This Can Be Home

-- Let's see if this works as a finale. --

"This Can Be Home"

This time
This spot
This moment
This person
This instinct
This place

This can be home

This cafe in Italy
With your best friend
A recent widow
Who still puts on make-up
And tells you funny stories
About rude waiters in Palermo
Who will dress in black
And act like she's wearing bright pink
Making you order the cherry gelatto
Flirting with the old man
Sitting at the next table
And then telling you
How much she misses her husband
Grabbing your hand
And telling you
You're the only sister
She's ever had

This can be home

This backyard
Newly mowed
By your husband
Who loves you enough
To stop loving you
If you don't stop crying
A gazebo with bluebirds
Painted on its ceiling
A small pond
With those Japanese fish in it
That your cat loves to stare at
As if to say--

'One day...Just you wait...'

The swingset
That you're not too old to swing on
The pool
With one green life-saver floating
Serenely around it
The lack of a fence
Inviting anyone to come by
And sit on the patio
And drink lemonade with you
Made from the lemons
You've collected over the years
And your husband appearing
With no shirt
And grass-stained jeans
Wiping the sweat from his forehead
And laughing at you
In your old lady shorts
Reminding you how long it's been
Since the moment
When you weren't sure
You two were going to make it

He hugs you
In full view of the neighbors
And the summer sun
And the cat
And the sky
With your child
Looking down on the two of you
Embarrassed by how much you love each other
Just like he always was

You look at the treehouse
You never took down
And the sign that says
'NO MOM ALLOWED'
That he and your husband made
And you vow never to clean it out
Regardless of if that's healthy or not
You decide what's healthy now
You decide everything
From now on

You look at your yard
And you know
For the first time
In a long time
That this--

This can be home

This church
Where you pray so often
The high ceilings
The stained glass
The oak pews
This...

This cannot be home

Home is the son you haven't spoken to
Home is the wife who you won't touch
Home is the box full of photos
You put away
Two days after the accident

Home lies in the places that are uncomfortable
It sits waiting for you to come back to it
To the aching feeling
To the never-quite-dry eyes
To the raw knuckles
Acquired from punching holes in the wall

Home is not a quiet place
It is a place of rage and grieving
It is a place of fear and vulnerability
It is a place of hurt and healing
It's okay to be those things there
Because that place
That place is home

The child you have left
The wife who sings in the shower
The friends you stopped calling
Because they disagreed with you
The fact that many things aren't thanks to a higher power
They simply are a higher power
They exist in spare change
And they exist in hurricanes
And they are the trees
Not the forest
And you should know the difference

So go home
Because the church
You hide away in
Is your permanent vacation
Away from the life you've been given
But if you return home
It is possible to be forgiven

So go
Go home

That place
Where you hurt so much
You need to be there
And you need to repeat there
Your newest belief

'This can be home'
'This can be home'
'This can be home'

Sitting in your car
In front of Paul's house
Seeing the light on
Knowing he's home
Wondering if he's still drinking
If he thinks about the moment of impact
The way you do
Every waking second

Your son is in the car with you
He's looking down at the gun
You left on the passenger seat
He's not asking you not to do it
He wants you to not want to do it

He won't speak
But he will sit with you
And watch you
While you watch the house
And feel it come over you
The feeling he didn't give you
But one he's been waiting for you

You stop caring
You stop having the strength to care
And that's a different thing
That's acceptable
To everyone
Including you

You slump down onto the steering wheel
You don't stop feeling angry
But it's ebbing
It can't be maintained anymore
The reality of keeping it going
Would mean turning into a monster
Or more of one than you already are

You stop crying
You stop banging your fists
Up against any flat surface
You stop hating your loved ones
You stop beating yourself up
You stop everything
You just sit there
With your son
Who's not there
And you watch the house
And the sprinklers come on

They come on in front of Paul's house
They come on over at Kerri's backyard
They come on in front of the church
That Charles is leaving
He gets wet and doesn't care
Because he's going home
Something spoke to him
It was his daughter
She was saying--

'This can't be home'

In Italy
There's a rain shower
A light one
That refreshes the skin
Like a parched field
Full of crops
That were just about to dry out
And are now renewed

Melinda ducks underneath an awning
Watching old Italian women
Dance around in a fountain
Picking up pennies
And dropping them on top of each other
Saying--

'Pennies from Heaven! Pennies from Heaven!'

