I wrote this in response to a prompt for my writing class. All I could think of was this walk in the canyon. There's no drama, no plot, no characterization, in fact there's absolutely nothing. But it's a great memory just the same.
Around the corner: A Memoir
By Roseanne Lasater
Two people walk hand in hand along the edge of a canyon. The Sun is high and it’s the middle of August. They walk hand in hand.
ROSE
Wow, look. Here’s the trailhead.
RICHARD
Yes.
ROSE
It’s tempting, huh?
RICHARD
It sure is.
ROSE
What do you think? Do we have time?
RICHARD
Well. We have a little time.
ROSE
Okay, so we won’t go far, okay?
RICHARD
We can’t go far. We have to get back pretty quick.
ROSE
Wait. How long have we been gone?
RICHARD
Oh, probably less than ten minutes. Not long.
ROSE
Well they’re probably okay, don’t you think?
RICHARD
Yeah. Muffy was asleep. She’ll probably sleep at least an hour.
ROSE
Yeah, right. And Big Daddy and Erin are hanging out together on the edge, checking out the view.
RICHARD
Yeah. Can we see them from here?
ROSE
No, I don’t think so.
RICHARD
Oh. Well that should keep them busy for a little while.
ROSE
Yeah.
RICHARD
But we can’t leave them too long.
ROSE
Right. I know.
RICHARD
Dad needs to eat pretty frequently because of his diabetes.
ROSE
Yeah…So, what do you think? Can we go a little ways?
RICHARD
Well, yeah, I think we’ll be okay. Just a little ways.
ROSE
Just down there, around the corner. Okay?
RICHARD
Okay, just a little way. Just around the corner.
ROSE
Oh wow.
RICHARD
Yeah.
ROSE
Is that amazing, or what? The view completely changed.
RICHARD
You’re right, it did.
ROSE
Wow.
RICHARD
Wow.
ROSE
It’s amazing.
RICHARD
Oh, look. We can see a donkey train, right down there. Do you see it?
ROSE
Where?
RICHARD
Down there.
ROSE
Whoa. They’re like ants. Even smaller than ants. At first I couldn’t even see them.
RICHARD
Well, let’s go around that next corner.
ROSE
Yeah.
RICHARD
Oh my God. It just gets better and better! Can you believe it?
ROSE
No. Well, yes. Now that we’ve been here a few days, it’s kind of sinking in.
RICHARD
They say it takes a couple of days.
ROSE
I know. It was like all of a sudden a big space opened up inside my brain, and then I could comprehend how big this is. Like my brain had to make room for it.
RICHARD
That’s an interesting way of putting it.
ROSE
Wow. Over there I can see a little bit of the river. Do you see it?
RICHARD
Yeah. You know, there’s an Indian tribe that lives down there?
ROSE
Cool.
RICHARD
Okay, let’s go around the corner and see what’s there.
ROSE
Okay.
(Stops short and motions for Richard to stop and be quiet.)
RICHARD
(Whispering) What do you see?
ROSE
There’s a doe and a fawn. On the trail.
RICHARD
Oh my God, she’s gonna nurse it right here in front of us!
ROSE
Shhh. Don’t scare them.
RICHARD
Look at that. How cool!
ROSE
Wow.
RICHARD
Have you ever been that close to a doe nursing a fawn before?
ROSE
Unh uh.
RICHARD
Me either.
ROSE
Oh, look, those people got too close.
RICHARD
Yeah, she’s going.
ROSE
Dang!
RICHARD
Did you get a picture?
ROSE
Are you kidding? I never even thought to take my camera out.
RICHARD
Oh, too bad.
ROSE
There they go. Right up the side. Amazing.
RICHARD
Well, that was a treat.
ROSE
Really. No kidding.
RICHARD
Isn’t this great?
ROSE
This is awesome!
RICHARD
(Sighs) Well, maybe we better head back. I know, you want to go around that next corner, right? So do I. So do I. But babe, we can’t leave them for too long.
ROSE
I know. Okay, just one more corner. Okay? Honest, just one more. Come on. Please?
RICHARD
Okay. One more.
ROSE
Oh my God. Would you look at this view?
RICHARD
Wow.
ROSE
We’re in the middle of the Grand Canyon!
RICHARD
It really feels like it, doesn’t it?
ROSE
Really.
RICHARD
Oh God.
ROSE
What?
RICHARD
I can’t stand it! I have to see what’s around the corner!
ROSE
(Laughs) I know, it’s insane. It’s like a magnet that keeps pulling us in further.
RICHARD
Babe, this is great!
ROSE
We have to do this again when we have more time.
RICHARD
Yeah, right.
ROSE
By the way do we have any water?
RICHARD
I don’t. Do you?
ROSE
Nope.
RICHARD
Shit.
ROSE
Damn.
RICHARD
You know, I think we’d better turn back now.
ROSE
Yeah, I know. We should.
RICHARD
It’s the hottest part of the day.
ROSE
Yeah, and it’s all uphill going back.
RICHARD
Yeah.
ROSE
Okay.
RICHARD
Wait. Let’s just go around the next corner.
ROSE
Just a peek.
RICHARD
Really fast. And then that’s all.
ROSE
Right.
RICHARD
Right.
ROSE
Really.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Script: Over Easy
(An older man and a younger woman enter a diner and sit down at a vacant table.)
CAROL
Thank you so much, Dr. Greisenhaft, for having breakfast with me today. I can't tell you how much this means to me. I've been struggling with this diagnosis for some time now. And I was afraid you wouldn't have time to see me, or that you would have forgotten who I am. It's been such a long time since I was your student, after all.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Yes, yes. Very well. Now, where was I?
CAROL
Oh. Well, you were about to explain your criteria for distinguishing between senile dementia and Alzheimer's. Specifically, distinguishing between Multi-Infarct and Alzheimer's.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh. Yes, of course. Had I started yet? Where was I?
CAROL
You were about to begin, Sir.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh, yes. Yes of course. Now let me see. You wanted to know about the differences between...What was it again?
CAROL
Senile dementia and Alzheimer's. You see, I have a case and it's been very difficult to diagnose. The patient displays symptoms of confusion, forgetfulness, wandering off, and laughing or crying at inappropriate times. It looks like it could be Multi-Infarct Dementia, but it could also be classical Alzheimer's. I've never seen anything like it before. And I do need to make a diagnosis before I can develop a treatment plan. So I was hoping you could help me, since you are an eminent expert in this field.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Hmm. Yes. Well, to begin with...
WAITRESS
What'll it be?
DR. GREISENHAFT
What's that you say?
WAITRESS
I said what'll it be? What do you want to eat?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh, great. I'm starved. Yes, indeed. Let's order, shall we?
CAROL
Yes, let's. By all means, doctor.
WAITRESS
So, what'll it be?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Well, just bring me the special. Without delay.
WAITRESS
Which one?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Which one?
WAITRESS
Yeah, which one. There are two. Up there (points) on the chalkboard. You see?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh. Okay, then. I'll have the top one.
WAITRESS
Good choice. How do you want 'em?
DR. GREISENHAFT
How do I want what?
WAITRESS
Well, your eggs, of course!
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh, my eggs. Well whatever you think is best.
WAITRESS
(sighs) Scrambled, over easy, or sunny side up?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Well whatever I said is fine.
WAITRESS
You haven't said anything. That's the point. (looks at Carol) Can you help me out here?
CAROL
Uh, doctor, the waitress needs to know if you want them scrambled, over easy or sunny side up.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Um, well I like my yolk soft but the white shouldn't be runny. Which one is that?
CAROL
He'll take his eggs over easy and I'll take the omelet. Thank you.
WAITRESS
Yeah. No problem. (leaves)
DR. GREISENHAFT
Was that woman trying to be difficult?
CAROL
No, I don't think so, doctor. No, she was very polite actually, and patient. So, you were saying doctor?
DR. GREISENHAFT
What? Was I saying something?
CAROL
About the differences?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh. Yes. The differences. You've got to be alert, you see. Because every case is different, you know. Unique. Totally unique. And as a doctor, you've got to learn to be flexible, and to embrace the unique features of each and every new case. You'll be a better doctor if you can learn to do that.
CAROL
Every case of dementia is unique? But doctor, there are two main types, two broad classifications of dementia...isn't that right?
DR. GREISENHAFT.
Who said anything about dementia?
CAROL
You did, doctor. You were explaining the differences to me. Don't you remember? To help me diagnose my case?
DR. GREISENHAFT.
Not really dear. But I do find that it's awfully hard to think on an empty stomach. Don't you find it that way?
CAROL
Yes, yes I do. I'm sure the food will be here soon. Uh, perhaps we should wait until we've eaten to continue.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Don't be silly, my dear. Let's continue our discussion. What were we talking about?
CAROL
Well, for example, this patient has no idea that he is forgetful. He's completely unaware. So at first I thought it had to be Alzheimer's. But on further examination, not all the signs were there. So that's when I started to wonder if it could be Multi-Infarct Dementia. What do you think, doctor?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Well I was thinking...we've been sitting here for quite a while, and I was wondering when the waitress is going to get here and take our order. I'm starved.
CAROL
Thank you so much, Dr. Greisenhaft, for having breakfast with me today. I can't tell you how much this means to me. I've been struggling with this diagnosis for some time now. And I was afraid you wouldn't have time to see me, or that you would have forgotten who I am. It's been such a long time since I was your student, after all.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Yes, yes. Very well. Now, where was I?
