tell me anyway.
JAMES
We’d fly down, you know, real close to the road, just to scare them. I know, it was a sick form of entertainment. Really stupid. But we didn’t mean any harm, really. We were just bored, and we’d get a kick out of watching them duck and scatter and run off the road. They were like chickens in a barnyard when you walk out into them. They scattered like scared chickens, and we, well we would have a laugh about how funny they looked. And that’s all there was to it really.
DONNA
Just some boys having a little fun…with a helicopter.
JAMES
Yeah. And I swear, we were just playing.
DONNA
Right. And then?
JAMES
And then, this one time, there was this old man on the road. And when everybody else scattered and ran off the road, he just stood there. He never moved out of the way. He didn’t even try to get out of the way. He just turned around and looked up at us. He looked right at us. And I even made eye contact with him. And that’s when I knew he wasn’t going to duck.
DONNA
Oh my God.
JAMES
I tried to pull up, but it was too late. I was coming in too low. I tried to correct, and I almost made it, but the edge of the landing gear clipped him in the neck, and…and…and it took his head off. It decapitated him.
DONNA
Oh my God. That’s really horrible.
JAMES
Yeah, it was. It was horrible. And all those other people that were with him, they all came running back up onto the road, and they were screaming and waving their arms around. And there were little kids there, and their mothers trying to block them from seeing. We didn’t know what to do. There was nothing we could do.
DONNA
You already did enough.
JAMES
We just pulled up and went back to base. We didn’t report it, and for a while we were worried those people would turn us in. But they didn’t. We never heard anything about it. But now I can’t sleep. I have no appetite. And I have nightmares about it. I see his face, the way he looked right at me.
DONNA
Get in the front seat. I want to look at you.
JAMES
You do?
DONNA
Yes, I want to look to you. If I’m gonna talk to you about this, I need to see your face.
JAMES
Okay. (gets in front seat)
DONNA
This changed everything for you, didn’t it?
JAMES
Yeah.
DONNA
No more fun and games after that?
JAMES
No. No more fun and games.
DONNA
Look me in the eyes. I want to tell you something. And I want you to listen.
JAMES
Okay.
DONNA
God forgives you. Don’t shake your head. Just listen to me. I listened to you. Now it’s your turn…And I forgive you too, for what it’s worth. But here’s the thing. Can you forgive yourself?
JAMES
I don’t know. But I don’t think so.
DONNA
Look, when the big problems come along and everything’s a great big mess in life, I know something about this. One thing I’ve learned is there’s usually something we need to give up.
JAMES
Give up? I don’t understand.
DONNA
Yes…there’s something you need to give up. I’m not sure what it is. You’ll have to figure that out for yourself. But a lot of times it’s an idea we have, sometimes it’s a feeling, or maybe a judgment we’ve made about something, about ourselves or somebody else.
JAMES
Oh.
DONNA
So what could you give up?
JAMES
Well, I’ve already given up thinking I’m a good person. I’ve given up on myself.
DONNA
Ah, but can you give up on judging yourself? Look young man, life threw you a hard lesson. At times like this, you have to learn the lesson so you can move on. So tell me, what have you learned?
JAMES
I killed that old man. I never meant to, but I did.
DONNA
Yes, you did.
JAMES
How can I not judge myself? I did it.
DONNA
Yes you did. And what did you learn? What lesson did that old man teach you?
JAMES
Well, I was so sure he would duck. But he didn’t. So I guess one thing I learned is never to assume anything, especially about other people or what they’re gonna do. I guess he taught me to be more careful, and to look before I act. To think before I act.
DONNA
Then he taught you a lot.
JAMES
But how can I believe this was a lesson? A person died.
DONNA
Yes, that’s true. But all of life is a lesson one way or another. I’ve been here long enough to know that’s true.
JAMES
I don’t think God will forgive me.
DONNA
To forgive is to give something up. And don’t think you know what God will do. Don’t try to read God’s mind. It’s not your job to judge yourself, or anyone else. It’s your job to learn and to forgive. Can you do that? Can you forgive that old man for not ducking?
JAMES
Me? Forgive him?
DONNA
Yes. Forgive him.
JAMES
I just want to beg him to forgive me.
DONNA
Do you think he was a wise old man? I mean, when you looked into his eyes, what did you see?
JAMES
I saw an old man. He looked right at me. He was kind. He wasn’t angry…just surprised to see me.
DONNA
Like me?
JAMES
Yeah, like you. Yeah, I guess so.
DONNA
I feel like you’re expecting something from me that I might not have to give.
JAMES
You listened, and you didn’t throw me out.
DONNA
No I didn’t. Do you feel any better?
JAMES
I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah, maybe I do. What did you do to me?
DONNA
I didn’t do anything to you. I just listened. And I think I understood. I tried to understand. What else can one person do for someone else, besides listening and trying to understand?
JAMES
Yeah. I think you did too. Yeah…I was right about you.
DONNA
And you were lucky too. Lucky I didn’t have a handgun in my purse!
JAMES
Wow. How can I ever thank you?
DONNA
You don’t need to thank me, but you’re welcome. Do you really want to thank me?
JAMES
Yeah, I do.
DONNA
Okay. Then here’s what you need to do. First, you’re going to tell me your name and we’re going to be friends.
JAMES
James Gantry. Jamie. And you?
DONNA
Donna. Donna Solomon. So tell me Jamie, are you a civilian now?
JAMES
Not yet, but I will be pretty soon.
DONNA
Okay. When you are, you’re going to go back to Iraq.
JAMES
I am?
DONNA
And clean up your mess.
JAMES
But how do I do that?
DONNA
You tell me.
JAMES
But I don’t even know who they were!
DONNA
Okay, but what do you know?
JAMES
I could never find them, and even if I did, they’d probably want to kill me!
DONNA
If they knew it was you, they might. But they don’t know you either.
JAMES
But there are so many refugees. And they’ve all lost people in this war.
DONNA
Yes, I suppose they have.
JAMES
I could spend the rest of my life helping people over there, and I might never find them. I might never find the right ones.
DONNA
But who’s to say, really, who are the right ones? I mean, Jamie, could you live with that?
By Roseanne Lasater
A woman gets into her car and closes the door. There is a young stranger in the back seat.
JAMES
Don’t scream
DONNA
What?
JAMES
Don’t scream. Just sit still and listen.
DONNA
What the…who are you? And why are you in my car?
JAMES
Be quiet and listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you.
DONNA
Hurt me? What? You need to get out of my car!
JAMES
Please don’t make me hurt you. I just want to talk to you.
DONNA
Talk to me?!
JAMES
Yeah, talk to you.
DONNA
You want to talk to me?
JAMES
Yes. Talk to you. That’s all.
DONNA
What do you mean, you’re not gonna hurt me? Do you have a weapon? Is this a robbery?
JAMES
No. I don’t want to rob you. No weapon. Nothing like that. Really. Like I said, I just want to talk to you. I’m not gonna hurt you.
DONNA
Then why did you say it?
JAMES
Look lady, you seem like a nice person. I just want to talk.
DONNA
What? Do you always make this much sense? Who the hell are you anyway? And why are you picking on me?
JAMES
Like I said, you seem like a nice person.
DONNA
Based on what? You don’t even know me. Do you?
JAMES
No. But I can tell.
DONNA
Well, you’re wrong.
JAMES
Lady jeez.
DONNA
Now just get out of my car!
JAMES
Look I don’t mean you any harm. I just want to talk.
DONNA
Oh for Christ’s sake.
JAMES
Please?
DONNA
Please. Is that the problem? I didn’t say please? Okay then. Please get out of my car!
JAMES
No.
DONNA
No.
JAMES
Right. No. I just need to talk. And like I said, you look like a nice person.
DONNA
Thank you I think. So what could possibly be on your mind that’s so urgent and important, that you would ambush somebody to listen to you?
JAMES
I just got back from Iraq.
DONNA
Oh?
JAMES
Yeah. Three weeks ago.
DONNA
Okay, so now you’ve got me curious. What happened? You got home and found out your girlfriend didn’t want you back?
JAMES
No, no, it’s nothing like that. Something happened over there, and I can’t talk to anybody about it, and I just have to talk about it. I need to talk about it. But if I don’t get it out, I think I’ll explode!
DONNA
And you don’t have a weapon?
JAMES
No.
DONNA
Okay. So you pick a complete stranger?
JAMES
It’s just a feeling I had about you. As soon as I saw you shopping in the mall, I had this feeling that you could help me. So I followed you out, and when you put your packages in the car and went back inside…you really should lock your car.
DONNA
Boy, you really are desperate.
JAMES
Yes…I am.
DONNA
So why didn’t you go to a chaplain or somebody like that? A counselor maybe? I mean, for Christ’s sake, this is a parking lot at a shopping mall. Come to think of it, why don’t you go to the VA? You need professional help. I’m just an old lady who shops at The Rack. Why me?
JAMES
I don’t know. I guess I’m too ashamed to talk to anybody who knows me. And I don’t know any professionals. I’ve never been to a counselor. And like I said, I had a good feeling about you.
DONNA
Okay, well just keep this good feeling friendly, okay?
JAMES
Don’t worry. Please, just listen to me, okay?