And it makes her laugh
And she hears her daughter laugh
And she knows the traveling is done
She can go home now
It's time to go home

The sprinklers come on
And wet the windows of your car
Which is fantastic
Since it hasn't been washed in ages
A weekly errand that died
With everything else

You watch water
Pour over the world
Tucked away inside your car
Feeling forgiveness for the first time
Radiate out of exhaustion
And like an old friend
You're happy to see it

You recline the seat back
And feel your entire body
Release the tension
It's been holding for so long
And you let it all go
Everything

And that feeling of happiness
And that feeling of carelessness
And that feeling of having your son
Be ever present at your side
Even as you end your mourning

That feeling...

That's home

Brad Mattison

-- The piece I wrote a month or so ago about a son railing at his two sisters for criticizing their mother was something I wanted to develop further. The only problem was that I couldn't figure out what the mother did that would be so awful it would lead to the disintegration of the entire family. Today I was reading a fantastic book called "Seven Days in the Art World" by Sarah Thornton, and I realized I had to write something about the types of people found in the book. Then I thought, maybe the family I wrote about before could be a family of those types of people. Maybe what the mother did wouldn't be considered so bad to me or the general populace, but absolutely unforgivable to the people in the family's immediate circle or community. I've said many times that my best stuff tends to come when two things that seem to have no connection aside from the fact that I'm interested in them merge. All that aside, I wanted to do some character profiles, and this is the first one. I'm thinking of calling the piece "The Mattison Collection." --

"Brad Mattison"

I have a problem with the light
The way it's coming in
From the windows up top
I don't really--
Skylights?
Yeah
The skylights
Not really doing
What I need them to be doing

I wasn't aware that the light
Would be so insufficient
I just assumed that with--
Skylights, yeah
That there would be plenty of--
It's just not going to work
With my--
What I do
I need lots of light
Just--
An abundance of light
If that's possible

See I work with mostly
Light and its absence
The lack of light
In a given circumstance
Or a piece, rather
I guess you would say
So I need to have light
Infused everywhere
So that I can then
Sort of--edit the light
If that makes any sense

You might be familiar with my father's work
He did a lot of stuff with the opposite
The opposite of what I do
He did work with darkness
Primarily darkness
Which probably sounds similar
To what I do
But you see
I start with light
And then integrate darkness
But not really darkness
Just the absence
Like I said
The absence of light
Whereas he started with darkness
And would merely be permitting
He would permit light to enter
Which is different
A different perspective
A way of looking at it
Which is perspective
You see
I'm sure you know that
You probably knew that
I just--
Sometimes I like to be clear
I always like to be clear
I think--
It's important

My mother is renting this studio for me
So I just want to make sure
It's--
It's what I want
Because that's what she wants
For me to be able to be happy
In the space
To be productive
She's going to be--
Taking a look at whatever
I get accomplished here
And once she's purchased--
Once she's taken care of everything
She won't want to hear excuses
So I sort of have to be a hardass about this
I guess you could say

I'm planning on paying her back
For however much she's going to spend
She thinks of me as her investment
An investment, in general
She's very good with investing
It gives me a lot of confidence
Which I think is her goal
To give me confidence
In myself
To know that she trusts me enough
To put something behind me
Fiscally speaking

So that's why the conditions
Really need to be, you know
Exactly what I need
Not to be troublesome about it
But I have to insist
Because I can already tell
There's just not enough light
I can barely see myself in here
And that's not what--
I'm hoping to create
Something out of those conditions

I think I may have been initially drawn
To this space
Because it reminded me
Of my father's studio
He had the same studio
For his entire life

I mean
He had many studios
Because he traveled
So he had studios
In several places
But primarily he used one
And that one resembled this one
The one he used
Is now a kind of tourist spot
It's upstate
And they have it--
Gosh
Even I can't get into it now
Without special permission
From someone or something
Some board
I think

It's a really interesting place
Because like I said
It's all about permission
You feel so contained there
You feel...controlled
I mean, you walk in
And it's just--
This feeling hits you
That you're not of your own volition there
That you have to watch
Everything you do
Every step
Every movement
Every time your eyes move
You feel like you're disobeying