CAROL
Oh. Well, you were about to explain your criteria for distinguishing between senile dementia and Alzheimer's. Specifically, distinguishing between Multi-Infarct and Alzheimer's.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh. Yes, of course. Had I started yet? Where was I?
CAROL
You were about to begin, Sir.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh, yes. Yes of course. Now let me see. You wanted to know about the differences between...What was it again?
CAROL
Senile dementia and Alzheimer's. You see, I have a case and it's been very difficult to diagnose. The patient displays symptoms of confusion, forgetfulness, wandering off, and laughing or crying at inappropriate times. It looks like it could be Multi-Infarct Dementia, but it could also be classical Alzheimer's. I've never seen anything like it before. And I do need to make a diagnosis before I can develop a treatment plan. So I was hoping you could help me, since you are an eminent expert in this field.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Hmm. Yes. Well, to begin with...
WAITRESS
What'll it be?
DR. GREISENHAFT
What's that you say?
WAITRESS
I said what'll it be? What do you want to eat?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh, great. I'm starved. Yes, indeed. Let's order, shall we?
CAROL
Yes, let's. By all means, doctor.
WAITRESS
So, what'll it be?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Well, just bring me the special. Without delay.
WAITRESS
Which one?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Which one?
WAITRESS
Yeah, which one. There are two. Up there (points) on the chalkboard. You see?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh. Okay, then. I'll have the top one.
WAITRESS
Good choice. How do you want 'em?
DR. GREISENHAFT
How do I want what?
WAITRESS
Well, your eggs, of course!
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh, my eggs. Well whatever you think is best.
WAITRESS
(sighs) Scrambled, over easy, or sunny side up?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Well whatever I said is fine.
WAITRESS
You haven't said anything. That's the point. (looks at Carol) Can you help me out here?
CAROL
Uh, doctor, the waitress needs to know if you want them scrambled, over easy or sunny side up.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Um, well I like my yolk soft but the white shouldn't be runny. Which one is that?
CAROL
He'll take his eggs over easy and I'll take the omelet. Thank you.
WAITRESS
Yeah. No problem. (leaves)
DR. GREISENHAFT
Was that woman trying to be difficult?
CAROL
No, I don't think so, doctor. No, she was very polite actually, and patient. So, you were saying doctor?
DR. GREISENHAFT
What? Was I saying something?
CAROL
About the differences?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Oh. Yes. The differences. You've got to be alert, you see. Because every case is different, you know. Unique. Totally unique. And as a doctor, you've got to learn to be flexible, and to embrace the unique features of each and every new case. You'll be a better doctor if you can learn to do that.
CAROL
Every case of dementia is unique? But doctor, there are two main types, two broad classifications of dementia...isn't that right?
DR. GREISENHAFT.
Who said anything about dementia?
CAROL
You did, doctor. You were explaining the differences to me. Don't you remember? To help me diagnose my case?
DR. GREISENHAFT.
Not really dear. But I do find that it's awfully hard to think on an empty stomach. Don't you find it that way?
CAROL
Yes, yes I do. I'm sure the food will be here soon. Uh, perhaps we should wait until we've eaten to continue.
DR. GREISENHAFT
Don't be silly, my dear. Let's continue our discussion. What were we talking about?
CAROL
Well, for example, this patient has no idea that he is forgetful. He's completely unaware. So at first I thought it had to be Alzheimer's. But on further examination, not all the signs were there. So that's when I started to wonder if it could be Multi-Infarct Dementia. What do you think, doctor?
DR. GREISENHAFT
Well I was thinking...we've been sitting here for quite a while, and I was wondering when the waitress is going to get here and take our order. I'm starved.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A Box Of Crayons
PAUL
There’s nothing worse than this incessant grayness.
DANNY
Oh yeah. You mean like the clouds are gray? The concrete is gray? The street is dark gray? You mean like that?
PAUL
Yeah, I mean like that.
DANNY
That car over there is light gray…or would you call that silver?
PAUL
What?
DANNY
That car. Is it silver or gray?
PAUL
Umm, it’s silver gray.
DANNY
Like the colors in a big box of crayons, you know?
PAUL
Shades of gray in crayons? What are you talking about? There ain’t no shades of gray in any box of crayons I ever seen!
DANNY
Oh. Sorry… What are you so touchy about anyway? I just meant, you know, like “Yellow Green” and stuff like that.
PAUL
Yeah, well there ain’t no yellow green in this box of crayons, okay?!
DANNY
No. No green at all. No any shade of green. Green’s kind of a Spring color.
PAUL
Yeah, right.
DANNY
Spring and summer.
PAUL
Yeah.
DANNY
Hey, I have a green plant in my apartment!
PAUL
Stop it! You’re not cheering me up.
DANNY
I don’t know, man. It kind of cheers me up. You know? I’m just saying there are shades. Shades of gray and shades of green…doesn’t that cheer you up?
PAUL
No. That does not cheer me up.
DANNY
Well you’re just being difficult. That’s a very reassuring thought.
PAUL
Oh yeah. In what way?
DANNY
Well, in the way…in the way that everything isn’t black and white.
PAUL
I’m not so sure about that.
DANNY
What? You think everything is black or white?
PAUL
In a way, yes.
DANNY
But what about all the different shades of gray?
PAUL
That’s just black and white that are on the way.
DANNY
On the way to what?
PAUL
On the way to being black or white. In transition like.
DANNY
Yeah, but if that was true, then everything would end up either being black or being white. And that’s not how it is. In fact, I think there are more shades of gray than there is black and white.
PAUL
No, no, no. Everything is in transition. Even the black and white.
DANNY
That’s deep.
PAUL
The black fades to gray and the white fades to gray, and then they all fade all the way back again.
DANNY
So the white ends up black and the black ends up white, but only for a while.
PAUL
Something like that, yeah.
DANNY
Wow. That happens all the time in my laundry, man. The white shirts turn gray and the black jeans turn gray, and the underwear turns gray.
PAUL
Alright, alright. I don’t need to know the details.
DANNY
I’m just saying. But I guess it’s not really the same.
PAUL
Oh? How so?
DANNY
Well the laundry. It seems like everything just ends up the same drab shade of gray in the end, and then it stays that way.
PAUL
We’re not talking about laundry, you dummy. Jeez. Sometimes you can be really thick, you know that?
DANNY
Well, you don’t have to be mean about it. And anyway, I am not dumb. I just see things different, that’s all.
PAUL
Yeah, I know. Your whole world is just like a box of crayons. Yours just need to be sharpened, but all the colors are there.
DANNY
Yeah.
PAUL
I wish I could say the same for myself.
DANNY
What do you mean?
PAUL
I think I’m missing a few colors.
DANNY
From your crayon box?
PAUL
Yeah, from my crayon box.
DANNY
Oh, what colors are you missing?
PAUL
Well, right now I’m really missing blue.
DANNY
Oh, I get it! You’re missing blue because the sky is so gray, right? Instead of being blue. Is that what you mean?
PAUL
Yeah. That’s it alright. You’re not so dumb after all.
DANNY
I told you I’m not dumb!
PAUL
That’s what I said.
DANNY
Oh, okay. So what do you want to do now?
PAUL
You know what I wonder?
DANNY
What?
PAUL
I wonder why they call the blues the blues.
DANNY
I know about the blues.
PAUL
Yeah?
DANNY
Yeah. My Mom used to get the blues. All the time. That’s what she said, you know? She said, “Danny I’ve got a bad case of the blues.” And then she’d have another drink.
PAUL
Oh.
DANNY
Yeah. And later I’d put her in bed. So one time, I wanted to see what it was like, you know?
PAUL
Oh you did?
DANNY
Yeah, so after I put her to bed, I had some drinks. Boy did I ever have the blues that night!
PAUL
You think so?
DANNY
It was bad. It was really bad. And there was nobody there to put me in bed.
PAUL
Uh oh. So what happened?
DANNY
So I slept on the floor. The next day Mom was mad because I drank her Scotch. But I told her not to worry, I would never do that again.
PAUL
Oh really?
DANNY
No way. I didn’t want to have the blues like that again.
PAUL
Danny boy, you lead a charmed life.
DANNY
I do? What does that mean?
PAUL
It means you will never ever get the blues again, buddy. Not like me.
DANNY
You mean you don’t have a charmed life?
PAUL
Not even a little bit. Nope. I have a cursed life.
DANNY
Whoa. That sounds like something bad.
PAUL
Yeah, well it’s a double-edged sword.
DANNY
Oh, you mean like cursed on one side and charmed on the other?
PAUL
Ha ha. Very funny.
DANNY
So like the white and the black?
PAUL
What?
DANNY
Like the white and the black. The cursed and the charmed. Fading into each other?
There’s nothing worse than this incessant grayness.
DANNY
Oh yeah. You mean like the clouds are gray? The concrete is gray? The street is dark gray? You mean like that?
PAUL
Yeah, I mean like that.
DANNY
That car over there is light gray…or would you call that silver?
PAUL
What?
DANNY
That car. Is it silver or gray?
PAUL
Umm, it’s silver gray.
DANNY
Like the colors in a big box of crayons, you know?
PAUL
Shades of gray in crayons? What are you talking about? There ain’t no shades of gray in any box of crayons I ever seen!
DANNY
Oh. Sorry… What are you so touchy about anyway? I just meant, you know, like “Yellow Green” and stuff like that.
PAUL
Yeah, well there ain’t no yellow green in this box of crayons, okay?!
DANNY
No. No green at all. No any shade of green. Green’s kind of a Spring color.
PAUL
Yeah, right.
DANNY
Spring and summer.
PAUL
Yeah.
