Patricia looks at the pile of money
Then she looks at the pile of bills
The pile of money is significantly taller
Than the pile of bills
This means she is dreaming
This cannot be real
The pile of money is made up of her paycheck--cashed
Which makes up about a centimeter of the money
And the money she received in the mail today
It came inside a package
Along with a note
From someone named 'Gabriel'
Gabriel the Archangel?
Or Gabriel the rich schizophrenic
Who randomly sends people money?
Patricia wanted to know which
So that she could either
Go back to Catholicism
Or start being more polite
To crazy people
Speaking of crazy
Her neighbor Lucy
The one who got locked out of the house
When she wasn't wearing any clothing
Saw her receive the package
'Got a little present there,' she asked
And Patricia hugged the package to her
As if Lucy was a mugger inquiring after her purse
Five seconds after receiving the money
Patricia was already becoming paranoid
She was determined to handle this
In an appropriate manner
First, she tried finding out who the money belonged to
Obviously it wasn't her
But another Patricia with her last name
Who had done something worth all this money
Perhaps she sold a kidney on the black market
Or smuggled cocaine into the country
But when Patricia called the police
They said if the package had her name and address on it
Than it was hers to keep
And what kind of a nut
Tries to return that much money?
They didn't say the last part
But Patricia could hear them thinking it
After that, she took out the bills
And she started matching up
The amount she owed
With the cash in the package
It was strange holding cash
And attaching it to debt
Two hundred dollars looked liked nothing
When it was made up of two simple bills
Two ones, two hundreds
All really the same
Except for what the ink spells out
Paid
She actually thought of writing it
With a black sharpie
Across the bill
Paid
She counted out eight hundreds
And attached them to a bill sent from a credit card company
That was about to send a hitman after her
Paid
Soon she was done attaching money
To the interest
And now she was exterminating the deductibles
Paid
Paid
Paid
Utilities, paid
Heat, water
Electricity
Paid
All paid
And there was still more
There was still more money
But she was paid
Patricia
For the first time since before she knew what money was
Had paid her bills
All of her bills
What was she supposed to do now?
The answer seemed obvious
Go to the movies
. . . . .
She was rolling the idea around in her mind
Like pizza dough
Twisting it around
And spreading it out
Rich
She was rich
Patricia was a rich woman
But that felt like nothing
What felt like something
Was being unburdened
Not owing anything
Not owing anyone anything
And it felt like more
Than just paid bills
It felt like for the first time in her life
She didn't owe anybody anything
She didn't owe her ex-husband
A phone call every Christmas
On the off-chance he didn't have a girlfriend this particular year
She didn't owe her sister
An e-mail everyday
Assuring her that she would find a man
Every time the latest bum walked out on her
She didn't owe the world
Some cosmic debt
She wasn't a bad person
She hadn't done anything wrong
Some stranger sent her money in the mail
If that wasn't the Universe's way of saying--
'Patricia, you've done okay. Now relax.'
--Then what was?
. . . . .
When she got to the movie theater
The young guy who sold her the ticket
Looked nervous
'Are you all right?' she asked him
He told her that a few minutes before
Nikao Brody, the movie star
Had gone into Theater Seven
To watch a movie
Patricia thought the kid was pulling her leg
Then she remembered that they were filming something downtown
And it wasn't altogether illogical to assume
That one of the movie stars would take in a movie
Hell, Patricia just found out she was loaded
And here she was
About to see some dumb movie
Just to check out of reality for a bit
. . . . .
He was the only one in the theater
Sitting in the third row
With an intent expression on his face
Even though the movie hadn't started yet
She sat next to him
Why not, right?
Why sit somewhere else
And pretend they weren't the only two people
In the theater?
They weren't the same age
They weren't the same gender
They were more like two characters
From two different stories
Converging during some late-night writing session
Where the author starts to feel trippy
Letting his or her universes collide
'I'm rich'
She said it
And then let it sit
He turned his head slowly
And looked at her
'You're what?' he asked
'Rich' she said, 'I'm rich'
'Oh,' he said, 'Me too'
Then she told him
She told this famous stranger
What she was going to do
With the money
It was like a confession
Except instead of a priest
Patricia was confessing to a movie star
She told him that she was going to buy new curtains
And a car and shelves and a new sofa
And she was going to go on a trip to India
And maybe Tibet
And sail, she wanted to sail
And scuba dive, she wanted to do that too
And she wanted to have a kid
And she didn't care if she wasn't married
Because if she'd have had a kid with her ex-husband
He'd have just fucked the kid up anyway
So she was going to do it on her own
And she was going to go downtown
To that gallery she liked so much
And walk in
And buy something
Buy a piece of art
She could never go in there before
Because she always felt like she didn't belong
Because she wasn't upper class
She never was
But now she was rich
And that meant she belonged
That meant she belonged everywhere
Even sitting next to a movie star
When she was finished she was out of breath
And the trailers were almost finished
The blue light of the screen
Made the movie star sitting next to her
Look like he was staring at an aquarium
'Wow,' he said, 'Are you THAT rich?'
And Patricia thought about it
And thought it
And said--
'Yeah'
She said--
'I really am'
And with that
Her movie began
No comments:
Post a Comment