It's amazing
That space
What he created there
The fact that he could
Make a place be that sort of--
Make it have that effect
It's really just--
It's something

But that's not what I'm going for here
That's not what I do
I don't want that sort of--
Atmosphere
Here
In the place where I--
I do different things
Than what he did
That's what I--
I wouldn't say I try
Try to do that
But it just sort of happens anyway
Which is good

I--
It's good

So that's the problem I have
It's very reminiscient
And that's--
That's not good for me
I don't like to be
Surrounded by--
By memory, I guess

I don't do well
With memory

Victor, In Group

-- Influence #8: Nick Hornby --

He was quiet lately
Painfully so
It was a choice
To be so quiet

And until he was
He couldn't imagine
How much noise he must put out
When he wasn't actively trying
To stay silent

Everyone noticed
But aside from minor inquiries
He was left alone
Because it wasn't hard to see
The depth of his decision
That it was painful
But it was what he wanted

He moved in with a friend
A friend who was usually out of town
And in exchange for getting the mail
And feeding the cat
Victor was welcome to stay
As long as he liked

He slept on the couch
With a small blanket pulled over him
And he fell asleep every night
While staring at a shelf
Full of pictures
Pictures of his friend
And the man that left
Over two years ago

If they had been better friends
Victor would have asked his host
How long he planned to wait
Until he took the pictures down
But they were not
So he kept quiet
And fell asleep being smiled at
By people who didn't exist anymore

His job was a comfort
And he excelled at it
When things were going well personally
Professionally he tended to falter
But in times like these
He was a pro

The more compliments he received from his boss
The more he knew he was in a bad way
But he kept showing up
And offering to stay late
Only having the couch to go back to
And the cat that needed to be fed

He felt compelled to talk to strangers
To reach out to people he didn't know
Nobody he knew could help
That's what he knew about them
But maybe somebody he didn't know
Could understand what was going on

He wanted to bump into someone
Start a conversation
An argument
Whatever

And just ask--

Why did he leave?
Why did he leave?

Why?
Why?

Can you tell me why?

. . . . .

He saw an ad for the Group
On the bulletin board
In the staff room

One of his co-workers
Had lost her husband
Three years ago
And had posted the ad
Even though Victor was fairly certain
That she never attended the Group

She was the type of woman
Who talked about everything
But after the death
She got quiet
And then moved to another department
Within the company

One where she could sit at a desk
And stare at a wall
And be left alone

Three years later
Victor took the posting
Off the bulletin board
And shoved it into his pocket

He didn't know if the Group
Would still be meeting
After all these years
But something about the ad
Made him want to pursue it

He never asked himself why
He felt compelled to look into a group
For the bereaved

A.J. wasn't dead
He just left
He was gone
But not gone like that

Still, it felt like a death
It was actually easier
To think of it that way

If Victor thought of A.J. as dead
And not in any malicious way
Just dead, just not of this earth
Then it was easier not to pick up the phone
And dial his number
And beg him to come back

The Group met Saturday mornings
In the library of a local high school
The meeting was at nine
And Victor arrived uncharacteristically early
After drinking too much coffee
And over-ironing his shirt

Slowly the members of the Group
Filtered in and congregated
Around the snack table
Which Victor could tell right away
Was a weekly tradition

They all cast glances at him
Over their shoulder
But not unfriendly glances
Just cautious looks

Victor wondered how many imposters
Showed up to these meetings

Theater students doing character work
Writers looking for good dialogue
Sickos making up fake dead relatives

And now him
But it wasn't the same
He wasn't faking it
His pain was real
A.J. was gone

He belonged here
He kept telling himself that
He belonged here

The leader of the Group
Approached him
With a friendly smile
He looked to be in his early thirties
And they exchanged a handshake

Victor wanted this man
To want him in the Group
He wanted to be the ideal member
The one the Group leader
Would talk about to the leaders
Of other Groups like this one

'Well,' he'd say, 'Let me tell you about Victor.'

'Now there's a guy who knows how to mourn.
He's my favorite.
I shouldn't say that
But it's true.'