DANNY
Hey, I have a green plant in my apartment!
PAUL
Stop it! You’re not cheering me up.
DANNY
I don’t know, man. It kind of cheers me up. You know? I’m just saying there are shades. Shades of gray and shades of green…doesn’t that cheer you up?
PAUL
No. That does not cheer me up.
DANNY
Well you’re just being difficult. That’s a very reassuring thought.
PAUL
Oh yeah. In what way?
DANNY
Well, in the way…in the way that everything isn’t black and white.
PAUL
I’m not so sure about that.
DANNY
What? You think everything is black or white?
PAUL
In a way, yes.
DANNY
But what about all the different shades of gray?
PAUL
That’s just black and white that are on the way.
DANNY
On the way to what?
PAUL
On the way to being black or white. In transition like.
DANNY
Yeah, but if that was true, then everything would end up either being black or being white. And that’s not how it is. In fact, I think there are more shades of gray than there is black and white.
PAUL
No, no, no. Everything is in transition. Even the black and white.
DANNY
That’s deep.
PAUL
The black fades to gray and the white fades to gray, and then they all fade all the way back again.
DANNY
So the white ends up black and the black ends up white, but only for a while.
PAUL
Something like that, yeah.
DANNY
Wow. That happens all the time in my laundry, man. The white shirts turn gray and the black jeans turn gray, and the underwear turns gray.
PAUL
Alright, alright. I don’t need to know the details.
DANNY
I’m just saying. But I guess it’s not really the same.
PAUL
Oh? How so?
DANNY
Well the laundry. It seems like everything just ends up the same drab shade of gray in the end, and then it stays that way.
PAUL
We’re not talking about laundry, you dummy. Jeez. Sometimes you can be really thick, you know that?
DANNY
Well, you don’t have to be mean about it. And anyway, I am not dumb. I just see things different, that’s all.
PAUL
Yeah, I know. Your whole world is just like a box of crayons. Yours just need to be sharpened, but all the colors are there.
DANNY
Yeah.
PAUL
I wish I could say the same for myself.
DANNY
What do you mean?
PAUL
I think I’m missing a few colors.
DANNY
From your crayon box?
PAUL
Yeah, from my crayon box.
DANNY
Oh, what colors are you missing?
PAUL
Well, right now I’m really missing blue.
DANNY
Oh, I get it! You’re missing blue because the sky is so gray, right? Instead of being blue. Is that what you mean?
PAUL
Yeah. That’s it alright. You’re not so dumb after all.
DANNY
I told you I’m not dumb!
PAUL
That’s what I said.
DANNY
Oh, okay. So what do you want to do now?
PAUL
You know what I wonder?
DANNY
What?
PAUL
I wonder why they call the blues the blues.
DANNY
I know about the blues.
PAUL
Yeah?
DANNY
Yeah. My Mom used to get the blues. All the time. That’s what she said, you know? She said, “Danny I’ve got a bad case of the blues.” And then she’d have another drink.
PAUL
Oh.
DANNY
Yeah. And later I’d put her in bed. So one time, I wanted to see what it was like, you know?
PAUL
Oh you did?
DANNY
Yeah, so after I put her to bed, I had some drinks. Boy did I ever have the blues that night!
PAUL
You think so?
DANNY
It was bad. It was really bad. And there was nobody there to put me in bed.
PAUL
Uh oh. So what happened?
DANNY
So I slept on the floor. The next day Mom was mad because I drank her Scotch. But I told her not to worry, I would never do that again.
PAUL
Oh really?
DANNY
No way. I didn’t want to have the blues like that again.
PAUL
Danny boy, you lead a charmed life.
DANNY
I do? What does that mean?
PAUL
It means you will never ever get the blues again, buddy. Not like me.
DANNY
You mean you don’t have a charmed life?
PAUL
Not even a little bit. Nope. I have a cursed life.
DANNY
Whoa. That sounds like something bad.
PAUL
Yeah, well it’s a double-edged sword.
DANNY
Oh, you mean like cursed on one side and charmed on the other?
PAUL
Ha ha. Very funny.
DANNY
So like the white and the black?
PAUL
What?
DANNY
Like the white and the black. The cursed and the charmed. Fading into each other?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Movies In The Afternoon
MOVIES IN THE AFTERNOON
By Roseanne Lasater
Two people walk together through the park. They stop and sit on a park bench and watch the people walking by.
STEW
Thank God I wasn’t an only child.
SHIRLEY
Why do you say that?
STEW
Well, let’s see. Have you ever been the only person in a movie theater?
SHIRLEY
Um…no, I don’t think so.
STEW
Well, just imagine it.
SHIRLEY
Why would I be alone in a movie theater?
STEW
Okay, so wait. Just try it on, okay?
SHIRLEY
Okay. I’m alone in a movie theater. What movie?
STEW
Wait. Not yet. Just start with the movie theater. Picture this. Outside it’s a sunny afternoon in Spring. It’s almost unbearably bright and cheerful. You’re walking down the street, and you’re noticing that flowers are blooming. Trees are in bloom. Birds are singing. There’s a nice breeze, clouds are rolling by overhead. It’s warm.
SHIRLEY
So, why would I be in a movie theater on a day like that?
STEW
Because, don’t you get it? You’re all alone. All around you there are couples, and people with kids. People together. They’re all talking and laughing. And you’re all alone.
SHIRLEY
Okay. So I people watch?
STEW
No. You were people watching, but it just made you realize how you’re all alone. Get it?
SHIRLEY
So this gorgeous Spring day full of flowers and birds and happy people just depresses me?
STEW
Right.
SHIRLEY
Uh huh. Okay.
STEW
Yeah. It’s all just reminders of your aloneness, your essential aloneness. You’re not alone because you want to be alone, see? You’re alone because you’re an only child.
SHIRLEY
Hmmm.
STEW
Okay, just stay with me here. So, you go into the movie theater. It’s the middle of the afternoon. There’s nobody else in there. You don’t even know what’s playing, you just want to get away from the scene outside.
SHIRLEY
Okay, I go into the movie theater, I buy some popcorn and a soda and I find a seat.
STEW
You have your pick of seats, because the theater is empty. You sit right in the middle, middle row in the center. The best seat in the house.
SHIRLEY
Cool. I put my feet up and take a sip of my soda. Life is good.
STEW
No. Life is not good. There’s nobody else there! Don’t you get it? You’re all alone again.
SHIRLEY
Oh, sorry. Okay, I’m all alone. And then the movie starts, and it’s a……a comedy?
STEW
No. It’s not a comedy. Are you being a smart ass, or what? No. It’s a drama, a drama about a bad marriage. The woman is an alcoholic and the man is a workaholic. They can’t talk to each other at all. They have nothing in common. But they fight. He complains about her drinking and she complains that he’s never home. It’s a verbal bloodbath.
SHIRLEY
Jeez, no wonder nobody else is there.
STEW
What?
SHIRELY
In the theater. Nobody else is there. It’s terrible. Who would want to watch that?
STEW
Right! Now you’re getting it.
SHIRLEY
Getting what?
STEW
You’re getting it. What I’m trying to tell you.
SHIRLEY
Uh, what are you trying to tell me? I’m a little confused.
STEW
Don’t be thick. You’re putting me on.
SHIRLEY
No I’m not.
STEW
Stop. Don’t you see?
That’s what it’s like being an only child. See? It’s like sitting in a dark, empty theater all alone, watching a bad movie.
SHIRLEY
Oh.
STEW
Right. Do you get it now?
SHIRLEY
Can I ask you a question?
STEW
Sure. Shoot.
SHIRLEY
What the hell are you talking about? You’re not an only child!
STEW
That’s what I’m saying.
SHIRLEY
What’s what you’re saying? You haven’t said anything.
STEW
I’m saying…you’re going to make me explain this…I’m saying that I’m glad I’m not an only child.
SHIRLEY
Well why didn’t you just say that?
STEW
I did.
SHIRLEY
You did?
STEW
Yeah.
SHIRLEY
Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about.
STEW
Oh yeah?
SHIRLEY
Yeah.
STEW
And why is that may I ask?
SHIRLEY
Look, I was an only child, and I can tell you it was great! I got totally spoiled by both my parents. I got everything I ever wanted. It was spectacular. And I was glad, let me tell you, that I didn’t have any brothers or sisters that I had to share it with.
STEW
Oh yeah?
SHIRLEY
Yeah. So what are you saying? Are you saying you were glad you had brothers and sisters?
STEW
Hell no. I hated them all.
SHIRLEY
Now, that’s a reason.
STEW
A reason for what?
SHIRLEY
A reason. Don’t you get it? A reason…for going to the movies alone!
By Roseanne Lasater
Two people walk together through the park. They stop and sit on a park bench and watch the people walking by.
STEW
Thank God I wasn’t an only child.
SHIRLEY
Why do you say that?
STEW
Well, let’s see. Have you ever been the only person in a movie theater?
SHIRLEY
Um…no, I don’t think so.
STEW
Well, just imagine it.
SHIRLEY
Why would I be alone in a movie theater?
STEW
Okay, so wait. Just try it on, okay?
SHIRLEY
Okay. I’m alone in a movie theater. What movie?
STEW
Wait. Not yet. Just start with the movie theater. Picture this. Outside it’s a sunny afternoon in Spring. It’s almost unbearably bright and cheerful. You’re walking down the street, and you’re noticing that flowers are blooming. Trees are in bloom. Birds are singing. There’s a nice breeze, clouds are rolling by overhead. It’s warm.
