Friday, January 30, 2015

Negotiating the Dog


            (VANESSA and WARREN are in their kitchen.)

VANESSA:  All right.  Let’s hear it.

WARREN:  A beagle.

VANESSA:  No.

WARREN:  What do you mean ‘No?’

VANESSA:  What do you mean what do I mean?

WARREN:  Vanessa—

VANESSA:  The answer is ‘No.’

WARREN:  You said you’d at least hear me out.

VANESSA:  And I did.  And ‘No.’

WARREN:  Is it because I went with a beagle?

VANESSA:  It might be.

WARREN:  So you got a problem with beagles?

VANESSA:  I got a problem with dogs.  I got a problem with the fact that I’m going to be the one—

WARREN:  Ohhhh, here we go.

VANESSA:  --Walking it, and cleaning up after it—

WARREN:  That is an insult.  You know I’ll—

            (She shoots him a look.)

WARREN:  What’s wrong with a beagle?

VANESSA:  It’s too big.

WARREN:  Big!

VANESSA:  Yes.

WARREN:  It’s a beagle.

VANESSA:  Maybe if you put something smaller on the table—

WARREN:  Smaller than a beagle?

VANESSA:  Hey, you want the dog or—

WARREN:  Like what?  A daschund?

VANESSA:  I don’t know.

WARREN:  Vanessa, I’m not going small than a daschund.

VANESSA:  Oh, you’re not, huh?

WARREN:  Smaller than a daschund and you don’t even have a dog anymore, you got a gerbil.

VANESSA:  I’d consider…a poodle.

WARREN:  No.

VANESSA:  No?

WARREN:  No.  We are not getting a poodle.

VANESSA:  Why not?

WARREN:  We are not poodle people.  This is not a poodle family.

VANESSA:  What does a poodle family look like?

WARREN:  Like the part of the Kennedy family nobody talks about.  Like whatever part Maria Shriver is from—that’s what poodle people look like.

VANESSA:  You just don’t want a poodle because you think they’re girly.

WARREN:  Yup.  I’ll admit that.  They are girly.  You want a poodle?  Get a poodle.  But I’m getting a Great Dane.

VANESSA:  A Great Dane?

WARREN:  Yup.

VANESSA:  And are you going to have a portrait of yourself commissioned to hang in the hall?  Maybe something with you on a horse holding a sword while your Great Dane looks on in awe?

WARREN:  We’re supposed to be compromising.

VANESSA:  I want no dog at all and you want a Great Dane.  What’s the compromise for that?

WARREN:  A beagle!

VANESSA:  You’re crazy.

WARREN:  It’s not a poodle.

VANESSA:  I think we’re done here.

WARREN:  A Gold Retriever?

VANESSA:  No.

WARREN:  A corgi?

VANESSA:  No.

WARREN:  A pug?

VANESSA:  Are you serious?

WARREN:  A collie.  Last offer.

            (A beat.)

VANESSA:  Like Lassie?

WARREN:  …Yeah.

VANESSA:  …I like Lassie.

WARREN:  Everybody likes Lassie.

VANESSA:  …I’d be open to that.

WARREN:  To a collie?

VANESSA:  Yes.

WARREN:  Just because of Lassie?

VANESSA:  You going to get picky on me?

WARREN:  Nope.

VANESSA:  Good.

WARREN:  Hell, we can name the dog Lassie if you want.

VANESSA:  I like the name Princess.

WARREN:  Princess?

VANESSA:  Yes, Princess.

WARREN:  No.

VANESSA:  No?

WARREN:  No.  If we have a dog, we’re naming it Rocky.

VANESSA:  A collie named Rocky?  Yeah, okay.

            (A beat.)

WARREN and VANESSA:  We’re going to have to talk about this.

            (Lights.)

The Music You Hear at the End


At the end, you hear this music
This beautiful orchestra
--Or not
Depending on the kind of life you led
And the kind of death you want

You hear a symphony
If you were dramatic
Poets hear symphonies
And people who die
Having loved
And loved greatly

You hear jazz
If you’ve traveled
And made love to beautiful people
Whose names you never knew
And spent money you didn’t have
And ate food that made you fat

You hear a cello
If you were lonely
More than you weren’t lonely

You hear seventeen violins
If you led a religious life
A life of piety and devotion

You hear a piano
With booze-stained keys
And an empty jar on top
If you laughed
And if you made others laugh as well

You hear a gospel choir
If you grew up with a big family
Although someone’s off-key
And you can’t figure out who it is

You hear a saxophone
If you lived in a city

You hear a trumpet
If you lived in the country

You hear a harp
If you never had children

And if you did have children
You hear a hundred drums
All being played at once

You don’t tell anybody
About the music you hear at the end
Because you’re too busy listening
To try and explain it to anyone
And you know that eventually they’ll hear their own music
And it won’t sound anything like yours

As the music plays
Doctors are fetched
Tears are shed
Family members hold hands
And nobody notices
The music swell

Nobody notices
The smile moving across your face
As your eyes close
And body relaxes
And it isn’t death that takes you away
--But the music

And if you could speak at that moment
You’d say to the doctors and the nurses
And the family members

‘Ssshhh, ssssshhh
Listen
Listen to that’

And if they could stop crying
And if the machines could stop beeping
And if everyone could take that moment
To stop fighting this thing
That was going to happen no matter what
And just listen

They would hear it
The orchestra or the trumpet
Or the piano
Or the tuba
Or the cello
Or the promiscuous jazz

And they would know
That where you’re going
There’s music

And so how bad
Could it be?