DONNA
Okay. Okay already. I’m listening. Shoot.
JAMES
Okay. Well, it started out we were just fooling around. Just having a little fun. We didn’t mean anybody any harm. But then it all went wrong, in the blink of an eye, it ended up bad. Really bad.
DONNA
Uh huh.
JAMES
Yeah, cause I was a helicopter pilot over there, see? I was part of the ordinance crew that outfits the choppers with armaments. Before they get deployed in the field. We have to make sure everything is in tip top shape and ready to go. So anyway, part of it is to take them out, the helicopters, you know? We had to take them out on a test flight before deployment. It’s really routine, you know. After a while, it got really dull. So we came up with ways to make it more interesting, and have a little fun.
DONNA
Yeah. I get the picture.
JAMES
Yeah. So anyway, we’d be flying out over the desert and there would almost always be refugees, you know, civilians on the roads…just poor people making their way into the city trying to get away from the fighting. They’d always be in groups, in families, with kids and old people, all together, and they’d have these carts of stuff, all their worldly possessions, all tied onto a cart, even furniture, all kinds of stuff. And they’d always be there, walking along like little caravans.
DONNA
Okay. Got it. So what did you do?
JAMES
So just for fun, we’d buzz ‘em. Do you know what that means?
DONNA
Yes, I think I do. But tell me anyway.
JAMES
We’d fly down, you know, real close to the road, just to scare them. I know, it was a sick form of entertainment. Really stupid. But we didn’t mean any harm, really. We were just bored, and we’d get a kick out of watching them duck and scatter and run off the road. They were like chickens in a barnyard when you walk out into them. They scattered like scared chickens, and we, well we would have a laugh about how funny they looked. And that’s all there was to it really.
DONNA
Just some boys having a little fun…with a helicopter.
JAMES
Yeah. And I swear, we were just playing.
DONNA
Right. And then?
JAMES
And then, this one time, there was this old man on the road. And when everybody else scattered and ran off the road, he just stood there. He never moved out of the way. He didn’t even try to get out of the way. He just turned around and looked up at us. He looked right at us. And I even made eye contact with him. And that’s when I knew he wasn’t going to duck.
DONNA
Oh my God.
JAMES
I tried to pull up, but it was too late. I was coming in too low. I tried to correct, and I almost made it, but the edge of the landing gear clipped him in the neck, and…and…and it took his head off. It decapitated him.
DONNA
Oh my God. That’s really horrible.
JAMES
Yeah, it was. It was horrible. And all those other people that were with him, they all came running back up onto the road, and they were screaming and waving their arms around. And there were little kids there, and their mothers trying to block them from seeing. We didn’t know what to do. There was nothing we could do.
DONNA
You already did enough.
JAMES
We just pulled up and went back to base. We didn’t report it, and for a while we were worried those people would turn us in. But they didn’t. We never heard anything about it. But now I can’t sleep. I have no appetite. And I have nightmares about it. I see his face, the way he looked right at me.
DONNA
Get in the front seat. I want to look at you.
JAMES
You do?
DONNA
Yes, I want to look to you. If I’m gonna talk to you about this, I need to see your face.
JAMES
Okay. (gets in front seat)
DONNA
This changed everything for you, didn’t it?
JAMES
Yeah.
DONNA
No more fun and games after that?
JAMES
No. No more fun and games.
DONNA
Look me in the eyes. I want to tell you something. And I want you to listen.
JAMES
Okay.
DONNA
God forgives you. Don’t shake your head. Just listen to me. I listened to you. Now it’s your turn…And I forgive you too, for what it’s worth. But here’s the thing. Can you forgive yourself?
JAMES
I don’t know. But I don’t think so.
DONNA
Look, when the big problems come along and everything’s a great big mess in life, I know something about this. One thing I’ve learned is there’s usually something we need to give up.
JAMES
Give up? I don’t understand.
DONNA
Yes…there’s something you need to give up. I’m not sure what it is. You’ll have to figure that out for yourself. But a lot of times it’s an idea we have, sometimes it’s a feeling, or maybe a judgment we’ve made about something, about ourselves or somebody else.
JAMES
Oh.
DONNA
So what could you give up?
JAMES
Well, I’ve already given up thinking I’m a good person. I’ve given up on myself.
DONNA
Ah, but can you give up on judging yourself? Look young man, life threw you a hard lesson. At times like this, you have to learn the lesson so you can move on. So tell me, what have you learned?
JAMES
I killed that old man. I never meant to, but I did.
DONNA
Yes, you did.
JAMES
How can I not judge myself? I did it.
DONNA
Yes you did. And what did you learn? What lesson did that old man teach you?
JAMES
Well, I was so sure he would duck. But he didn’t. So I guess one thing I learned is never to assume anything, especially about other people or what they’re gonna do. I guess he taught me to be more careful, and to look before I act. To think before I act.
DONNA
Then he taught you a lot.
JAMES
But how can I believe this was a lesson? A person died.
DONNA
Yes, that’s true. But all of life is a lesson one way or another. I’ve been here long enough to know that’s true.
JAMES
I don’t think God will forgive me.
DONNA
To forgive is to give something up. And don’t think you know what God will do. Don’t try to read God’s mind. It’s not your job to judge yourself, or anyone else. It’s your job to learn and to forgive. Can you do that? Can you forgive that old man for not ducking?
JAMES
Me? Forgive him?
DONNA
Yes. Forgive him.
JAMES
I just want to beg him to forgive me.
DONNA
Do you think he was a wise old man? I mean, when you looked into his eyes, what did you see?
JAMES
I saw an old man. He looked right at me. He was kind. He wasn’t angry…just surprised to see me.
DONNA
Like me?
JAMES
Yeah, like you. Yeah, I guess so.
DONNA
I feel like you’re expecting something from me that I might not have to give.
JAMES
You listened, and you didn’t throw me out.
DONNA
No I didn’t. Do you feel any better?
JAMES
I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah, maybe I do. What did you do to me?
DONNA
I didn’t do anything to you. I just listened. And I think I understood. I tried to understand. What else can one person do for someone else, besides listening and trying to understand?
JAMES
Yeah. I think you did too. Yeah…I was right about you.
DONNA
And you were lucky too. Lucky I didn’t have a handgun in my purse!
JAMES
Wow. How can I ever thank you?
DONNA
You don’t need to thank me, but you’re welcome. Do you really want to thank me?
JAMES
Yeah, I do.
DONNA
Okay. Then here’s what you need to do. First, you’re going to tell me your name and we’re going to be friends.
JAMES
James Gantry. Jamie. And you?
DONNA
Donna. Donna Solomon. So tell me Jamie, are you a civilian now?
JAMES
Not yet, but I will be pretty soon.
DONNA
Okay. When you are, you’re going to go back to Iraq.
JAMES
I am?
DONNA
And clean up your mess.
JAMES
But how do I do that?
DONNA
You tell me.
JAMES
But I don’t even know who they were!
DONNA
Okay, but what do you know?
JAMES
I could never find them, and even if I did, they’d probably want to kill me!
DONNA
If they knew it was you, they might. But they don’t know you either.
JAMES
But there are so many refugees. And they’ve all lost people in this war.
DONNA
Yes, I suppose they have.
JAMES
I could spend the rest of my life helping people over there, and I might never find them. I might never find the right ones.
DONNA
But who’s to say, really, who are the right ones? I mean, Jamie, could you live with that?
Monday, September 29, 2008
Script: License To Kill
A sidewalk café in New York City. A waiter walks out of the interior of the café and dusts tables with a bar towel. Harry motions to Claire to sit down. He is carrying a suitcase.
Waiter: "What’ll it be?"
Harry: "Coffee, dark and strong."
Claire: "Mineral water."
Mark arrives. He stands looking around.
Mark: "I’m here. I have it."
Harry: "Sit down."
Mark sits. The waiter brings mineral water and coffee.
Waiter: "What’ll it be?"
Mark: "Milk."
Waiter: "Plain milk?"
Mark: "Plain milk. Large."
Harry: "Will he be on time?"
Mark: "He’ll be here."
Harry: "He’s already late."
A jogger runs by.
Claire: "Who’s that?"
Harry: "Nobody"
Claire: "Anybody at all makes me nervous. I thought you said the street was empty this time of day?"
Harry: "Damn near, Babe, damn near."
Claire: "I’m just nervous. Never been involved with anything like this before."
Harry: "Just relax. We have it under control. I have the money, and Mark has the heat."
Claire: "I’m sorry I went along with this. What do you need me for anyway?"
Harry: "I already told you. You’re the equalizer. He won’t try anything with a dame here."
Mark: "I never carried before. Hey Claire, want to go hunting?"
Claire: "Yeah right."
Harry: "Don’t fuck around, he’ll be here any minute. You just be your own sweet self and smile a lot, you got that?"
Claire: "I got it, I got it."
Mark: "Who is this guy anyway?"
Harry: "He comes highly recommended. I did a couple of deals with his people before and it always worked out. He has connections."
Mark: "What kind of deals?"
Harry: "Small deals, jewelry mostly. Nothing big. But stop worrying. It’s going to be okay. The main thing is we are breaking into the big time, kids. This is reason to be happy, not worried."