SHIRLEY
So, why would I be in a movie theater on a day like that?
STEW
Because, don’t you get it? You’re all alone. All around you there are couples, and people with kids. People together. They’re all talking and laughing. And you’re all alone.
SHIRLEY
Okay. So I people watch?
STEW
No. You were people watching, but it just made you realize how you’re all alone. Get it?
SHIRLEY
So this gorgeous Spring day full of flowers and birds and happy people just depresses me?
STEW
Right.
SHIRLEY
Uh huh. Okay.
STEW
Yeah. It’s all just reminders of your aloneness, your essential aloneness. You’re not alone because you want to be alone, see? You’re alone because you’re an only child.
SHIRLEY
Hmmm.
STEW
Okay, just stay with me here. So, you go into the movie theater. It’s the middle of the afternoon. There’s nobody else in there. You don’t even know what’s playing, you just want to get away from the scene outside.
SHIRLEY
Okay, I go into the movie theater, I buy some popcorn and a soda and I find a seat.
STEW
You have your pick of seats, because the theater is empty. You sit right in the middle, middle row in the center. The best seat in the house.
SHIRLEY
Cool. I put my feet up and take a sip of my soda. Life is good.
STEW
No. Life is not good. There’s nobody else there! Don’t you get it? You’re all alone again.
SHIRLEY
Oh, sorry. Okay, I’m all alone. And then the movie starts, and it’s a……a comedy?
STEW
No. It’s not a comedy. Are you being a smart ass, or what? No. It’s a drama, a drama about a bad marriage. The woman is an alcoholic and the man is a workaholic. They can’t talk to each other at all. They have nothing in common. But they fight. He complains about her drinking and she complains that he’s never home. It’s a verbal bloodbath.
SHIRLEY
Jeez, no wonder nobody else is there.
STEW
What?
SHIRELY
In the theater. Nobody else is there. It’s terrible. Who would want to watch that?
STEW
Right! Now you’re getting it.
SHIRLEY
Getting what?
STEW
You’re getting it. What I’m trying to tell you.
SHIRLEY
Uh, what are you trying to tell me? I’m a little confused.
STEW
Don’t be thick. You’re putting me on.
SHIRLEY
No I’m not.
STEW
Stop. Don’t you see?
That’s what it’s like being an only child. See? It’s like sitting in a dark, empty theater all alone, watching a bad movie.
SHIRLEY
Oh.
STEW
Right. Do you get it now?
SHIRLEY
Can I ask you a question?
STEW
Sure. Shoot.
SHIRLEY
What the hell are you talking about? You’re not an only child!
STEW
That’s what I’m saying.
SHIRLEY
What’s what you’re saying? You haven’t said anything.
STEW
I’m saying…you’re going to make me explain this…I’m saying that I’m glad I’m not an only child.
SHIRLEY
Well why didn’t you just say that?
STEW
I did.
SHIRLEY
You did?
STEW
Yeah.
SHIRLEY
Well, you don’t know what you’re talking about.
STEW
Oh yeah?
SHIRLEY
Yeah.
STEW
And why is that may I ask?
SHIRLEY
Look, I was an only child, and I can tell you it was great! I got totally spoiled by both my parents. I got everything I ever wanted. It was spectacular. And I was glad, let me tell you, that I didn’t have any brothers or sisters that I had to share it with.
STEW
Oh yeah?
SHIRLEY
Yeah. So what are you saying? Are you saying you were glad you had brothers and sisters?
STEW
Hell no. I hated them all.
SHIRLEY
Now, that’s a reason.
STEW
A reason for what?
SHIRLEY
A reason. Don’t you get it? A reason…for going to the movies alone!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Short Short Story: Charlie Hears
This has to be the worst way possible to be psychic, he thought. The subway screeched to a stop in the station. It didn’t matter what station it was. Charlie got off and followed the man in the black leather jacket, who was following the woman with the Bloomingdale’s shopping bag.
At the top of the stairs, the woman stopped to light a cigarette. The man in the black leather jacket hung back and waited at the foot of the stairs. Charlie leaned back against the tiled subway wall and waited too. Not here, he thought.
“Bitch doesn’t know what she’s in for,” the man in the black leather jacket thought. She’s not the only one, Charlie mused. Outside, 86th Street was dark. Streetlights reflected off the asphalt. The three of them walked down to Third Avenue single file, about 25 yards apart, and turned north.
Follow the leader, Charlie thought.
The man in the black leather jacket began to close in on the woman. “Where do you live, bitch?” he thought to himself, and Charlie heard his thoughts inside his head as clearly as if the man had spoken directly to him.
Before the man could get close enough to make his move, Charlie was on him. The element of surprise gave him an advantage. The man went down easily. Charlie landed on top of him and smashed his face into the sidewalk. He looked up and saw that the woman had kept walking.
“You are going nowhere right now,” he said.
“Hey, what the hell?” the man said. The man struggled, but Charlie had him.
“Nowhere, I said.”
“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.
“I am your conscience,” Charlie said. “Shut up and don’t give me any trouble.”
“Fuck you, man.” The man in the black leather jacket twisted and reached out with his arms. Charlie pressed his knee into the middle of his back and pushed his face back into the asphalt.
“Not tonight,” he said.
“What the fuck do you want, man?”
“Like I said,” Charlie explained, “I am your conscience.”
“But what did I do?”
“It’s what you were getting ready to do,” Charlie said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said.
“Well I didn’t do anything, man.”
“Not yet you didn’t.” Charlie looked down the street. The woman was nowhere in sight. “Okay,” he said. “You can go now.” Charlie jumped back, releasing his hold on the man, who scurried away on all fours, then rolled over and backed away, coming upright about ten feet down the sidewalk.
“Who the hell are you?” the man in the black leather jacket called back to Charlie.
Charlie didn’t answer. He turned around and walked back in the direction of the subway station. I have got to get a car, he thought. The subway is just way too noisy.
At the top of the stairs, the woman stopped to light a cigarette. The man in the black leather jacket hung back and waited at the foot of the stairs. Charlie leaned back against the tiled subway wall and waited too. Not here, he thought.
“Bitch doesn’t know what she’s in for,” the man in the black leather jacket thought. She’s not the only one, Charlie mused. Outside, 86th Street was dark. Streetlights reflected off the asphalt. The three of them walked down to Third Avenue single file, about 25 yards apart, and turned north.
Follow the leader, Charlie thought.
The man in the black leather jacket began to close in on the woman. “Where do you live, bitch?” he thought to himself, and Charlie heard his thoughts inside his head as clearly as if the man had spoken directly to him.
Before the man could get close enough to make his move, Charlie was on him. The element of surprise gave him an advantage. The man went down easily. Charlie landed on top of him and smashed his face into the sidewalk. He looked up and saw that the woman had kept walking.
“You are going nowhere right now,” he said.
“Hey, what the hell?” the man said. The man struggled, but Charlie had him.
“Nowhere, I said.”
“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.
“I am your conscience,” Charlie said. “Shut up and don’t give me any trouble.”
“Fuck you, man.” The man in the black leather jacket twisted and reached out with his arms. Charlie pressed his knee into the middle of his back and pushed his face back into the asphalt.
“Not tonight,” he said.
“What the fuck do you want, man?”
“Like I said,” Charlie explained, “I am your conscience.”
“But what did I do?”
“It’s what you were getting ready to do,” Charlie said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said.
“Well I didn’t do anything, man.”
“Not yet you didn’t.” Charlie looked down the street. The woman was nowhere in sight. “Okay,” he said. “You can go now.” Charlie jumped back, releasing his hold on the man, who scurried away on all fours, then rolled over and backed away, coming upright about ten feet down the sidewalk.
“Who the hell are you?” the man in the black leather jacket called back to Charlie.
Charlie didn’t answer. He turned around and walked back in the direction of the subway station. I have got to get a car, he thought. The subway is just way too noisy.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Script: Waiting
Harry: What are you doing?
Bill: Waiting.
Harry: Waiting?
Bill: Yeah.
Harry: What for?
Bill: What do you think I’m waiting for? This is a Bus Stop!
Harry: Hey, don’t get bent out of shape, okay? It’s also my front yard.
Bill: Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.
Harry: Yeah.
Bill: Well I’m just waiting for the bus, okay?
Harry: That’s fine. But there’s just one thing.
Bill: What’s that? Did I step on something? A flower bed or something?
Harry: What’s that?
Bill: Yeah, what’s that?
Harry: You have those golf clubs there. And those are mine.
Bill: What? What are you talking about? These are my golf clubs.
Harry: Oh yeah?
Bill: Yeah.
Harry: I think I know my own golf clubs when I see them. Those right there are mine.
Bill: Uh, no they’re not. These are my golf clubs.
Harry: Now listen here, buddy.
Bill: Yeah, what?
Harry: You’re not going to stand here and tell me those are your golf clubs, when I know for a fact that they’re mine!
Bill: Well you’re mistaken, mister!
Harry: No I’m not.
Bill: You are. You’re mistaken. Look, maybe they look like yours, but…
Harry: They don’t just look like mine. They are mine.
Bill: So what? You can prove that?
Harry: This is bullshit. I’m calling the police.
Bill: Suit yourself.
Harry: But you are not getting on that bus.
Bill: Oh yeah? Who says?
Harry: I said.
Bill: You said?
Harry: Yes. I said.
Bill: Yeah, well the bus is coming in just a couple of minutes, and I’m getting on it.
Harry: The hell you are.
Bill: I am.
Harry: The only way you’re getting on that bus is if I get my clubs back first.