His name was Allen
He spoke with a slight pause
Before the last word
Of each sentence
As if wanting to get the finishing coat
On every statement
Just right

He didn't ask why Victor was there
He didn't ask who died
Or how
Which was lucky
Since Victor wasn't prepared to lie
Nor did he plan on it

As soon as someone asked him about A.J.
He would tell them the truth
And then politely ask to stay
Because he needed something
He needed to be helped
He needed something

Something that wasn't therapy
Which he couldn't afford
Or drugs
Which he didn't trust
Or friends
Who didn't understand

He needed this Group
And he wanted to stay
But he wouldn't lie
He wouldn't

. . . . .

Victor was the first order of business
Allen introduced him
And everyone nodded their heads
As if to say
Yes, he's new
We're aware
Let's get on with it

When Allen asked Victor
If he'd like to talk first
He declined
Which apparently was normal
Since the nodding continued
And the meeting moved on

He did want to talk
But he wanted to listen more
He wanted to hear if there was a procedure
A structure for how talking is done
In Group

Victor wondered if the first person to speak
Was actually named Elizia

First off, he'd never heard the name Elizia
And second, it seemed far too exotic
For the rather plain girl
Standing in front of the Group

It was clear that this was a girl
Who would just LOVE to be named Elizia
But whether or not she actually was
Was an issue of contention
At least, in Victor's mind

She spoke about losing her mother
It had happened a few months ago
Which made Victor wonder
If that was considered a long time in Group

The question was answered
With the next person to speak

A man named Gregory
Who had been in the Group
For over five years
And showed no signs
Of slowing down

Victor wanted to ask him afterwards
If he knew his co-worker
The one who posted the ad
In Victor's workplace
But he wasn't sure of how confidential
Everything was supposed to be

Gregory had lost his wife
And whereas Elizia talked about progress
After such a short time
Gregory seemed defensive
Perhaps in response to Elizia
He just kept saying--

'It still hurts. It hurts all the time.'

And sat down
After a few minutes

Victor was already finding this comforting

Before A.J. left
This sort of thing
Would have been unbearable
People sharing their private pain
In a public setting
It wasn't something he begrudged people
It just wasn't something
He would have wanted to listen to before

But now
It was like cream in coffee
It made the dark go away
And made the bitter taste
Palatable

Carrie was the next to speak
She lost her best friend in a car accident
That was a little under a year ago
She looked down when she spoke
And her long hair kept falling in her face
In such a distracting way
That Victor found himself
Not hearing a word she was saying
And the fact that she mumbled
Wasn't helping matters

The last to speak was Raqu
Victor kept staring at the nametag
The 'u' sound was dropped
It was 'Raqu' like 'Rock'
Like Iraq
Like 'Rock the House'
Like--

Stop it

He chastised himself
It was bad enough
He drifted off during Carrie
Now he was spending the entire time
Playing word games
With a grieving man's unusual name

'Ba-Rock'

Stop

Raqu had lost his mother
Just as Elizia had
But he seemed stricken
As if he'd just come from the hospital
As if he'd just heard the news
He wept openly
And pounded on his chest
Every other word

Still Victor was anxious
And couldn't focus on him
He wanted to speak now
He felt he had to speak

At the end of the meeting
He raised his hand
And Allen called on him
He stood
And began

'I met A.J. about four years ago...'

It didn't occur to him
To feel self-conscious
About the fact
That he was talking
About his love for another man

But Gregory seemed a little uncomfortable
And shifted in his seat
Elizia shot him a look
And then looked at Victor
Nodding her head
Silently asking him to continue

'I loved him very much. He's gone now.'

He told them about the good stuff
The late night runs to Krispy Kreme
The snowball fights
Their first apartment
The one that got robbed seven times
Over the course of two months

Why did that seem like a funny story now?
Well, either way it was
The members of the Group laughed
Even Gregory chuckled

Maybe it was just the quantity
Twice in two months would be a sad story
But seven times in two months
Was just comical

He told them about the bad times
The holes in the wall
The sour moods
The public fighting
The time in the restaurant
That actually erupted into a foodfight

Oh, but now that seemed funny, too
Why did all these memories
Wait until A.J. was gone
To suddenly decide to become lovely
Rather than mortifying
As they had always been

He told them about the day A.J. left
And he knew he was walking a line
A line between the truth and a lie
It was all in the wording
As long as he didn't say 'die'
He wasn't a liar
He wasn't fooling anyone
Or trying to

As long as he was careful
There was nothing wrong
With what he was doing

'I came home from work.
And there was a message
On my voicemail.'