Claire: "Happy, yeah."
Mark: "Happy?"
Harry: "Happy, yeah."
Claire: "Give me a break. This is the beginning of the end of us. I just have a bad feeling. We should have stuck to what we know."
Harry: "Look, we are going to be fixed for life after this deal. We’ll be set up."
Mark: "Don’t say "set up." Bad choice of words, man."
Harry: "What is it with you two?"
Claire: "Harry."
Mark: "Yeah, man, really."
Harry: "You guys need to calm down. Can you do that? Please?"
Claire: "I’ll try Harry."
Mark: "I’m cool, man."
Harry: "Okay then. We’re cool."
Waiter brings a tall glass of milk.
"Drink your milk."
Mark: "Yeah."
Claire: Laughing. "Hey you’ve got a milk moustache. You look like a little kid, Marko."
Mark: Wiping his mouth. "Cut it out. Milk’s good for you."
Claire: "I didn’t say it wasn’t. Don’t get sensitive on me."
Harry: "Will you two cut it out please."
Joe enters from stage left and sits down at the table. He is carrying a portfolio.
Joe: "So, Harry."
Harry: "Joe."
Joe: "Do you have it?"
Harry: "We have it."
Joe: "Why are these two here?"
Harry: "They’re my people."
Joe: "Lose them."
Harry: "I want them here."
Joe: "You want to do this business with me, you lose them now. No witnesses. This is confidential."
Harry: "Okay, okay. Guys, please take a walk for a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the car. It’s okay."
Mark: "Are you sure?"
Harry: "I’m sure. It’s okay. You can go."
Claire: "Good luck, Harry."
Harry: "Later, Claire."
Mark: "I don’t know about this Harry."
Harry: "It’s okay Mark. I’ve got this."
Claire: "Okay, Harry. We’re going to go now."
Harry: "Okay."
Mark: "Harry, I don’t know."
Harry: "Go, go."
Mark and Claire leave.
Joe: "So."
Harry: "It’s a lot of money. Is everything in order?"
Joe: "Everything is in order. I just need to go over some paperwork with you."
Harry: "What paperwork? It’s all supposed to be ready to make a simple exchange."
Joe: "Don’t start with me."
Harry: "Me?"
Joe: "You."
Harry: "I don’t like your attitude."
Joe: "Amateurs like you get on my nerves sometimes. Now decide to be serious, or we both go home. But understand, I am not going home empty-handed. I’ve done my part, now you do yours."
Harry: "What’s your problem, man? I’m just saying. I’m ready to make the exchange. But I need to know everything is in order. It’s supposed to be in order."
Joe: "Look, there are some things you don’t understand yet. But you will. First of all, you need to show me the money. Just slide the bag over to me."
Harry: "Wait a minute. Show me the paperwork first."
Joe: "First the money."
Harry: "It’s here. Here it is."
Joe: "Lemme see it."
Harry: pushes suitcase toward Joe.
Joe: Looking inside. "Looks good. Very good. Now then…" Laying papers out on table.
Harry: "I don’t really understand all this."
Joe: "You need to sign here, and here, and here…"
Mark returns with gun drawn.
Mark: "It’s okay Harry. I’m here."
Harry: "Mark!"
Joe: "What’s your problem, buddy?"
Mark: "I’m not gonna just leave you man."
Joe reaches in his pocket. Mark shoots him. Joe falls on top of papers on table.
Harry: "Damn it Mark, you just got blood all over our liquor license."
Scene
Waiter: "What’ll it be?"
Harry: "Coffee, dark and strong."
Claire: "Mineral water."
Mark arrives. He stands looking around.
Mark: "I’m here. I have it."
Harry: "Sit down."
Mark sits. The waiter brings mineral water and coffee.
Waiter: "What’ll it be?"
Mark: "Milk."
Waiter: "Plain milk?"
Mark: "Plain milk. Large."
Harry: "Will he be on time?"
Mark: "He’ll be here."
Harry: "He’s already late."
A jogger runs by.
Claire: "Who’s that?"
Harry: "Nobody"
Claire: "Anybody at all makes me nervous. I thought you said the street was empty this time of day?"
Harry: "Damn near, Babe, damn near."
Claire: "I’m just nervous. Never been involved with anything like this before."
Harry: "Just relax. We have it under control. I have the money, and Mark has the heat."
Claire: "I’m sorry I went along with this. What do you need me for anyway?"
Harry: "I already told you. You’re the equalizer. He won’t try anything with a dame here."
Mark: "I never carried before. Hey Claire, want to go hunting?"
Claire: "Yeah right."
Harry: "Don’t fuck around, he’ll be here any minute. You just be your own sweet self and smile a lot, you got that?"
Claire: "I got it, I got it."
Mark: "Who is this guy anyway?"
Harry: "He comes highly recommended. I did a couple of deals with his people before and it always worked out. He has connections."
Mark: "What kind of deals?"
Harry: "Small deals, jewelry mostly. Nothing big. But stop worrying. It’s going to be okay. The main thing is we are breaking into the big time, kids. This is reason to be happy, not worried."
Claire: "Happy, yeah."
Mark: "Happy?"
Harry: "Happy, yeah."
Claire: "Give me a break. This is the beginning of the end of us. I just have a bad feeling. We should have stuck to what we know."
Harry: "Look, we are going to be fixed for life after this deal. We’ll be set up."
Mark: "Don’t say "set up." Bad choice of words, man."
Harry: "What is it with you two?"
Claire: "Harry."
Mark: "Yeah, man, really."
Harry: "You guys need to calm down. Can you do that? Please?"
Claire: "I’ll try Harry."
Mark: "I’m cool, man."
Harry: "Okay then. We’re cool."
Waiter brings a tall glass of milk.
"Drink your milk."
Mark: "Yeah."
Claire: Laughing. "Hey you’ve got a milk moustache. You look like a little kid, Marko."
Mark: Wiping his mouth. "Cut it out. Milk’s good for you."
Claire: "I didn’t say it wasn’t. Don’t get sensitive on me."
Harry: "Will you two cut it out please."
Joe enters from stage left and sits down at the table. He is carrying a portfolio.
Joe: "So, Harry."
Harry: "Joe."
Joe: "Do you have it?"
Harry: "We have it."
Joe: "Why are these two here?"
Harry: "They’re my people."
Joe: "Lose them."
Harry: "I want them here."
Joe: "You want to do this business with me, you lose them now. No witnesses. This is confidential."
Harry: "Okay, okay. Guys, please take a walk for a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the car. It’s okay."
Mark: "Are you sure?"
Harry: "I’m sure. It’s okay. You can go."
Claire: "Good luck, Harry."
Harry: "Later, Claire."
Mark: "I don’t know about this Harry."
Harry: "It’s okay Mark. I’ve got this."
Claire: "Okay, Harry. We’re going to go now."
Harry: "Okay."
Mark: "Harry, I don’t know."
Harry: "Go, go."
Mark and Claire leave.
Joe: "So."
Harry: "It’s a lot of money. Is everything in order?"
Joe: "Everything is in order. I just need to go over some paperwork with you."
Harry: "What paperwork? It’s all supposed to be ready to make a simple exchange."
Joe: "Don’t start with me."
Harry: "Me?"
Joe: "You."
Harry: "I don’t like your attitude."
Joe: "Amateurs like you get on my nerves sometimes. Now decide to be serious, or we both go home. But understand, I am not going home empty-handed. I’ve done my part, now you do yours."
Harry: "What’s your problem, man? I’m just saying. I’m ready to make the exchange. But I need to know everything is in order. It’s supposed to be in order."
Joe: "Look, there are some things you don’t understand yet. But you will. First of all, you need to show me the money. Just slide the bag over to me."
Harry: "Wait a minute. Show me the paperwork first."
Joe: "First the money."
Harry: "It’s here. Here it is."
Joe: "Lemme see it."
Harry: pushes suitcase toward Joe.
Joe: Looking inside. "Looks good. Very good. Now then…" Laying papers out on table.
Harry: "I don’t really understand all this."
Joe: "You need to sign here, and here, and here…"
Mark returns with gun drawn.
Mark: "It’s okay Harry. I’m here."
Harry: "Mark!"
Joe: "What’s your problem, buddy?"
Mark: "I’m not gonna just leave you man."
Joe reaches in his pocket. Mark shoots him. Joe falls on top of papers on table.
Harry: "Damn it Mark, you just got blood all over our liquor license."
Scene
Monday, August 18, 2008
Poem: Calling To My Muse
calling to my muse
that nameless stranger
who will not come
hides in the dark
in my empty head
elusive, stubborn, silent
leaves me alone
in this empty cave
inside my head
with nothing between my ears
but the sound of silence
and a bunch of other cliches
just like that one
then all at once she arrives
unbidden as a lark
singing on a fencepost
in the damned sunshine
no less
with a flash of inspiration
she whispers her secret
out of nowhere
the beginning of hope
the dawn of a new day
sun through the blinds
an idea
that nameless stranger
who will not come
hides in the dark
in my empty head
elusive, stubborn, silent
leaves me alone
in this empty cave
inside my head
with nothing between my ears
but the sound of silence
and a bunch of other cliches
just like that one
then all at once she arrives
unbidden as a lark
singing on a fencepost
in the damned sunshine
no less
with a flash of inspiration
she whispers her secret
out of nowhere
the beginning of hope
the dawn of a new day
sun through the blinds
an idea
Script: A Handful Of Receipts
Her: Is that all you’re taking?