Bill: Are you crazy? You want me to give you my golf clubs?
Harry: They’re not yours, so stop saying they are.
Bill: Mister!
Harry: Get serious! Nobody rides the bus with golf clubs.
Bill: Oh yeah?
Harry: Yeah.
Bill: Well I do.
Harry: You just stole those golf clubs from the back seat of my car, which is parked right over there in my driveway.
Bill: Did you see me?
Harry: Well, no.
Bill: Then how do you know that I did it?
Harry: Because they’re my golf clubs, goddamn it. That’s how I know…and you know it too. So why don’t you stop screwin’ around? I don’t know why you took them, and I don’t care. Here, just look in that pocket right there.
Bill: Why?
Harry: Right in there. Open that zipper, and take a look in there. My scorecard from this morning is right in there. I shot a 78 at Prairie Hills. Go ahead, look.
Bill: Look mister, I’m just minding my own business here, waiting for the bus to come, and you’re bustin’ my chops.
Harry: You know better than that. Do I have to knock you on your ass to get my clubs back, or what?
Bill: Whoa now. Wait just a minute. Here… (Opens the zipper compartment on the golf bag) See? Nothing.
Harry: What?
Bill: Nothing. There’s nothing in there.
Harry: What? You already cleaned my stuff out of it, didn’t you?
Bill: Son of a bitch.
(Marie enters.)
Marie: Hi honey. I’m back. What’s going on?
Harry: Marie, I want you to go in the house and call the police. Right now.
Marie: But why? What’s the matter?
Harry: Because this guy stole my golf clubs. That’s why.
Marie: What?
Harry: I said this guy stole my golf clubs.
Marie: But honey, they’re right there in the car. (Marie points to the car.)
Harry: What? They’re in your car?
(Marie walks back to the car and checks. She nods and points.)
Marie: Yeah.
Harry: Oh my God.
Marie: Don’t you remember, you took my car this morning instead of yours?
(Harry backs away from the bus stop.)
Bill: So, mister…can I get on the bus now?
Harry: Oh, uh, yeah, yeah. Sure. I uh…I’m sorry about this.
Bill: Yeah, well…
Harry: I guess I got a little confused.
Bill: I guess so. But, hey, they’re really nice clubs, aren’t they?
Harry: Yeah. Yeah, they’re great clubs. Great clubs.
Bill: Waiting.
Harry: Waiting?
Bill: Yeah.
Harry: What for?
Bill: What do you think I’m waiting for? This is a Bus Stop!
Harry: Hey, don’t get bent out of shape, okay? It’s also my front yard.
Bill: Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.
Harry: Yeah.
Bill: Well I’m just waiting for the bus, okay?
Harry: That’s fine. But there’s just one thing.
Bill: What’s that? Did I step on something? A flower bed or something?
Harry: What’s that?
Bill: Yeah, what’s that?
Harry: You have those golf clubs there. And those are mine.
Bill: What? What are you talking about? These are my golf clubs.
Harry: Oh yeah?
Bill: Yeah.
Harry: I think I know my own golf clubs when I see them. Those right there are mine.
Bill: Uh, no they’re not. These are my golf clubs.
Harry: Now listen here, buddy.
Bill: Yeah, what?
Harry: You’re not going to stand here and tell me those are your golf clubs, when I know for a fact that they’re mine!
Bill: Well you’re mistaken, mister!
Harry: No I’m not.
Bill: You are. You’re mistaken. Look, maybe they look like yours, but…
Harry: They don’t just look like mine. They are mine.
Bill: So what? You can prove that?
Harry: This is bullshit. I’m calling the police.
Bill: Suit yourself.
Harry: But you are not getting on that bus.
Bill: Oh yeah? Who says?
Harry: I said.
Bill: You said?
Harry: Yes. I said.
Bill: Yeah, well the bus is coming in just a couple of minutes, and I’m getting on it.
Harry: The hell you are.
Bill: I am.
Harry: The only way you’re getting on that bus is if I get my clubs back first.
Bill: Are you crazy? You want me to give you my golf clubs?
Harry: They’re not yours, so stop saying they are.
Bill: Mister!
Harry: Get serious! Nobody rides the bus with golf clubs.
Bill: Oh yeah?
Harry: Yeah.
Bill: Well I do.
Harry: You just stole those golf clubs from the back seat of my car, which is parked right over there in my driveway.
Bill: Did you see me?
Harry: Well, no.
Bill: Then how do you know that I did it?
Harry: Because they’re my golf clubs, goddamn it. That’s how I know…and you know it too. So why don’t you stop screwin’ around? I don’t know why you took them, and I don’t care. Here, just look in that pocket right there.
Bill: Why?
Harry: Right in there. Open that zipper, and take a look in there. My scorecard from this morning is right in there. I shot a 78 at Prairie Hills. Go ahead, look.
Bill: Look mister, I’m just minding my own business here, waiting for the bus to come, and you’re bustin’ my chops.
Harry: You know better than that. Do I have to knock you on your ass to get my clubs back, or what?
Bill: Whoa now. Wait just a minute. Here… (Opens the zipper compartment on the golf bag) See? Nothing.
Harry: What?
Bill: Nothing. There’s nothing in there.
Harry: What? You already cleaned my stuff out of it, didn’t you?
Bill: Son of a bitch.
(Marie enters.)
Marie: Hi honey. I’m back. What’s going on?
Harry: Marie, I want you to go in the house and call the police. Right now.
Marie: But why? What’s the matter?
Harry: Because this guy stole my golf clubs. That’s why.
Marie: What?
Harry: I said this guy stole my golf clubs.
Marie: But honey, they’re right there in the car. (Marie points to the car.)
Harry: What? They’re in your car?
(Marie walks back to the car and checks. She nods and points.)
Marie: Yeah.
Harry: Oh my God.
Marie: Don’t you remember, you took my car this morning instead of yours?
(Harry backs away from the bus stop.)
Bill: So, mister…can I get on the bus now?
Harry: Oh, uh, yeah, yeah. Sure. I uh…I’m sorry about this.
Bill: Yeah, well…
Harry: I guess I got a little confused.
Bill: I guess so. But, hey, they’re really nice clubs, aren’t they?
Harry: Yeah. Yeah, they’re great clubs. Great clubs.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Short Story: The Empty Chair
I slithered along the wall from the back of the room half way down on the right hand side. Not a seat anywhere. I tried not to groan audibly, but I knew my back couldn’t handle it if I had to stand up for the whole thing. Little by little my eyes adjusted to the low light in the room, and I could see a vacant expanse of wall. At least I would be able to lean. There seemed to be people doing that very thing all around the room. At the back they were two or three deep.
Somebody cleared their throat, and I noticed how quiet it was in this theatre. All eyes were on the empty chair up front. Nobody interacting at all. Just sitting there anticipating what was to come. Well, I thought, I guess this is the main event. An “E” ticket, as they used to say in Disneyland. The big show. Personally, I wasn’t looking forward to it. But I’d been assigned to cover it, so here I was.
I should have guessed the room would be crowded from the size of the crowds outside. Demonstrators from both sides lined the road all the way up the hill, and the police were making a concerted effort to keep the two groups apart. Several television news crews were parked along the edge of the road, and reporters were holding microphones and covering the scene for the TV news. Story at eleven. Midnight actually, to be precise.
The atmosphere was definitely tense in here. There is a certain smell, well not precisely a “smell,” but a sense you get when there are too many people crammed into a room without windows. Even though I could hear the air conditioning whirring softly, the air in the room was close.
Then a light came on, and the guys in uniform started filing onto the stage. They took their places on either side and surveyed the room. I checked for my nametag, making sure everything was in order. I was where I was supposed to be, after all. But the uniforms made me nervous just the same. I patted my “PRESS” tag and thought about all the places it had taken me over the years. Places I never would have gotten near to being before. Not that I would have missed it altogether. No, not hardly. I probably would have been here.
Before becoming a reporter, I had been a “rabble-rouser” as they say. I guess I was kind of a troublemaker, a demonstrator for causes of all kinds and a pothead to boot. An outlaw as far as that goes. Yes, the pure flame had most assuredly burned in my heart. I was young and I wanted to change the world. In those days, I probably would have been down there in the road with the so-called “anti’s,” but now, at the ripe old age of 32, here I was in a business suit with a front row seat. Yes, things had really changed for me.
I remember the turning point. I had dropped out of school and quite my job, and joined a revolutionary cell. My roommate’s boyfriend had recruited me. Well, ex-boyfriend. When she threw him out, I left with him. He had this crazy look in his eyes. All he ever talked about was the revolution.
One thing that really amazed me was how easy it was. People gave us houses, clothes, cars, money. Financially, I actually felt more secure after I dropped out than I had when I was working my butt off to make ends meet. I didn’t know what I wanted to major in, and college was as much of a drag as my $ 3.52 an hour job in a department store. It was a time in my young life when I was going nowhere.
Entertainment consisted of rock and roll music and smoking pot, and when I could afford it the occasional live concert. Right after the last demonstration against the war, I’d broken up with my boyfriend. One night, we were running from the teargas canisters in Dupont Circle, and the next day he was holding hands with a blond we met at the organizing office. All the way back to New York, I sat in the back seat fuming.
So when Gino said I could come with him and change the world for real, I was ready to go. At first, it was fun. Everything was provided for us. Gino did all the talking, and all I had to do was listen and participate. It started out with fundraising stuff, standing on the curb in a shopping mall with a bucket and a sign, collecting the cash people seemed all too willing to confer on whatever cause we were advertising that day.