The message said--

'I packed my stuff after you went to work.

I'm going to stay with my brother.
I'm really sorry, Victor.

I wish...

Yeah, I don't know.
I don't know what I wish.
I wish I didn't have to do this.

I'm really sorry.

Have a good life.'

Victor still had it on his phone
The first night
Sleeping alone
He played it while the phone was propped up
On A.J.'s pillow next to him
Because it was all he had left

'There was a message, and that was it.
I moved out of our apartment.
I'm staying with a friend now.
I'm miserable.
I'm lifeless.
I'm angry.
I'm everything.

I'm not an anomaly.
I'm not upset in some unique way.
I have nothing interesting to say
About how I'm feeling.
I don't have pretty words.
I don't have eloquent descriptions.
I'm incredibly typical.
I'm the definition of typical.
Which just makes me feel
That much more pathetic.

But it's...
It's really nice
It's nice to be here
I feel better

So
Thank you
For that.'

He sat down
Allen smiled
The smile of a coach
Who just saw a rookie
Score his first touchdown

That made Victor happy
Pleased, a better word
He was pleased

It was a start

. . . . .

The Group quickly became
What Victor had hoped for
The light at the end of the tunnel
A recurring light
That would appear every Friday afternoon

He would sit at home
And work on what he would share
The following morning
Putting together just the right mix
Of heartrending sentiment
And progress

It wasn't phony
He just wanted to have his thoughts
Be as organized as possible
So that he wouldn't waste the week
He didn't want to lose a second
And in addition to that
It gave him something to do
On Friday nights
Instead of watching bad television
And making awful batches
Of what were supposed to be cookies

He brought in his own snacks
Gourmet pastries and expensive coffee
And Gregory, who seemed to mind
Hearing the intimate details
About a relationship between two men
Was quickly won over
Once Victor figured out
That he had a soft spot
For Bavarian cream donuts

After each time he spoke
Victor would get a short burst of applause
Carrie gave him her number
Something that was not against the rules
But would seem to be frowned upon
And asked if he'd like to catch a movie
The poor girl was in dire need
Of a friend

Victor decided that instead of a movie
He would take her to a salon
And have them chop all her hair off
It would be liberating for her

Elizia had become his best Group friend
They chatted before meetings
She was, by far, doing the best
Not that there was a 'best'
But if there were, it would have been Elizia

When she talked at meetings
It was always about doing better
Steps taken towards reclaiming her life
She was seeing a nice man
She had been promoted at her job
She was able to visit her mother's grave
Without collapsing onto it in a fit of tears
The way Raqu still did

In terms of Raqu
He always had questions
His admiration for Victor was palpable
How well-spoken he was
How each time he spoke
It was like a small performance

Raqu could barely get through a sentence
Without choking up
And having Allen stop him
And tell him to take it slow
Take it easy
It's okay

During the only bathroom break
Victor would counsel Raqu in the men's room
Helping him find better words
For what he was feeling
Put together sentences
State thoughts in a way
That would help him keep his composure

In this way
Victor conquered the Group

The only odd hold-out was Allen
He didn't seem pleased with Victor anymore
Twice he'd ask people not to applaud
After Victor spoke
Because it wasn't necessary
And not altogether appropriate

This nagged at Victor
As Allen was the one whose approval
Initially mattered to him the most
But now he felt that it was simply envy

If the Group had any leader now
It was Victor
And he could feel himself
Slowly getting better

. . . . .

Victor took the Group out to dinner
Allen would have disapproved
Which seemed to make the whole evening
That much more fun

They went to a steak house franchise
Right near the airport
Where they could be loud
And laugh
And drink
Avoid talking about the things
That they talked about in Group

Group that day was the best yet
Victor made them all laugh, then cry
He'd been amazing
His thoughts were clear
He used terrific metaphors
Everyone seemed to identify
With at least one thing he said

After he was done speaking
When Allen wasn't looking
Elizia silently clapped her hands
And winked at him

He teased her about it
Once they got their meals
While Raqu was telling a rather dull story
About his next door neighbor
Something about a dog
A noisy dog?