Him: Yeah
Her: You can take more than that.
Him: I know.
Her: So why don’t you take all of your stuff? What’s your point?
Him: No point. I have what I need, and that’s all of it.
Her: There’s no way. You’re just being weird. And as usual you won’t say what’s going on with you. No surprise.
Him: Sorry, but there’s nothing going on. I have my stuff.
Her: What about your pictures that are still hanging on the wall?
Him: What about them?
Her: Don’t you want them for your next place?
Him: I’ll come back for them. Okay?
Her: I guess.
Him: Okay then.
Her: You have to go you know?
Him: I know.
Her: It’s not an option.
Him: I know.
Her: You had a choice and you made it.
Him: Yeah, I guess so.
Her: You know so. I told you I couldn’t stay with you if you didn’t want the baby. I told you if I had to do that…I told you I wouldn’t be able to live with you anymore. I told you, damn it.
Him: I know, you told me.
Her: So what? You didn’t believe me?
Him: I thought you’d change your mind.
Her: Oh I see. You didn’t take me seriously.
Him: Yes, I did. I just thought if I got you a new stereo, or maybe if we went on a trip…
Her: Oh that’s great. You thought if you spent money it would change the fact that I had an abortion.
Him: No. It’s not like that. I just thought you would feel differently if time passed and maybe some things happened that made you happy. I just didn’t think you really meant it absolutely.
Her: I meant it absolutely.
Him: I see that.
Her: Do you?
Him: Yeah. Now.
Her: Well you’re late to start believing I mean what I say.
Him: I guess so.
Her: You always pay for everything. You always have. But it’s not enough, you know. It’s not enough. You think a handful of receipts makes you a generous man.
Him: Huh?
Her: That’s what you think. You think you can buy your way out of anything.
Him: Well, I paid for the abortion didn’t I?
Her: Yes, you did, you selfish son of a bitch.
Him: Look, don’t get mad. I just wasn’t ready to be a father yet.
Her: Well sometimes in life you have to just step up to the plate. Things happen. And you had something to do with it, as I recall.
Him: I know.
Her: Oh wait a minute. I get it.
Him: What do you get? What?
Her: You think I’ll get over this and you can come back. That’s why you’re not taking all your stuff.
Him: Well, it’s possible, isn’t it?
Her: No. It is not possible. I can’t believe you.
Him: Look, I just can’t give up on us that easy. I still believe.
Her: I told you, if I had to have an abortion I wouldn’t be able to live with you anymore. What part of that did you not understand?
Him: I don’t understand the finality of it, that’s all. I mean, there could be a right time, another time when a baby would work, but I just…
Her: You just don’t get it. I thought about my options. I thought about having the baby without you. But then I thought about what it was like for me when I was growing up, not being wanted, being a mistake, and my father blaming my being born for all his troubles in life. I thought about that, and I decided not to bring an unwanted baby into this world, no matter how much I wanted it. I decided a baby needs to have two parents that want it. Was that wrong? I think I made a mistake.
Him: I think that was a good decision on your part.
Her: You don’t understand. Actually doing it, you know, when it came right down to it, and I was standing there in that white robe, waiting in line at the clinic, with those other women, I felt so alone. And I felt my baby inside me, alive, a real person, a person whose life was being ripped away. So I went into the room and they put me up on the table, and they hooked up their machine. And then they all left, and they turned that machine on, and I just wanted to scream and jump down off the table. A part of me was screaming inside, but I laid there and let it happen, and now my baby is gone. And you don’t get it. You don’t get what that cost me, and…
Him: I would have been there with you, really I would have. If you had let me I would have.
Her: And now there’s this empty place inside me where the baby used to be, and it can never be filled. Do you see? It can never be filled again.
Him: But I still love you. I’m still your friend, and I want to help you get through this, if you would just let me. Just give me a chance.
Her: The empty place is too big. There’s nothing you can do to change it.
Him: Nothing? Are you sure there’s really nothing?
Her: There’s been a death. There’s a dead place between us now. It can’t work any more.
Him: Well I said I would leave and I will. But if you change your mind…
Her: Yeah right.
Him: Right. Just call me.
Her: Right.
Him: Yeah
Her: You can take more than that.
Him: I know.
Her: So why don’t you take all of your stuff? What’s your point?
Him: No point. I have what I need, and that’s all of it.
Her: There’s no way. You’re just being weird. And as usual you won’t say what’s going on with you. No surprise.
Him: Sorry, but there’s nothing going on. I have my stuff.
Her: What about your pictures that are still hanging on the wall?
Him: What about them?
Her: Don’t you want them for your next place?
Him: I’ll come back for them. Okay?
Her: I guess.
Him: Okay then.
Her: You have to go you know?
Him: I know.
Her: It’s not an option.
Him: I know.
Her: You had a choice and you made it.
Him: Yeah, I guess so.
Her: You know so. I told you I couldn’t stay with you if you didn’t want the baby. I told you if I had to do that…I told you I wouldn’t be able to live with you anymore. I told you, damn it.
Him: I know, you told me.
Her: So what? You didn’t believe me?
Him: I thought you’d change your mind.
Her: Oh I see. You didn’t take me seriously.
Him: Yes, I did. I just thought if I got you a new stereo, or maybe if we went on a trip…
Her: Oh that’s great. You thought if you spent money it would change the fact that I had an abortion.
Him: No. It’s not like that. I just thought you would feel differently if time passed and maybe some things happened that made you happy. I just didn’t think you really meant it absolutely.
Her: I meant it absolutely.
Him: I see that.
Her: Do you?
Him: Yeah. Now.
Her: Well you’re late to start believing I mean what I say.
Him: I guess so.
Her: You always pay for everything. You always have. But it’s not enough, you know. It’s not enough. You think a handful of receipts makes you a generous man.
Him: Huh?
Her: That’s what you think. You think you can buy your way out of anything.
Him: Well, I paid for the abortion didn’t I?
Her: Yes, you did, you selfish son of a bitch.
Him: Look, don’t get mad. I just wasn’t ready to be a father yet.
Her: Well sometimes in life you have to just step up to the plate. Things happen. And you had something to do with it, as I recall.
Him: I know.
Her: Oh wait a minute. I get it.
Him: What do you get? What?
Her: You think I’ll get over this and you can come back. That’s why you’re not taking all your stuff.
Him: Well, it’s possible, isn’t it?
Her: No. It is not possible. I can’t believe you.
Him: Look, I just can’t give up on us that easy. I still believe.
Her: I told you, if I had to have an abortion I wouldn’t be able to live with you anymore. What part of that did you not understand?
Him: I don’t understand the finality of it, that’s all. I mean, there could be a right time, another time when a baby would work, but I just…
Her: You just don’t get it. I thought about my options. I thought about having the baby without you. But then I thought about what it was like for me when I was growing up, not being wanted, being a mistake, and my father blaming my being born for all his troubles in life. I thought about that, and I decided not to bring an unwanted baby into this world, no matter how much I wanted it. I decided a baby needs to have two parents that want it. Was that wrong? I think I made a mistake.
Him: I think that was a good decision on your part.
Her: You don’t understand. Actually doing it, you know, when it came right down to it, and I was standing there in that white robe, waiting in line at the clinic, with those other women, I felt so alone. And I felt my baby inside me, alive, a real person, a person whose life was being ripped away. So I went into the room and they put me up on the table, and they hooked up their machine. And then they all left, and they turned that machine on, and I just wanted to scream and jump down off the table. A part of me was screaming inside, but I laid there and let it happen, and now my baby is gone. And you don’t get it. You don’t get what that cost me, and…
Him: I would have been there with you, really I would have. If you had let me I would have.
Her: And now there’s this empty place inside me where the baby used to be, and it can never be filled. Do you see? It can never be filled again.
Him: But I still love you. I’m still your friend, and I want to help you get through this, if you would just let me. Just give me a chance.
Her: The empty place is too big. There’s nothing you can do to change it.
Him: Nothing? Are you sure there’s really nothing?
Her: There’s been a death. There’s a dead place between us now. It can’t work any more.
Him: Well I said I would leave and I will. But if you change your mind…
Her: Yeah right.
Him: Right. Just call me.
Her: Right.
Memoir: Neckties
Neckties
I remember being in the fourth grade at St. Malachy’s Catholic School in Brooklyn. In the 1950’s, the girls and boys all wore neckties. They were part of the school uniform. Mine consisted of a navy blue jumper and a white blouse, a blue bowtie and a little navy cap, with white socks and blue loafers and a navy blue belt. The boys’ neckties were long clip-ons. The girls wore bow ties. Mine was wrinkled and shapeless from lying in a heap on my dresser at night, right along side my beaten-down cap.