Then it was organizing the farm workers, going door to door signing them into the union. Even the hunger strike was easy for me. I stood at the door of the grocery store handing out flyers. The Spring and Summer passed this way, and I was having a pretty good time.
Then one day, there was a conversation about blowing up a dam. They were talking about planting explosives. We all had to memorize the phone number of an attorney to call if we got arrested. And when the conversation ended, Gino handed me a revolver and told me to carry it from now on.
The idea of carrying a loaded gun in my waistband took the whole thing to a new level. I slept on it that night, and in the morning I quietly walked away before breakfast. I left the gun on the bed I had slept in, walked to the highway and hitched a ride back into the city. That was the end of my career as a revolutionary.
So here I was, thinking back on the turning point in my life. When I got back into school, I started taking Journalism classes, and presto! Here I was, lurking around at all the big events of the day, but with permission, officially sanctioned, as it were. I’d always been one of the good guys, but I’d almost lost my way.
I wondered how the man of the hour had ended up on this stage tonight, surrounded by uniformed guards and high-level security. What was the turning point in his life, I wondered? How did he end up here instead of the million other places he could have headed in his life? Well, he certainly had the spotlight tonight.
The Chaplain walked onto the stage and stood facing us with a Bible in his hand. He motioned us to stand up with his other hand. Then he opened the Bible and began to read, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want…”
Behind him the door opened and more guards appeared. The two in the front had him by the shoulders. They were holding him up and seemed to be carrying him along. His feet dragged behind him on the floor. His head was bowed. At first I thought he was asleep, or drugged. But then he picked his head up and looked out at us. His eyes were wild.
Somebody cleared their throat, and I noticed how quiet it was in this theatre. All eyes were on the empty chair up front. Nobody interacting at all. Just sitting there anticipating what was to come. Well, I thought, I guess this is the main event. An “E” ticket, as they used to say in Disneyland. The big show. Personally, I wasn’t looking forward to it. But I’d been assigned to cover it, so here I was.
I should have guessed the room would be crowded from the size of the crowds outside. Demonstrators from both sides lined the road all the way up the hill, and the police were making a concerted effort to keep the two groups apart. Several television news crews were parked along the edge of the road, and reporters were holding microphones and covering the scene for the TV news. Story at eleven. Midnight actually, to be precise.
The atmosphere was definitely tense in here. There is a certain smell, well not precisely a “smell,” but a sense you get when there are too many people crammed into a room without windows. Even though I could hear the air conditioning whirring softly, the air in the room was close.
Then a light came on, and the guys in uniform started filing onto the stage. They took their places on either side and surveyed the room. I checked for my nametag, making sure everything was in order. I was where I was supposed to be, after all. But the uniforms made me nervous just the same. I patted my “PRESS” tag and thought about all the places it had taken me over the years. Places I never would have gotten near to being before. Not that I would have missed it altogether. No, not hardly. I probably would have been here.
Before becoming a reporter, I had been a “rabble-rouser” as they say. I guess I was kind of a troublemaker, a demonstrator for causes of all kinds and a pothead to boot. An outlaw as far as that goes. Yes, the pure flame had most assuredly burned in my heart. I was young and I wanted to change the world. In those days, I probably would have been down there in the road with the so-called “anti’s,” but now, at the ripe old age of 32, here I was in a business suit with a front row seat. Yes, things had really changed for me.
I remember the turning point. I had dropped out of school and quite my job, and joined a revolutionary cell. My roommate’s boyfriend had recruited me. Well, ex-boyfriend. When she threw him out, I left with him. He had this crazy look in his eyes. All he ever talked about was the revolution.
One thing that really amazed me was how easy it was. People gave us houses, clothes, cars, money. Financially, I actually felt more secure after I dropped out than I had when I was working my butt off to make ends meet. I didn’t know what I wanted to major in, and college was as much of a drag as my $ 3.52 an hour job in a department store. It was a time in my young life when I was going nowhere.
Entertainment consisted of rock and roll music and smoking pot, and when I could afford it the occasional live concert. Right after the last demonstration against the war, I’d broken up with my boyfriend. One night, we were running from the teargas canisters in Dupont Circle, and the next day he was holding hands with a blond we met at the organizing office. All the way back to New York, I sat in the back seat fuming.
So when Gino said I could come with him and change the world for real, I was ready to go. At first, it was fun. Everything was provided for us. Gino did all the talking, and all I had to do was listen and participate. It started out with fundraising stuff, standing on the curb in a shopping mall with a bucket and a sign, collecting the cash people seemed all too willing to confer on whatever cause we were advertising that day.
Then it was organizing the farm workers, going door to door signing them into the union. Even the hunger strike was easy for me. I stood at the door of the grocery store handing out flyers. The Spring and Summer passed this way, and I was having a pretty good time.
Then one day, there was a conversation about blowing up a dam. They were talking about planting explosives. We all had to memorize the phone number of an attorney to call if we got arrested. And when the conversation ended, Gino handed me a revolver and told me to carry it from now on.
The idea of carrying a loaded gun in my waistband took the whole thing to a new level. I slept on it that night, and in the morning I quietly walked away before breakfast. I left the gun on the bed I had slept in, walked to the highway and hitched a ride back into the city. That was the end of my career as a revolutionary.
So here I was, thinking back on the turning point in my life. When I got back into school, I started taking Journalism classes, and presto! Here I was, lurking around at all the big events of the day, but with permission, officially sanctioned, as it were. I’d always been one of the good guys, but I’d almost lost my way.
I wondered how the man of the hour had ended up on this stage tonight, surrounded by uniformed guards and high-level security. What was the turning point in his life, I wondered? How did he end up here instead of the million other places he could have headed in his life? Well, he certainly had the spotlight tonight.
The Chaplain walked onto the stage and stood facing us with a Bible in his hand. He motioned us to stand up with his other hand. Then he opened the Bible and began to read, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want…”
Behind him the door opened and more guards appeared. The two in the front had him by the shoulders. They were holding him up and seemed to be carrying him along. His feet dragged behind him on the floor. His head was bowed. At first I thought he was asleep, or drugged. But then he picked his head up and looked out at us. His eyes were wild.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Script: Getting Off
The light at the end of her cigarette glows for an instant and illuminates the tip of her nose.
TONI
How long is this going to take?
ANGELA
I don’t know. You’re not supposed to smoke in the subway you know.
TONI
Whatever.
ANGELA
Just stay close, okay?
TONI
Fucking high heels!
(she grabs her friends arm to keep from falling)
ANGELA
Shit, Toni, you damn near pulled me over.
TONI
Damn. I’m sorry, okay? Wait, I need to hold onto you.
ANGELA
Okay, wait a minute. You’re pulling my coat off my shoulder. Take it easy would you?
TONI
Alright, okay. Don’t get your tits in a knot. I’m just trying not to fall down.
ANGELA
Just hold onto my shoulder.
TONI
Okay. Okay.
ANGELA
That’s better. Where the fuck are we?
TONI
I don’t know. Somewhere in the tunnel. This shit is hard to walk on.
ANGELA
No kidding.
TONI
We should have stayed on the train.
ANGELA
No way.
TONI
Way.
ANGELA
What? Did you happen to notice how it smelled in there?
TONI
I did actually. That’s why I lit a cigarette as soon as we got out.
ANGELA
Fucking stench was overpowering!
TONI
I know. Can you believe how bad human beings smell?
ANGELA
Worse than a dirty fucking diaper. I swear.
TONI
Hey wait. I see a light.
ANGELA
Where? I don’t see anything.
TONI
Down there. Way down there. Don’t you see it?
ANGELA
Oh yeah.
TONI
Looks like a long way.
ANGELA
Shit. This was a really bad idea. We need to get out of this fucking tunnel.
TONI
Yeah right. Just walk toward the light. We go back to the last station and we get out to the street. My Mom’s place is right there, and she’ll give us a lift back to the apartment. We just walk toward the light.
ANGELA
You know what that makes me think of?
TONI
No, what?
ANGELA
They say when people die, they walk through this tunnel toward the light.
TONI
Goddamn it Angie. That is too fucking morbid. Cut it out!
ANGELA
What do you mean? I’m not morbid. Hey, light another cigarette, would you?
TONI
What’s the matter? Afraid of the dark?
ANGELA
Asshole.
TONI
Sorry. That was bad.
ANGELA
Give me one.
TONI
K. Here.
ANGELA
What was that?
TONI
What?
ANGELA
Didn’t you hear that?
TONI
No, what?
ANGELA
That. Listen.
(listens attentively)
TONI
(listens attentively)
Oh that. What is that?
ANGELA
I don’t know.
TONI
What direction is it coming from?
ANGELA
I don’t know. I can’t tell. It’s so fucking dark. Wait.
TONI
Oh shit. There’s something out there.
ANGELA
Shit.
TONI
Keep walking.
ANGELA
Fuck, it’s behind us.
TONI
You think?
ANGELA
I think so.
TONI
Shit, I can’t walk any faster.
ANGELA
Take your shoes off.
TONI
What?
ANGELA
Take your shoes off. We can go faster that way.
TONI
Yuck. No way.
ANGELA
Why not?
TONI
I have nylons on!
ANGELA
Do you hear that?
TONI
Fuck. Alright, alright.
ANGELA
Good. Hurry.
TONI
Shit! I can’t believe this. Okay, they’re off.
ANGELA
Wait a minute. The light, it’s getting closer.
TONI
Yeah, so?
ANGELA
No, I mean it’s getting closer. Fast.
TONI
Really?
ANGELA
No kidding. Look at it.