Why I Bring Them Over


I bring them over
Because it’s good money

Because it’s good money
And I need it—the money

I grew up along the border
I know the terrain
And so it’s a job
It’s one I’m fit for, you know?

You do the job you can do
If you can make money on it
All the better

But not doing it because—

Because other people don’t like it?

Fuck them

They don’t pay my bills
They don’t keep my lights on
They don’t…

I bring them over
Because I’m good at it
I get them across
In one piece

I’m better at it than a lot of people who do it

It’s not fun
And it’s not easy
Even if you’re with somebody like me
Who knows what they’re doing
But some people get you across alive
And some people get you across dead

I get them across alive—usually

I don’t ask why they’re coming over
That’s none of my business

Sometimes they mention it
Not to me
But to the people with them
And because I speak a little bit of the language
I pick up words, phrases
But I stop short of letting myself start to think about
Why they’re doing what they’re doing

I think of it like how a doctor does
The more removed you are
The better you do your job

Some of them look sick
So maybe they’re coming over for the medical care
But I doubt it
America’s not the only place
With good hospitals
In fact, a lot of places have better

Some of them look scared
So maybe they live somewhere
That has a lot of crime
And they feel like America’s safer for them
Even though it probably won’t be

Some of them just look like they need a fresh start
And damn if I don’t get what that’s about
Damn if I don’t get that look myself sometimes

I bring them over
Because I feel like I don’t have the right
To tell them they can’t be here
But I can just because I was born in the back of a car
By the border
When my mom couldn’t get to the hospital on time

She could see the border
From where the car stopped
And she told me she was so glad
Even out there on the road
That I was being born
On the right side of the line

But that’s just luck
And circumstance
That isn’t something I earned
A privilege or an entitlement

So who am I to say
Where people should live
And have their kids
And escape to
If they want to

Personally, I think it’s a little naïve to think
That there’s never going to come a time
When people aren’t going to want to leave America
And head somewhere better

And when that time comes
I hope somebody brings my grandkids
Wherever they want to go
And I hope that person gets them there safely
And gives them a fresh start

And I hope that person gets paid for it too
And paid well
Because if it’s anything like it is today

Well damn

I just hope it isn’t

We Pray to the Giant Face in the Reflecting Pool


We pray to the giant face in the reflecting pool
And no one tells us why

They say we should be able to see the face
If we’re pure
If our souls are untarnished
If we have faith

We kneel by the pool
And lean over to look in
Scared of falling

Not because we can’t swim
Most of us can
But because going in the pool
Would taint it
Because no matter how unblemished your spirit is
Sin sticks to you
Like sweat on a hot day

And we must keep the water clean

The face in the pool doesn’t speak
But if you can see it
What you can see
Are two beautiful full eyes
A simple nose
And a mouth that is closed
And never opens

It has no hair
Or arms
Or a body

It is large—very large
Much larger than a normal face
And we see ourselves falling over the edge
Into the pool
Into the mouth
That would open for the first time
To suck us in
And swallow us whole
Then close again
Without a word

We are frightened of the giant face
In the reflecting pool

It terrifies us

We speak words of love to it
And undying allegiance
But in our hearts
We feel nothing but fear

We are told there’s nothing wrong with our fear
That we should fear the face in the pool
That fear is sacred
That it’s like the fire
That it burns off everything in us that isn’t necessary
And leaves only the essential parts
Of who we are

So we pray and cower and we keep our eyes closed
Knowing the face is there
Without ever having to see it
Because those before us have seen it
The Great Men have seen it
And they know it is there
And if we need to see it to know
Then we are already lost
Because we are people without faith

We clasp our hands and kneel until it aches
We hear lapping and wonder if something’s fallen in the pool
As things sometimes do
And when they do
We do not retrieve them
We leave them as they are
And let the giant face deal with them as it sees fit

Once a year, we line up in front of the pool
And one of the Descendants of the Great Men
Dips his hands into the pool
And then brings it out
Very carefully
So that drops linger on his fingertips
And he brings them over our foreheads
And holds them there
So that a drop from the pool
Can fall onto us
And when it does
It is the coolest drop of water
That will ever grace our skin

And then we go back to kneeling
And praying
And silently wondering
What the face thinks
If it thinks
While it rests just beneath the water

We ask ourselves—

Does it look up at the sky
And wonder about us?

Or…

Does it even know we’re here?