We thought we were cool if we broke little rules, and how we wore our uniforms was one way we asserted ourselves. Neckties dangled limply from one side of open collars. Worn-out hats hung from hairpins, stuck as far back on our heads as our hair could provide, so as to be virtually invisible from the front. They hung like little rags among the curls our mothers burned into our hair with "permanents." Every year you got a new uniform, but it was always the same. We took all the liberties we could with our uniforms, but there were other things the nuns really would not allow, about which no liberties could be taken. One of those things was kissing.
Kissing was not allowed. In fact, anything that could be remotely construed as sexual contact was strictly forbidden and fatally sinful. Not that anybody ever told us that. We just knew. At twelve years of age I had never had a date. For one thing, my parents never would have allowed it, and for another it was probably sinful even to think about it. I had never given it a serious thought.
One day Danny Parker asked me to go to a basketball game. A big kid basketball game at the Junior High School. It was a big idea. It was too big a thing to say yes or no, so I just stared at him and we left it at that. I kept it a secret from everyone, even my sister who knew everything there was to know about me.
It was a secret that we were meeting, even after we got to the game. It was something we did surreptitiously, casually, as if we weren’t really doing it. We almost didn’t sit next to each other. We were not overtly having a date. It was something like a date, but it was definitely not a real date. But we did end up sitting next to each other and at some point Danny put his hand over on top of mine and held it. I ignored it, but I didn’t move my hand. Then suddenly he turned around and kissed me on the cheek. Just like that. Smack dab, I could feel my face and neck turn bright red with embarrassment. I know it did because I could fell the heat rise up in my cheeks and my ears burned like they were on fire. I did nothing, just froze in place. I didn’t even acknowledge that it had happened. I didn’t know how I was supposed to act.
The other kids immediately went to teasing us both. "Danny kissed Roseanne, Danny kissed Roseanne" they started to chant in a singsong sort of way. "Danny kissed Roseanne," as if it was big news. The basketball game was still going on in the gym, but all I could think about was how to disappear. I wanted to be innocent again. I got angry and I got up and walked away, stood on the sidelines of the game where nobody else was standing, and pretended not to know any of them. My outside innocence had been taken away. But even worse than all the teasing was what happened the next day at school.
First thing in the morning I was called to the principal’s office. And there in a chair outside her door was Danny, finger slap marks all over his cheeks, red-faced and crying. The principal met me at the door. "Did this boy kiss you?" she asked. I was too scared to lie. Then she took me into her office for a lecture about how boys are, and how girls have to be careful to guard our virtue or those nasty boys will take it from us, and once it’s gone there is no getting it back.
On the principal’s desk was Danny’s necktie. Looking at it, I wondered what it was doing there, and what did it mean to have your necktie taken away? Reflexively, I reached up and fixed mine. Looking at Danny’s necktie laying there in a heap, I started crying.
I got sent back to class, but we didn’t see Danny for hours. When he did show up, he was pale and sorry looking. For the next few weeks he didn’t get recess and he had to stay after school for detention. I never went to another basketball game at the Junior High School, and Danny never spoke to me again. I never knew why.
I remember being in the fourth grade at St. Malachy’s Catholic School in Brooklyn. In the 1950’s, the girls and boys all wore neckties. They were part of the school uniform. Mine consisted of a navy blue jumper and a white blouse, a blue bowtie and a little navy cap, with white socks and blue loafers and a navy blue belt. The boys’ neckties were long clip-ons. The girls wore bow ties. Mine was wrinkled and shapeless from lying in a heap on my dresser at night, right along side my beaten-down cap.
We thought we were cool if we broke little rules, and how we wore our uniforms was one way we asserted ourselves. Neckties dangled limply from one side of open collars. Worn-out hats hung from hairpins, stuck as far back on our heads as our hair could provide, so as to be virtually invisible from the front. They hung like little rags among the curls our mothers burned into our hair with "permanents." Every year you got a new uniform, but it was always the same. We took all the liberties we could with our uniforms, but there were other things the nuns really would not allow, about which no liberties could be taken. One of those things was kissing.
Kissing was not allowed. In fact, anything that could be remotely construed as sexual contact was strictly forbidden and fatally sinful. Not that anybody ever told us that. We just knew. At twelve years of age I had never had a date. For one thing, my parents never would have allowed it, and for another it was probably sinful even to think about it. I had never given it a serious thought.
One day Danny Parker asked me to go to a basketball game. A big kid basketball game at the Junior High School. It was a big idea. It was too big a thing to say yes or no, so I just stared at him and we left it at that. I kept it a secret from everyone, even my sister who knew everything there was to know about me.
It was a secret that we were meeting, even after we got to the game. It was something we did surreptitiously, casually, as if we weren’t really doing it. We almost didn’t sit next to each other. We were not overtly having a date. It was something like a date, but it was definitely not a real date. But we did end up sitting next to each other and at some point Danny put his hand over on top of mine and held it. I ignored it, but I didn’t move my hand. Then suddenly he turned around and kissed me on the cheek. Just like that. Smack dab, I could feel my face and neck turn bright red with embarrassment. I know it did because I could fell the heat rise up in my cheeks and my ears burned like they were on fire. I did nothing, just froze in place. I didn’t even acknowledge that it had happened. I didn’t know how I was supposed to act.
The other kids immediately went to teasing us both. "Danny kissed Roseanne, Danny kissed Roseanne" they started to chant in a singsong sort of way. "Danny kissed Roseanne," as if it was big news. The basketball game was still going on in the gym, but all I could think about was how to disappear. I wanted to be innocent again. I got angry and I got up and walked away, stood on the sidelines of the game where nobody else was standing, and pretended not to know any of them. My outside innocence had been taken away. But even worse than all the teasing was what happened the next day at school.
First thing in the morning I was called to the principal’s office. And there in a chair outside her door was Danny, finger slap marks all over his cheeks, red-faced and crying. The principal met me at the door. "Did this boy kiss you?" she asked. I was too scared to lie. Then she took me into her office for a lecture about how boys are, and how girls have to be careful to guard our virtue or those nasty boys will take it from us, and once it’s gone there is no getting it back.
On the principal’s desk was Danny’s necktie. Looking at it, I wondered what it was doing there, and what did it mean to have your necktie taken away? Reflexively, I reached up and fixed mine. Looking at Danny’s necktie laying there in a heap, I started crying.
I got sent back to class, but we didn’t see Danny for hours. When he did show up, he was pale and sorry looking. For the next few weeks he didn’t get recess and he had to stay after school for detention. I never went to another basketball game at the Junior High School, and Danny never spoke to me again. I never knew why.
Poem: After The Gleaning
All the empty jars that line
these rough unpainted shelves
were once full.
They made a show:
contentment
in a row of yellow peaches,
applesauce brown as cinnamon stick,
tomato juice bright and plum butter
dark amber of molasses.
Spicy salsa everybody raved about
is all gone.
There was never enough.
Now spiders and dust
weave their pervasive veil
over all these empty jars.
Cellar air is damp
its musty scent clean enough;
but glass rims don’t gleam.
Nothing about them invites
touch.
I remember them full.
I remember gathering fruit,
peach bloom itchy on my skin.
I remember how you always loved
to eat my home-canned fruit;
and the one you wouldn’t let me
pick.
This house has a root cellar.
Heavy wooden door
on a rusty metal ring,
like the loop in an oxen’s nose.
Stone stairs lead down
beneath the porch
below the kitchen;
cellar walls carved from solid stone,
rough and lumpy,
like the inside of a cave.
This house is built on rock.
It is not my house,
but it has a plum tree.
And when the plums ripen
I will pick them.
It’s quiet below ground.
Spiders own this part,
of an old country house
in an old country town,
with windows that stick
and walls that run
at odd angles to eachother:
an easy house to live in.
A piece of broken cardboard box
makes a dry mat on the dirt floor
where,
when all the jars are empty
it’s good to have
a quiet place to sit.
these rough unpainted shelves
were once full.
They made a show:
contentment
in a row of yellow peaches,
applesauce brown as cinnamon stick,
tomato juice bright and plum butter
dark amber of molasses.
Spicy salsa everybody raved about
is all gone.
There was never enough.
Now spiders and dust
weave their pervasive veil
over all these empty jars.
Cellar air is damp
its musty scent clean enough;
but glass rims don’t gleam.
Nothing about them invites
touch.
I remember them full.
I remember gathering fruit,
peach bloom itchy on my skin.
I remember how you always loved
to eat my home-canned fruit;
and the one you wouldn’t let me
pick.
This house has a root cellar.
Heavy wooden door
on a rusty metal ring,
like the loop in an oxen’s nose.
Stone stairs lead down
beneath the porch
below the kitchen;
cellar walls carved from solid stone,
rough and lumpy,
like the inside of a cave.
This house is built on rock.
It is not my house,
but it has a plum tree.
And when the plums ripen
I will pick them.
It’s quiet below ground.
Spiders own this part,
of an old country house
in an old country town,
with windows that stick
and walls that run
at odd angles to eachother:
an easy house to live in.
A piece of broken cardboard box
makes a dry mat on the dirt floor
where,
when all the jars are empty
it’s good to have
a quiet place to sit.
Memoir: Summertime
Summertime
The barber strop hung from a nail on the kitchen wall, right beside the door. It stood out, black leather on white paint, a reminder of what would happen. It happened whether we were good or not. Sometimes when he missed the mark, and red welts showed, we stayed home on those days.