TONI
Goddamn it.
ANGELA
Oh shit. It’s a train.
TONI
Shit!
ANGELA
Oh God, what do we do?
TONI
Uh…
ANGELA
We have to get off the tracks.
TONI
Oh God.
ANGELA
Oh God.
TONI
Wait. My lighter. Here. What do you see?
ANGELA
I don’t know.
TONI
Look. Over there. There’s a space.
ANGELA
Quick.
TONI
Get in. Quick.
ANGELA
Oh my God, it’s coming.
TONI
Hold me!
ANGELA
Shit.
TONI
Oh, God.
ANGELA
(Screams.)
TONI
(Screams.)
ANGELA
Holy shit.
TONI
Are you alright?
ANGELA
That was weird.
TONI
Damn.
ANGELA
I know.
TONI
(Laughs.)
ANGELA
(Laughs.)
TONI
Well, I’m glad that’s over.
ANGELA
No shit.
TONI
We should have stayed on the fucking train.
ANGELA
You may be right.
TONI
It’s too late now.
ANGELA
What happened to that noise we heard?
TONI
I don’t know.
ANGELA
I can’t hear it anymore.
TONI
No. Me either.
ANGELA
Let’s go.
TONI
Yeah.
ANGELA
I just want to get out of here.
TONI
Me too. Me too.
ANGELA
I think I peed my pants.
TONI
No way.
ANGELA
Way.
TONI
Oh God. That’s harsh.
ANGELA
Just a little.
TONI
Damn.
ANGELA
I know. It’s not too bad.
TONI
My feet are wet.
ANGELA
That’s gross.
TONI
Tell me about it.
ANGELA
Let’s get the fuck out of here.
TONI
This is a fucking nightmare!
ANGELA
I wish!
TONI
Wake me when it’s over.
ANGELA
Right.
TONI
Fucking subway. I hate the fucking subway.
ANGELA
Me too.
TONI
What was that?
ANGELA
Wait. I heard it again.
TONI
What?
ANGELA
You know. That noise.
TONI
Fuck.
ANGELA
What is that?
TONI
It’s probably the goddamn rats. Subway’s full of them.
ANGELA
Oh God. Light your lighter.
TONI
Wait. Here.
ANGELA
I can’t see anything.
TONI
Me either.
ANGELA
We just keep going straight down the tunnel.
TONI
Right.
ANGELA
The next station is right up there.
TONI
Yeah.
ANGELA
We’re almost there.
TONI
Amen.
ANGELA
Oh wow, look over there.
TONI
Stairs!
ANGELA
Yes! I was worried about that.
TONI
Me too.
ANGELA
Hey, girl, we made it.
TONI
Woo Hoo.
ANGELA
We are outta here!
TONI
Shit Angie, my feet!
ANGELA
Pretty bad?
TONI
Black.
ANGELA
Oh.
TONI
Wet.
ANGELA
I’m sorry hon. Just don’t think about it. Here, sit down over here and put your shoes on. But don’t look.
TONI
Ugh.
ANGELA
We’ll be home soon.
TONI
Yeah. And I am gonna strip naked and jump in the shower. And these clothes, I’m gonna burn them.
ANGELA
I know. Me too.
TONI
Well, actually, I think I’ll put them in a big garbage bag and seal it and take it straight out to the dumpster.
ANGELA
Right.
TONI
Right.
ANGELA
Toni?
TONI
Yeah?
ANGELA
Next time the train breaks down?
TONI
Yeah, we stay on it.
ANGELA
And Toni?
TONI
Yeah?
ANGELA
Don’t tell anybody.
TONI
My lips are sealed.
ANGELA
This never happened.
TONI
What?
ANGELA
Right. What?
TONI
Okay. Let’s go home.
TONI
How long is this going to take?
ANGELA
I don’t know. You’re not supposed to smoke in the subway you know.
TONI
Whatever.
ANGELA
Just stay close, okay?
TONI
Fucking high heels!
(she grabs her friends arm to keep from falling)
ANGELA
Shit, Toni, you damn near pulled me over.
TONI
Damn. I’m sorry, okay? Wait, I need to hold onto you.
ANGELA
Okay, wait a minute. You’re pulling my coat off my shoulder. Take it easy would you?
TONI
Alright, okay. Don’t get your tits in a knot. I’m just trying not to fall down.
ANGELA
Just hold onto my shoulder.
TONI
Okay. Okay.
ANGELA
That’s better. Where the fuck are we?
TONI
I don’t know. Somewhere in the tunnel. This shit is hard to walk on.
ANGELA
No kidding.
TONI
We should have stayed on the train.
ANGELA
No way.
TONI
Way.
ANGELA
What? Did you happen to notice how it smelled in there?
TONI
I did actually. That’s why I lit a cigarette as soon as we got out.
ANGELA
Fucking stench was overpowering!
TONI
I know. Can you believe how bad human beings smell?
ANGELA
Worse than a dirty fucking diaper. I swear.
TONI
Hey wait. I see a light.
ANGELA
Where? I don’t see anything.
TONI
Down there. Way down there. Don’t you see it?
ANGELA
Oh yeah.
TONI
Looks like a long way.
ANGELA
Shit. This was a really bad idea. We need to get out of this fucking tunnel.
TONI
Yeah right. Just walk toward the light. We go back to the last station and we get out to the street. My Mom’s place is right there, and she’ll give us a lift back to the apartment. We just walk toward the light.
ANGELA
You know what that makes me think of?
TONI
No, what?
ANGELA
They say when people die, they walk through this tunnel toward the light.
TONI
Goddamn it Angie. That is too fucking morbid. Cut it out!
ANGELA
What do you mean? I’m not morbid. Hey, light another cigarette, would you?
TONI
What’s the matter? Afraid of the dark?
ANGELA
Asshole.
TONI
Sorry. That was bad.
ANGELA
Give me one.
TONI
K. Here.
ANGELA
What was that?
TONI
What?
ANGELA
Didn’t you hear that?
TONI
No, what?
ANGELA
That. Listen.
(listens attentively)
TONI
(listens attentively)
Oh that. What is that?
ANGELA
I don’t know.
TONI
What direction is it coming from?
ANGELA
I don’t know. I can’t tell. It’s so fucking dark. Wait.
TONI
Oh shit. There’s something out there.
ANGELA
Shit.
TONI
Keep walking.
ANGELA
Fuck, it’s behind us.
TONI
You think?
ANGELA
I think so.
TONI
Shit, I can’t walk any faster.
ANGELA
Take your shoes off.
TONI
What?
ANGELA
Take your shoes off. We can go faster that way.
TONI
Yuck. No way.
ANGELA
Why not?
TONI
I have nylons on!
ANGELA
Do you hear that?
TONI
Fuck. Alright, alright.
ANGELA
Good. Hurry.
TONI
Shit! I can’t believe this. Okay, they’re off.
ANGELA
Wait a minute. The light, it’s getting closer.
TONI
Yeah, so?
ANGELA
No, I mean it’s getting closer. Fast.
TONI
Really?
ANGELA
No kidding. Look at it.
TONI
Goddamn it.
ANGELA
Oh shit. It’s a train.
TONI
Shit!
ANGELA
Oh God, what do we do?
TONI
Uh…
ANGELA
We have to get off the tracks.
TONI
Oh God.
ANGELA
Oh God.
TONI
Wait. My lighter. Here. What do you see?
ANGELA
I don’t know.
TONI
Look. Over there. There’s a space.
ANGELA
Quick.
TONI
Get in. Quick.
ANGELA
Oh my God, it’s coming.
TONI
Hold me!
ANGELA
Shit.
TONI
Oh, God.
ANGELA
(Screams.)
TONI
(Screams.)
ANGELA
Holy shit.
TONI
Are you alright?
ANGELA
That was weird.
TONI
Damn.
ANGELA
I know.
TONI
(Laughs.)
ANGELA
(Laughs.)
TONI
Well, I’m glad that’s over.
ANGELA
No shit.
TONI
We should have stayed on the fucking train.
ANGELA
You may be right.
TONI
It’s too late now.
ANGELA
What happened to that noise we heard?
TONI
I don’t know.
ANGELA
I can’t hear it anymore.
TONI
No. Me either.
ANGELA
Let’s go.
TONI
Yeah.
ANGELA
I just want to get out of here.
TONI
Me too. Me too.
ANGELA
I think I peed my pants.
TONI
No way.
ANGELA
Way.
TONI
Oh God. That’s harsh.
ANGELA
Just a little.
TONI
Damn.
ANGELA
I know. It’s not too bad.
TONI
My feet are wet.
ANGELA
That’s gross.
TONI
Tell me about it.
ANGELA
Let’s get the fuck out of here.
TONI
This is a fucking nightmare!
ANGELA
I wish!
TONI
Wake me when it’s over.
ANGELA
Right.
TONI
Fucking subway. I hate the fucking subway.
ANGELA
Me too.
TONI
What was that?
ANGELA
Wait. I heard it again.
TONI
What?
ANGELA
You know. That noise.
TONI
Fuck.
ANGELA
What is that?
TONI
It’s probably the goddamn rats. Subway’s full of them.
ANGELA
Oh God. Light your lighter.
TONI
Wait. Here.
ANGELA
I can’t see anything.
TONI
Me either.
ANGELA
We just keep going straight down the tunnel.
TONI
Right.
ANGELA
The next station is right up there.
TONI
Yeah.
ANGELA
We’re almost there.
TONI
Amen.
ANGELA
Oh wow, look over there.
TONI
Stairs!
