Stillwalkn

Where did "The Diary" go?

2010-08-24T19:25:00.000-07:00

I took "The Diary Of A Child Molester" down. I'm serious about publishing the novel, and posting it on the internet is a good way to give it away. I want to keep it.

I also have two screenplays in the works. One is called "Finishing Touches." It's about my grandmother's funeral. The other is called "Leaving Prison." It's about a prison escape and the manhunt that follows.

I'm also going to be writing for the "Urban Politico" blog. My topic areas to begin with are Alternative Economies and Corrections In America. I don't know much about economy, so I will be learning as I go. My first article will be about the Gift Economy at Burning Man, the annual experimental community in the Black Rock Desert in Nevada. Other upcoming topics will include alternative currencies, not a new idea historically but being tried in some places here in the U.S., and turning our workforce model on its head. What if we picked our own jobs? I'm open to other suggestions for inquiries into alternative economy ideas.

I will never be done writing about Corrections In America. I recently wrote a letter to the editor of our local newspapers (Spokesman-Review and The Inlander), taking a position against plans for a new jail in our county. I could write an article about every point I made in my letter.

Of course, I'm not limited to these topic areas. I can write about anything I like. I think it's going to be a lot of fun, and writing non-fiction is reminiscent of my years as a reporter.

So that's what's going on. There aren't enough hours in the day to get it all done, so I'm going to have to get a work ethic about my writing. With Tre starting full-day school this year, I'm hoping I will be able to develop a daily writing routine. I signed up for a Writing Workshop and joined a Writers Group, so making my writing more of a priority and that feels right.

Serenity's Kitchen

2010-08-24T19:10:00.000-07:00

I have a new writing project. It's a radio show, intended to be like the old time radio shows, but set today. It's called Serenity's Kitchen. Serenity is a mother of 3 and a school teacher. She is very organized and on top of things. She likes order, planning, completion, tidiness. Her husband Warren is a financial planner. He is distracted, clueless, easy-going. They have two teenagers, Mariah 15 and Wendell 14. Mariah is a great kid. She and her friends always have a cause or a mission they are on. But they also have a tendency of getting in trouble. But good kids. Wendell is a chemist. He's the egghead of the family. He and his friends are Trekkies. They build rockets for fun. Tre is the youngest at 7 years old. He's just a happy little boy, trying to figure out what is going on.

Serenity's mother Evelyn and Warren's father Elmer also live with the family. Evelyn lives in a little cottage out back. She has an herb garden and teaches pole dancing at the gym. She is very proud of her youthfulness and good health. She also knows just what everybody else needs to take to cure whatever ails them. Evelyn is an old hippie and a free spirit. Elmer lives in the basement apartment in the house. He is a retired Naval Officer. Elmer knows all about sinking ships, but his grandchildren are beyond his comprehension, as is his counterpart, Evelyn. Elmer recites poetry when nobody else is around. He's gruff in his manner, but has a soft heart.

Everyone's paths cross in the kitchen.

Each episode is about 10 minutes long, and the show airs every other week on KYRS Thin Air Community Radio in Spokane. It's one segment of the Seasoned Players Program, every other Sunday from 4-5 p.m.

It can be streamed on the internet at www.kyrs.org.

Being the Producer/Director of the show is focusing my creative energy. I love writing scripts, so it's great fun for me. I'm surprised to find myself writing jokes. I didn't know I had it in me. But I really like the show as comedy, not the slapstick kind, but the human kind.

The first episode, "Waiting For The Mail" aired this past Sunday. I'm really happy with the diversity of voices in the cast. You can always tell who's talking, they all sound so different. I'm also playing Evelyn, which is great fun for the actor in me.

Well that's what's happening. I'll post the scripts if I can't figure out how to post the audios. I hope I can figure out how to post the episodes, so you can listen to them.

Script: Around The Corner

2009-12-03T22:26:00.001-08:00

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.

Script: Over Easy

2009-11-20T18:30:00.000-08:00

(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.

2009-10-21T18:22:00.000-07:00

A Box Of Crayons

2009-10-21T18:20:00.000-07:00

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?

Movies In The Afternoon

2009-10-15T22:07:00.000-07:00

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!

Short Short Story: Charlie Hears

2009-06-04T23:36:00.000-07:00

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.

Script: Waiting

2009-05-15T15:31:00.001-07:00

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.

Short Story: The Empty Chair

2009-04-27T01:42:00.000-07:00

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.

Script: Getting Off

2009-04-13T15:34:00.000-07:00

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.

Memoir: Medium

2009-01-31T16:00:00.000-08:00

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

Memoir: Letter to a Nun

2009-01-31T15:59:00.000-08:00

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.

Journal: Troubled dreams

2009-01-27T15:49:00.001-08:00

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."

Memoir: Boxes

2009-01-10T17:22:00.000-08:00

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.

Script: Turning To Stone

2008-10-14T15:30:00.000-07:00

"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."

Short Story: When I Left The Party

2008-10-14T14:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Script: School Of Hard Knocks

2008-10-08T20:25:00.000-07:00

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?

Script: License To Kill

2008-09-29T15:39:00.001-07:00

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

Poem: Calling To My Muse

2008-08-18T20:31:00.000-07:00

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

Script: A Handful Of Receipts

2008-08-18T20:30:00.000-07:00

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.

Memoir: Neckties

2008-08-18T20:29:00.000-07:00

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.

Poem: After The Gleaning

2008-08-18T20:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Memoir: Summertime

2008-08-18T20:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Short Story: Independence Day

2008-08-18T20:03:00.001-07:00

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.

Poem: A First Kiss

2008-08-18T20:01:00.000-07:00

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?

How Can You Be So Sure?

2008-08-18T20:00:00.000-07:00

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."

Abby and Bert

2008-08-18T19:57:00.000-07:00

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.