Afterwards, we were always sent to bed. My mother would come with a sandwich to eat or cookies and milk if it was bedtime. But she never held us while we cried, just said, "Your father loves you." We knew it was a lie.
Your father loves you. It wasn’t what he said. He never wanted us, that our being born robbed him of so much he would’ve had, he could’ve had, he might have been if it just hadn’t been for us.
When he came home from work, we’d hide. And when he left us high and dry, it was no surprise. While our mother cried, we huddled around her, two at her sides, one at her feet. She cried so we cried. I saw it in my mind. It was my first family portrait. And suddenly we were homeless.
My mother packed us into the ’47 Ford and drove us from Brooklyn to her brother’s farm in Athens, Georgia. It was summertime. The streams run warm in Georgia in the summertime.
For the first time in my life, I was free to play. All I ever did in Georgia that summer was play. From sun up to sun down, barefoot, in our underwear, we had the free run of the farm. We slept in tepees. We lived outside, gathered wild eggs for breakfast, rode bareback and swam in the irrigation canals.
Nobody entertained us, but we were entertained. None of the grown ups yelled at us, but we yelled and hollered all the day through. Nobody hit us, that was the main thing, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid. It was a revelation.
I wanted that summer to go on forever. Time was suspended. There was only the water flowing slowly by in the canal, the snort of a horse, the leaping of children in the yard, the sunshine, the sweat and the easy roll of one day into the next. I’d never had a summer like that before.
But seasons come and go and that summer sure enough ended, as all summers do. One day, my mother got a letter, and then she cried again and then we went home. The barber strop was still there, hanging from a nail on the kitchen wall.
The barber strop hung from a nail on the kitchen wall, right beside the door. It stood out, black leather on white paint, a reminder of what would happen. It happened whether we were good or not. Sometimes when he missed the mark, and red welts showed, we stayed home on those days.
Afterwards, we were always sent to bed. My mother would come with a sandwich to eat or cookies and milk if it was bedtime. But she never held us while we cried, just said, "Your father loves you." We knew it was a lie.
Your father loves you. It wasn’t what he said. He never wanted us, that our being born robbed him of so much he would’ve had, he could’ve had, he might have been if it just hadn’t been for us.
When he came home from work, we’d hide. And when he left us high and dry, it was no surprise. While our mother cried, we huddled around her, two at her sides, one at her feet. She cried so we cried. I saw it in my mind. It was my first family portrait. And suddenly we were homeless.
My mother packed us into the ’47 Ford and drove us from Brooklyn to her brother’s farm in Athens, Georgia. It was summertime. The streams run warm in Georgia in the summertime.
For the first time in my life, I was free to play. All I ever did in Georgia that summer was play. From sun up to sun down, barefoot, in our underwear, we had the free run of the farm. We slept in tepees. We lived outside, gathered wild eggs for breakfast, rode bareback and swam in the irrigation canals.
Nobody entertained us, but we were entertained. None of the grown ups yelled at us, but we yelled and hollered all the day through. Nobody hit us, that was the main thing, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid. It was a revelation.
I wanted that summer to go on forever. Time was suspended. There was only the water flowing slowly by in the canal, the snort of a horse, the leaping of children in the yard, the sunshine, the sweat and the easy roll of one day into the next. I’d never had a summer like that before.
But seasons come and go and that summer sure enough ended, as all summers do. One day, my mother got a letter, and then she cried again and then we went home. The barber strop was still there, hanging from a nail on the kitchen wall.
Short Story: Independence Day
Independence Day
The crowd was pressed so tightly together that it moved as one living thing. It flowed down Broadway like a swollen river on its way to something big. The whole city was ready for it, and the air seemed to tingle with expectation. It would be the greatest show ever seen and the mass of people moved as one to the docks and piers to get a good view. It was Independence Day and the bicentennial extravaganza had been developing for weeks. The Tall Ships had come from all over the world to be in the grand parade into New York Harbor, up the East River and around Manhattan Island to the Bronx. The city had promised to welcome the parade with the biggest fireworks display ever done.
She let the momentum of the crowd carry her along, feeling oddly alone in the middle of them. Excited voices filled the air with a jumble of words. Connected somehow from one to another, they swam and danced around her. It made a muffling cocoon that closed her inside the isolation she felt. Alone on this night of all nights, in the middle of a gigantic party, Ellie was without Sam for the first time since they had become "Ellie and Sam" some two years before.
As soon as she said his name in her mind, tears welled up in her eyes. Sam, her anchor, her rudder, her lover, her friend. Sam with the blue eyes, the sandy hair, the ready smile. Sam who said he loved her. Sam who should have been here at her side.
The crowd turned a corner and spilled into Battery Park. The sudden loss of that directed energy that had carried her this far, left her disoriented and uncertain which way to go next. She looked around. In the building darkness everyone seemed to be wearing black. Forms moved and shifted, filling in the gaps, taking up their places on park benches, under lampposts, and on blankets in the grass. Everywhere, the crowd settled and grew quiet. Ellie kept moving and found herself at the entrance to the ferry. She thought, "why not?"
The view from the back of the ferry was her favorite way to see the city, her everyday escape from all the noise and commotion, a half-hour vacation that costed twenty-five cents. It was familiar. It was safe. She lined up at the turnstile with a coin in her palm.
In front of Ellie, a couple held hands and whispered, their heads inclined toward each other. Behind her a man in an overcoat scowled at no one and everyone. A young mother with a baby on her hip held her young daughter’s hand. Ellie realized they were part of the usual Staten Island crowd, people who lived on the island and rode this ferry every day. The crowd of sightseers on the docks and in the park were staying in Manhattan for the show. It seemed odd but somehow comforting to have left them behind for a little while.
On board, she stood in her usual spot on the rear deck. From here, she could watch the city expand at first and then recede as the ferry slowly made its way out of dock and across the harbor. The ferry whistle blew and she turned up her collar.
The city began to slip away, and soon she could see the whole of lower Manhattan. The masses of people she knew were crammed into every open space in the street and park disappeared in the dark silhouette of the city, stark and familiar against the purple sunset sky. As if on cue, the lights came on.
The city sparkled and the bridges twinkled like necklaces strung across the neck of water between Brooklyn and Manhattan. As the full span of the Brooklyn Bridge came into view, it was a great gothic castle. It dominated the skyline of the East River. She wondered how many times she had walked across that bridge with Sam. It was something she knew she’d never do without him.
They used to walk the Promenade from their apartment in Carroll Gardens, then cross the bridge to Chinatown or Little Italy for dinner, or down to the Village for a poetry reading, some music or a show. Ellie met Sam at one of those little village coffeehouses. She knew from the minute Sam walked in the door that she was in love with him. It was the first time she’d ever felt that way and the first time she’d ever approached a man and taken the initiative to meet him. Sam was so absorbed with reading his poetry, and surrounded by admirers, she knew if she didn’t do something she wasn’t going to meet him at all. So she’d gotten her nerve up and walked over to his table, interrupted him to introduce herself and asked for his phone number. Sam seemed surprised and not sure what to make of her, and when he gave her his number, she quickly excused herself. It was, she recalled, an awkward moment. But when she called him, he remembered her, "the lady from the reading," and they met for coffee. It had been possibly the most assertive thing Ellie had ever done. How had things gone so terribly wrong, she wondered?
The city receded until it was a postcard on the horizon. Apart from the ferry’s engines and the lapping of waves against its sides, the night was quiet. The Statue of Liberty stood elegantly off to the side, and then a new set of lights burst forth. Ellie knew the parade of Tall Ships had begun. Fireworks began to erupt in the sky as the ships sailed across the harbor and headed east.
Even in July, the breeze off the water carried a chill, and Ellie missed having Sam’s arm around her back to keep her warm against his side. She knew at that moment Sam was back at the apartment, packing up and leaving, just as they’d agreed, while she stayed away to avoid an unpleasant goodbye. They’d said everything already a hundred times over, discussed it from every possible angle, and every time it came out the same.
Sam liked women and women liked Sam. He said he loved women and that he loved Ellie above all others. Sam thought that should be enough. For Ellie, his total failure at monogamy was a deal-breaker. She just couldn’t share him. And there was no longer any way to lie to herself about the number and frequency of the other women in Sam’s life. He was just irresistible and women were just as irresistible to him.
As the ferry chugged its way back to the city, fireworks lit up the sky. The Parade of Tall Ships turned up the East River and the last rays of sunset faded to black. Ellie realized she was crying and looked around self-consciously, but there was no one nearby.
The crowd was pressed so tightly together that it moved as one living thing. It flowed down Broadway like a swollen river on its way to something big. The whole city was ready for it, and the air seemed to tingle with expectation. It would be the greatest show ever seen and the mass of people moved as one to the docks and piers to get a good view. It was Independence Day and the bicentennial extravaganza had been developing for weeks. The Tall Ships had come from all over the world to be in the grand parade into New York Harbor, up the East River and around Manhattan Island to the Bronx. The city had promised to welcome the parade with the biggest fireworks display ever done.