ANGELA
Yes! I was worried about that.
TONI
Me too.
ANGELA
Hey, girl, we made it.
TONI
Woo Hoo.
ANGELA
We are outta here!
TONI
Shit Angie, my feet!
ANGELA
Pretty bad?
TONI
Black.
ANGELA
Oh.
TONI
Wet.
ANGELA
I’m sorry hon. Just don’t think about it. Here, sit down over here and put your shoes on. But don’t look.
TONI
Ugh.
ANGELA
We’ll be home soon.
TONI
Yeah. And I am gonna strip naked and jump in the shower. And these clothes, I’m gonna burn them.
ANGELA
I know. Me too.
TONI
Well, actually, I think I’ll put them in a big garbage bag and seal it and take it straight out to the dumpster.
ANGELA
Right.
TONI
Right.
ANGELA
Toni?
TONI
Yeah?
ANGELA
Next time the train breaks down?
TONI
Yeah, we stay on it.
ANGELA
And Toni?
TONI
Yeah?
ANGELA
Don’t tell anybody.
TONI
My lips are sealed.
ANGELA
This never happened.
TONI
What?
ANGELA
Right. What?
TONI
Okay. Let’s go home.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Memoir: Medium
Medium.
How long has it been, since I was a Medium? I think it’s been at least twenty years. When I was three years old, my mother gave me a baked potato for dinner. I asked for butter. She told me we didn’t have any. I complained. I wanted butter! She explained to me that we were poor, we didn’t have money to buy butter. She said someday we would have more money and then I could have all the butter I wanted. She told me to use salt instead.
I have spent my life avoiding having that happen again. Piling on the butter. Eating like every meal is my last chance to have whatever it is we are having. Eating when I’m not hungry. Eating when I’m already full. Eating fast, and eating the last thing I do before going to sleep. Once I start eating, I keep eating. More than once, I have eaten myself sick.
At forty pounds overweight, my clothes don’t fit, my knees hurt, my self-esteem is shot. And all this to satisfy a three year old who didn’t get what she wanted. With all the formidable determination of a three year old, I have never let that happen again. It became a habit, a lifestyle, a compulsion.
What would it be like to be free of that? Maybe it’s time to find out.
Signed,
Extra Large
How long has it been, since I was a Medium? I think it’s been at least twenty years. When I was three years old, my mother gave me a baked potato for dinner. I asked for butter. She told me we didn’t have any. I complained. I wanted butter! She explained to me that we were poor, we didn’t have money to buy butter. She said someday we would have more money and then I could have all the butter I wanted. She told me to use salt instead.
I have spent my life avoiding having that happen again. Piling on the butter. Eating like every meal is my last chance to have whatever it is we are having. Eating when I’m not hungry. Eating when I’m already full. Eating fast, and eating the last thing I do before going to sleep. Once I start eating, I keep eating. More than once, I have eaten myself sick.
At forty pounds overweight, my clothes don’t fit, my knees hurt, my self-esteem is shot. And all this to satisfy a three year old who didn’t get what she wanted. With all the formidable determination of a three year old, I have never let that happen again. It became a habit, a lifestyle, a compulsion.
What would it be like to be free of that? Maybe it’s time to find out.
Signed,
Extra Large
Memoir: Letter to a Nun
I never understood why your face was always bright red. Your cheeks were perennially flushed, as if you were really excited about something. But the rest of you was hidden in the black and white, starch and folds of your nun's habit. The beaded crucifix clinked and jangled against your chest as you moved about, always seeming to be in a hurry, always rushing to catch up. We never knew with what.
You were a small, round, swirling tornado that never touched ground, not quite connecting with us in the real world of the concrete and asphalt of our school yard, inside the six foot tall cyclone fence. When we were inside it, we minded you, because you were so quick to swing the yardstick. Or leave an impression of your fingers on our cheeks.
But all I ever learned from you was how to duck.
You were a small, round, swirling tornado that never touched ground, not quite connecting with us in the real world of the concrete and asphalt of our school yard, inside the six foot tall cyclone fence. When we were inside it, we minded you, because you were so quick to swing the yardstick. Or leave an impression of your fingers on our cheeks.
But all I ever learned from you was how to duck.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Journal: Troubled dreams
Today a bomb exploded in a crowded marketplace, a mudslide buried an entire village, a child died of hunger, someone fired a gun into a crowd of strangers, a teenager committed suicide, an old woman died alone, somebody beat a little boy to death, a ferry sank and somebody shot a polar bear for no reason. The paper says the oceans are going to rise. A whole lot of people told a whole lot of lies. Last night I had a terrifying dream. A great hairy beast took a swipe at me. I called out in my sleep. My heart beat wildly. A far off voice said, "It's alright you're dreaming."
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Memoir: Boxes
I started keeping a journal during college. It seemed like everyone was doing it. Keeping a journal was one component of self-discovery, and self-discovery was an epidemic in New York City in the 1970’s. Coming off of the oppositional energy of the 60’s, we turned creative in the 70’s. We were inventing our world. I wrote and wrote, carrying my notebook everywhere I went and dedicating large blocks of time daily to contemplation and self-expression.
I valued my own views, and wrote them down. I trusted my instincts and insights. I respected my own mind and challenged myself to think deeply and clearly, and to come to defensible conclusions. It seemed there was an endless supply of issues to sort out, experiences to be weighed in on, positions to be taken, choices to be made. All this mental activity found its way to the juncture of pen and paper. Words filled the pages and the pages filled the books and binders and before long I’d filled many boxes with my journalings.
When I occasionally reviewed some of what I had written down, I was struck with the clarity of my own thinking, the uniqueness of my voice and the freshness of my descriptions and images. I discovered myself as a writer in those pages and they became precious to me.
So when I packed up to leave New York, I carefully boxed up my writings. I filled eight boxes and put them in storage, planning to send for them once I was settled on the west coast. I entrusted them into the safe keeping of a friend of a friend, who owned a moving company and promised me they would be safe and sound in his warehouse until I called for them.
The boxes were marked clearly, “Journals and Writing.” A year passed. I found a place to live in L.A., and flew back to New York to tie up my loose ends. When I got to the warehouse to gather my eight boxes of writing, I found the boxes were open. The contents were disheveled, and scattered on the floor. My papers were overflowing from every box. It was worse than disorderly. I stood there a moment in shock.
Then it hit me. My writings had been stored there so long that they were considered abandoned. The boxes had been raided, if only for some momentary entertainment. Or maybe the prospect of reading a single woman’s diaries was just too irresistible to pass up. I stood there staring at this personal violation and I remember the blood rushing hot to my cheeks and blazing up my neck. My ears were on fire, and I hesitated to turn around and make eye contact with the half dozen or so men who I knew were watching quietly from behind me.
I started picking up my papers and putting them back into the open boxes. My mind took inventory. How many intimate moments had I described in my writings? How much had I exposed myself to these strangers? And what was left now of my dignity? When I finally got up the courage to turn around and look at those men, the owner was watching me. “I don’t know who did it,” he said. And then, “I’m really sorry.” I nodded and asked for some packing tape. “No problem,” he said. I remember how it felt like bandaging a wound. But even after I had them all boxed up again, I still felt naked and exposed. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I carried the boxes out to the street and hailed a cab, and only as I drove away down that crowded side street in midtown, did my sense of integrity begin to return.
I valued my own views, and wrote them down. I trusted my instincts and insights. I respected my own mind and challenged myself to think deeply and clearly, and to come to defensible conclusions. It seemed there was an endless supply of issues to sort out, experiences to be weighed in on, positions to be taken, choices to be made. All this mental activity found its way to the juncture of pen and paper. Words filled the pages and the pages filled the books and binders and before long I’d filled many boxes with my journalings.
When I occasionally reviewed some of what I had written down, I was struck with the clarity of my own thinking, the uniqueness of my voice and the freshness of my descriptions and images. I discovered myself as a writer in those pages and they became precious to me.
So when I packed up to leave New York, I carefully boxed up my writings. I filled eight boxes and put them in storage, planning to send for them once I was settled on the west coast. I entrusted them into the safe keeping of a friend of a friend, who owned a moving company and promised me they would be safe and sound in his warehouse until I called for them.
The boxes were marked clearly, “Journals and Writing.” A year passed. I found a place to live in L.A., and flew back to New York to tie up my loose ends. When I got to the warehouse to gather my eight boxes of writing, I found the boxes were open. The contents were disheveled, and scattered on the floor. My papers were overflowing from every box. It was worse than disorderly. I stood there a moment in shock.
Then it hit me. My writings had been stored there so long that they were considered abandoned. The boxes had been raided, if only for some momentary entertainment. Or maybe the prospect of reading a single woman’s diaries was just too irresistible to pass up. I stood there staring at this personal violation and I remember the blood rushing hot to my cheeks and blazing up my neck. My ears were on fire, and I hesitated to turn around and make eye contact with the half dozen or so men who I knew were watching quietly from behind me.
I started picking up my papers and putting them back into the open boxes. My mind took inventory. How many intimate moments had I described in my writings? How much had I exposed myself to these strangers? And what was left now of my dignity? When I finally got up the courage to turn around and look at those men, the owner was watching me. “I don’t know who did it,” he said. And then, “I’m really sorry.” I nodded and asked for some packing tape. “No problem,” he said. I remember how it felt like bandaging a wound. But even after I had them all boxed up again, I still felt naked and exposed. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I carried the boxes out to the street and hailed a cab, and only as I drove away down that crowded side street in midtown, did my sense of integrity begin to return.
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