She let the momentum of the crowd carry her along, feeling oddly alone in the middle of them. Excited voices filled the air with a jumble of words. Connected somehow from one to another, they swam and danced around her. It made a muffling cocoon that closed her inside the isolation she felt. Alone on this night of all nights, in the middle of a gigantic party, Ellie was without Sam for the first time since they had become "Ellie and Sam" some two years before.
As soon as she said his name in her mind, tears welled up in her eyes. Sam, her anchor, her rudder, her lover, her friend. Sam with the blue eyes, the sandy hair, the ready smile. Sam who said he loved her. Sam who should have been here at her side.
The crowd turned a corner and spilled into Battery Park. The sudden loss of that directed energy that had carried her this far, left her disoriented and uncertain which way to go next. She looked around. In the building darkness everyone seemed to be wearing black. Forms moved and shifted, filling in the gaps, taking up their places on park benches, under lampposts, and on blankets in the grass. Everywhere, the crowd settled and grew quiet. Ellie kept moving and found herself at the entrance to the ferry. She thought, "why not?"
The view from the back of the ferry was her favorite way to see the city, her everyday escape from all the noise and commotion, a half-hour vacation that costed twenty-five cents. It was familiar. It was safe. She lined up at the turnstile with a coin in her palm.
In front of Ellie, a couple held hands and whispered, their heads inclined toward each other. Behind her a man in an overcoat scowled at no one and everyone. A young mother with a baby on her hip held her young daughter’s hand. Ellie realized they were part of the usual Staten Island crowd, people who lived on the island and rode this ferry every day. The crowd of sightseers on the docks and in the park were staying in Manhattan for the show. It seemed odd but somehow comforting to have left them behind for a little while.
On board, she stood in her usual spot on the rear deck. From here, she could watch the city expand at first and then recede as the ferry slowly made its way out of dock and across the harbor. The ferry whistle blew and she turned up her collar.
The city began to slip away, and soon she could see the whole of lower Manhattan. The masses of people she knew were crammed into every open space in the street and park disappeared in the dark silhouette of the city, stark and familiar against the purple sunset sky. As if on cue, the lights came on.
The city sparkled and the bridges twinkled like necklaces strung across the neck of water between Brooklyn and Manhattan. As the full span of the Brooklyn Bridge came into view, it was a great gothic castle. It dominated the skyline of the East River. She wondered how many times she had walked across that bridge with Sam. It was something she knew she’d never do without him.
They used to walk the Promenade from their apartment in Carroll Gardens, then cross the bridge to Chinatown or Little Italy for dinner, or down to the Village for a poetry reading, some music or a show. Ellie met Sam at one of those little village coffeehouses. She knew from the minute Sam walked in the door that she was in love with him. It was the first time she’d ever felt that way and the first time she’d ever approached a man and taken the initiative to meet him. Sam was so absorbed with reading his poetry, and surrounded by admirers, she knew if she didn’t do something she wasn’t going to meet him at all. So she’d gotten her nerve up and walked over to his table, interrupted him to introduce herself and asked for his phone number. Sam seemed surprised and not sure what to make of her, and when he gave her his number, she quickly excused herself. It was, she recalled, an awkward moment. But when she called him, he remembered her, "the lady from the reading," and they met for coffee. It had been possibly the most assertive thing Ellie had ever done. How had things gone so terribly wrong, she wondered?
The city receded until it was a postcard on the horizon. Apart from the ferry’s engines and the lapping of waves against its sides, the night was quiet. The Statue of Liberty stood elegantly off to the side, and then a new set of lights burst forth. Ellie knew the parade of Tall Ships had begun. Fireworks began to erupt in the sky as the ships sailed across the harbor and headed east.
Even in July, the breeze off the water carried a chill, and Ellie missed having Sam’s arm around her back to keep her warm against his side. She knew at that moment Sam was back at the apartment, packing up and leaving, just as they’d agreed, while she stayed away to avoid an unpleasant goodbye. They’d said everything already a hundred times over, discussed it from every possible angle, and every time it came out the same.
Sam liked women and women liked Sam. He said he loved women and that he loved Ellie above all others. Sam thought that should be enough. For Ellie, his total failure at monogamy was a deal-breaker. She just couldn’t share him. And there was no longer any way to lie to herself about the number and frequency of the other women in Sam’s life. He was just irresistible and women were just as irresistible to him.
As the ferry chugged its way back to the city, fireworks lit up the sky. The Parade of Tall Ships turned up the East River and the last rays of sunset faded to black. Ellie realized she was crying and looked around self-consciously, but there was no one nearby.
Poem: A First Kiss
A first kiss
Morning comes to its senses
rainbows on the walls,
sunlight slants through blinds.
I open my eyes.
The man lying next to me
stirs, rolls over.
He has a moustache.
I look at him
lying there
peaceful
eyes still closed.
Sunlight doesn’t
bother him awake.
just plays across his nose.
He doesn’t stir.
Who is he? I wonder,
this stranger in my bed.
He looks strong.
Strong bones,
high forehead,
good square jaw,
laugh lines around his eyes
promise something more.
I like the line of him.
I wonder what he will say
when he awakes.
Will he want
a first kiss
to start the day?
Morning comes to its senses
rainbows on the walls,
sunlight slants through blinds.
I open my eyes.
The man lying next to me
stirs, rolls over.
He has a moustache.
I look at him
lying there
peaceful
eyes still closed.
Sunlight doesn’t
bother him awake.
just plays across his nose.
He doesn’t stir.
Who is he? I wonder,
this stranger in my bed.
He looks strong.
Strong bones,
high forehead,
good square jaw,
laugh lines around his eyes
promise something more.
I like the line of him.
I wonder what he will say
when he awakes.
Will he want
a first kiss
to start the day?
How Can You Be So Sure?
MARIE
"How can you be so sure?"
BENNY
"I just know that’s all."
MARIE
"But I mean…"
BENNY
"Really, I’m 100% sure. I did the research."
MARIE
"Yeah but can I trust you?"
BENNY
"Trust me to what?"
MARIE
"To know what you’re talking about."
BENNY
"Oh."
MARIE
"See what I mean?"
BENNY
"Well I just think you’re being very existential about it. It’s not that big a deal."
MARIE
"Existential or not, I’m just saying…"
BENNY
"Well I think it’s safe enough to give it a try."
MARIE
"Oh now it’s safe enough. What happened to 100% sure?"
BENNY
"I thought you wanted to do this?"
MARIE
"I do."
BENNY
"Are you sure? You don’t act like it."
MARIE
"What do you mean? Just because I want to be careful."
BENNY
"Well that’s what I mean. Being so careful about it, it’s just…"
MARIE
"Just what? Not spontaneous?"
BENNY
"Well, no it’s not very spontaneous."
MARIE
"Well I just want to be practical, you know?"
BENNY
"Yes, I do know it. And I’ve been very careful in my preparations for this."
MARIE
"But are you sure?"
BENNY
"I’m 100% sure."
MARIE
"You think so?"
BENNY
"Look, you are just being difficult…and it’s spoiling the moment. I mean, I had so looked forward to this."
MARIE
"Well, I looked forward to it too."
BENNY
"You did?"
MARIE
"Yes, of course I did."
BENNY
"Well, you’d never know it. You’re so…"
MARIE
"I am not."
BENNY
"Yes, you are."
MARIE
"Am not. I’m just trying to keep my head on my shoulders. I don’t want to get carried away."
BENNY
"Carried away where? We’ve been talking about this for days now, and I thought we had our minds made up."
MARIE
"Well, yeah, as far as that goes."
BENNY
"As far as what goes."
MARIE
"Well the basic decision to do this, you know."
BENNY
"Okay then. Where are we right now? Are we going to do it or not?"
MARIE
"We’re going to do it, probably."
BENNY
"Probably. Probably isn’t good enough. I want to do it, damn it. And we’re already here."
MARIE
"And I’m with you in spirit, really I am. It’s just I don’t want to rush in and then be sorry later on."
BENNY
"You actually think something is going to go wrong, don’t you?"
MARIE
"Well, I do want to be prepared for whatever could go wrong, don’t you?"
BENNY
"I am prepared. I’m prepared to handle whatever happens if and when it comes up."
MARIE
"Wow. So you think we can just handle it."
BENNY
"Yes, I think you and I can handle anything that might happen here."
MARIE
"Even if the worst happened?"
BENNY
"Well, yes, but the worst isn’t going to happen."
MARIE
"Oh it isn’t."
BENNY
"No."
MARIE
"No?"
BENNY
"No. Definitely not."
MARIE
"There you go again with the definitely."
BENNY
"Look this is getting us nowhere. Let’s just forget about it. Let’s just leave now."
MARIE
"You don’t mean that."
BENNY
"Damn it."
MARIE
"Well don’t get mad about it."
BENNY
"I’m just frustrated, that’s all."
MARIE
"Well so am I."
BENNY
"What should we do now?"
MARIE
"Maybe we should wait."
BENNY
"What are we waiting for?"
MARIE
"I don’t know. A feeling of certainty."
BENNY
"Well I already have a strong feeling of certainty. I have enough certainty for us both."
MARIE
"So what’s the problem?"
BENNY
"What problem?"
MARIE
"The problem."
BENNY
"I don’t have a problem. You do."
MARIE
"I don’t have a problem."
BENNY
"Well you most certainly do have a problem."
MARIE
"I’m just not as cavalier about this as you are."
BENNY
"Oh now I’m cavalier?"
MARIE
"Well you are more of a risk taker than I am."
BENNY
"I’m telling you, it’s going to be good. Why can’t you just trust me?"
MARIE
"Well, I guess if I just throw caution to the wind…"
BENNY
"You won’t be sorry."
MARIE
"I hope you’re right."
BENNY
"So order already."
"How can you be so sure?"
BENNY
"I just know that’s all."
MARIE
"But I mean…"
BENNY
"Really, I’m 100% sure. I did the research."
MARIE
"Yeah but can I trust you?"
BENNY
"Trust me to what?"
MARIE
"To know what you’re talking about."
BENNY
"Oh."
MARIE
"See what I mean?"
BENNY
"Well I just think you’re being very existential about it. It’s not that big a deal."
MARIE
"Existential or not, I’m just saying…"
BENNY
"Well I think it’s safe enough to give it a try."
MARIE
"Oh now it’s safe enough. What happened to 100% sure?"
BENNY
"I thought you wanted to do this?"
MARIE
"I do."
BENNY
"Are you sure? You don’t act like it."
MARIE
"What do you mean? Just because I want to be careful."
BENNY
"Well that’s what I mean. Being so careful about it, it’s just…"
MARIE
"Just what? Not spontaneous?"
BENNY
"Well, no it’s not very spontaneous."
MARIE
"Well I just want to be practical, you know?"
BENNY
"Yes, I do know it. And I’ve been very careful in my preparations for this."
MARIE
"But are you sure?"
BENNY
"I’m 100% sure."
MARIE
"You think so?"
BENNY
"Look, you are just being difficult…and it’s spoiling the moment. I mean, I had so looked forward to this."
MARIE
"Well, I looked forward to it too."
BENNY
"You did?"
MARIE
"Yes, of course I did."
BENNY
"Well, you’d never know it. You’re so…"
MARIE
"I am not."
BENNY
"Yes, you are."
MARIE
"Am not. I’m just trying to keep my head on my shoulders. I don’t want to get carried away."
BENNY
"Carried away where? We’ve been talking about this for days now, and I thought we had our minds made up."
MARIE
"Well, yeah, as far as that goes."
BENNY
"As far as what goes."
MARIE
"Well the basic decision to do this, you know."
BENNY
"Okay then. Where are we right now? Are we going to do it or not?"
MARIE
"We’re going to do it, probably."
BENNY
"Probably. Probably isn’t good enough. I want to do it, damn it. And we’re already here."
MARIE
"And I’m with you in spirit, really I am. It’s just I don’t want to rush in and then be sorry later on."
BENNY
"You actually think something is going to go wrong, don’t you?"
MARIE
"Well, I do want to be prepared for whatever could go wrong, don’t you?"
BENNY
"I am prepared. I’m prepared to handle whatever happens if and when it comes up."
MARIE
"Wow. So you think we can just handle it."
BENNY
"Yes, I think you and I can handle anything that might happen here."
MARIE
"Even if the worst happened?"
BENNY
"Well, yes, but the worst isn’t going to happen."
MARIE
"Oh it isn’t."
BENNY
"No."
MARIE
"No?"
BENNY
"No. Definitely not."
MARIE
"There you go again with the definitely."
BENNY
"Look this is getting us nowhere. Let’s just forget about it. Let’s just leave now."
MARIE
"You don’t mean that."
BENNY
"Damn it."
MARIE
"Well don’t get mad about it."
BENNY
"I’m just frustrated, that’s all."
MARIE
"Well so am I."
BENNY
"What should we do now?"
MARIE
"Maybe we should wait."
BENNY
"What are we waiting for?"
MARIE
"I don’t know. A feeling of certainty."
BENNY
"Well I already have a strong feeling of certainty. I have enough certainty for us both."
MARIE
"So what’s the problem?"
BENNY
"What problem?"
MARIE
"The problem."
BENNY
"I don’t have a problem. You do."
MARIE
"I don’t have a problem."
BENNY
"Well you most certainly do have a problem."
MARIE
"I’m just not as cavalier about this as you are."
BENNY
"Oh now I’m cavalier?"
MARIE
"Well you are more of a risk taker than I am."
BENNY
"I’m telling you, it’s going to be good. Why can’t you just trust me?"
MARIE
"Well, I guess if I just throw caution to the wind…"
BENNY
"You won’t be sorry."
MARIE
"I hope you’re right."
BENNY
"So order already."
Abby and Bert
Two elderly people discuss eating dog food to make ends meet.
Abby: Oh for Christ’s sake!
Bert: What do you mean? I did it didn’t I?
Abby: No you did not do it.
Bert: I ate it! I got it down.
Abby: I said you couldn’t keep it down and you didn’t. You threw up all over my shoes.
Bert: Well, I’m sorry about that. But anyway I did so keep it down for a minute.
Abby: Did not.
Bert: Did.
Abby: Did not. Look at this mess.
Bert: Well what did you expect? It was dog food for Christ sake.
Abby: So? It was chunky chicken stew- practically a gourmet meal.
Bert: Gourmet my ass. It’s dog food. It tasted like dog food.
Abby: How would you know? You didn’t keep it down long enough to taste it.
Bert: I tasted it all right. You should taste it.
Abby: Why should I? It was your idea.
Bert: Well somebody around here has to have an idea. We’re gonna starve otherwise.
Abby: Yeah, I know.
Bert: It was a good idea. Lots of people eat pet food. I read it somewhere.
Abby: Poor people eat pet food.
Bert: I’m telling you, really.
Abby: Really.
Bert: But not this kind.
Abby: You would think when it’s called gourmet chicken stew at least it would be decent.
Bert: Maybe it’s some other brand.
Abby: You think so? You want to try it to find out?
Bert: Just wait a minute and let’s think about this.
Abby: Yeah?
Bert: Yeah, maybe it’s cat food that poor people eat. Maybe tuna. You know, tuna fish. That would be pretty safe.
Abby: Do you think?
Bert: I don’t know, but jeez. Dog food sucks.
Abby: I believe you.
Bert: Really it does.
Abby: I believe you.
Bert: I know.
Abby: Maybe you’re right.
Bert: What am I right about?
Abby: About the tuna fish.
Bert: Oh.
Abby: Want to try some?
Bert: Hell.
Abby: How much money do we have?
Bert: Shit I hate this.
Abby: How much?
Bert: We have a couple of dollars. Some change.
Abby: That’s all we have?
Bert: It’s enough to buy some cat food.
Abby: I’d rather have a donut.
Bert: I know. But a donut has no protein. We need some protein. Make it a few more days until the check comes.
Abby: A few more days.
Bert: Protein.
Abby: I’m hungry, Bert.
Bert: I know, honey.
Abby: Protein?
Bert: Protein.
Abby: Oh for Christ’s sake!
Bert: What do you mean? I did it didn’t I?
Abby: No you did not do it.
Bert: I ate it! I got it down.
Abby: I said you couldn’t keep it down and you didn’t. You threw up all over my shoes.
Bert: Well, I’m sorry about that. But anyway I did so keep it down for a minute.
Abby: Did not.
Bert: Did.
Abby: Did not. Look at this mess.
Bert: Well what did you expect? It was dog food for Christ sake.
Abby: So? It was chunky chicken stew- practically a gourmet meal.
Bert: Gourmet my ass. It’s dog food. It tasted like dog food.
Abby: How would you know? You didn’t keep it down long enough to taste it.
Bert: I tasted it all right. You should taste it.
Abby: Why should I? It was your idea.
Bert: Well somebody around here has to have an idea. We’re gonna starve otherwise.
Abby: Yeah, I know.
Bert: It was a good idea. Lots of people eat pet food. I read it somewhere.
Abby: Poor people eat pet food.
Bert: I’m telling you, really.
Abby: Really.
Bert: But not this kind.
Abby: You would think when it’s called gourmet chicken stew at least it would be decent.
Bert: Maybe it’s some other brand.
Abby: You think so? You want to try it to find out?
Bert: Just wait a minute and let’s think about this.
Abby: Yeah?
Bert: Yeah, maybe it’s cat food that poor people eat. Maybe tuna. You know, tuna fish. That would be pretty safe.
Abby: Do you think?
Bert: I don’t know, but jeez. Dog food sucks.
Abby: I believe you.
Bert: Really it does.
Abby: I believe you.
Bert: I know.
Abby: Maybe you’re right.
Bert: What am I right about?
Abby: About the tuna fish.
Bert: Oh.
Abby: Want to try some?
Bert: Hell.
Abby: How much money do we have?
Bert: Shit I hate this.
Abby: How much?
Bert: We have a couple of dollars. Some change.
Abby: That’s all we have?
Bert: It’s enough to buy some cat food.
Abby: I’d rather have a donut.
Bert: I know. But a donut has no protein. We need some protein. Make it a few more days until the check comes.
Abby: A few more days.
Bert: Protein.
Abby: I’m hungry, Bert.
Bert: I know, honey.
Abby: Protein?
Bert: Protein.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