Victor couldn't seem to get the hang of it
He'd mention that to Raqu
That he needed to be more...
Dynamic

He was thinking this when A.J. walked by the table

He was with a group of people
Nobody Victor recognized
But A.J. caught a look at him
As he walked by
And for a second
The air froze

Then he kept walking
As if it was nothing
Victor wanted to scream
He was furious

What happened to him disappearing?
What happened to him being dead?
He was gone
He was supposed to be gone
Why was he here?

He hadn't traveled to the middle of nowhere
This was ten minutes
From where they used to live
His brother lived two hours away

What was he doing here?

He excused himself from the table
Siting a phone call that had to be made
Once he was outside
He texted A.J.
Requesting that he come outside

A minute later
There he was
Looking terrific
The fucking asshole

Before Victor could ask
What he was doing
Back in town
He noticed A.J.'s confusion

'What?'
'Victor, who are those people?'
'They're my friends.'
'You're friends with a forty-year-old man, a scizo girl, some Latina chick, and the guy who waits on me at Starbucks?'
'You go to Raqu's Starbucks?'
'Don't change the subject. Who are they?'
'You have no right to question me about anything. You're supposed to be gone.'
'I'm sorry. Did you think I'd moved?'
'That's what it sounded like in your message.'
'I took some time off. I stayed with my brother. I'm back now.'
'Where?'
'I'm crashing at a friend's place.'
'I hope it's nicer than where I'm crashing.'
'What does that mean?'
'Have you ever woken up to a cat digging it's claws into your face?'
'You moved in with your mother?'
'I'm staying with Richard. On his couch. I got rid of the apartment.'
'I figured that.'
'Good to see you're so torn up.'
'I don't have any interest in discussing my journey with you, Victor.'

Journey?
Did he just say 'Journey?'
His 'Journey?'
Was this a joke?
Was there a hidden camera somewhere?
If he was on a 'Journey'
What was Victor on?
A Death March?

'Fine. Don't discuss it. I'm going back in to sit the with the Group.'
'The Group?'

Damn
He let it slip

'Yes, the Group.'
'They're a Group?'
'Yes.'
'Are you in therapy? Are you in Group therapy?'
'Would that be bad?'
'No, it would be... No.'

But the rule about lying
He couldn't lie
Not even to A.J.

'They're not a therapy group...exactly.'
'So what are they?'
'A...uh...a bereavement group.'
'Uh...did somebody die?'
'Yes.'
'Who?'
'You.'

A.J. gave him the look he gave
During the food fight
When Victor picked up a lobster
Off someone else's plate
And hummed it at his head

It was the look you have
When someone has crossed the line
From anger and frustration
To downright insanity

'You told those people I was dead?'
'No, I didn't. I said you were "gone."'
'But they think--'
'I don't know what they think.'
'Of course, you do!'
'I think they're helping me. That's all that matters.'
'You're lying to them!'
'I'M NOT LYING!'

He hadn't meant to shout
But that was his sore spot
And A.J. knew it
He didn't like being called a liar
Everything was fair game
Except for that

'Fine. You're misleading them.'
'I needed to talk to someone.'
'Is this where you meet? At a steakhouse? What is this? The Crying Cowboy gang?'
'It's just...We're just...hanging out. You know, socially.'
'And that's allowed?'
'No, but our leader isn't here. It's just a fun thing to do.'
'You're having fun with a bunch of grieving people?'
'I was trying to until you showed up.'
'You've lost your mind.'
'Yes, I have. Coming home and finding your boyfriend's side of the closet cleaned out can do that to a person. I hope you didn't assume I was just going get your message and make myself dinner. What were you thinking? What the FUCK were you thinking doing that to me?'
'I didn't know what else to do! I knew if you were there when I tried to leave, you wouldn't let me. You would have cried. You would have begged. You would have--I don't know what! So I couldn't do it while you were there. That was all I knew. I knew I had to get out. That was what I had to do.'

Victor felt the first tear go down
And he wiped it off aggressively
He was not going to do this
He didn't mind crying
But not until he said
What he had to say

'I did what I had to do, too. I had to pretend you were dead. That's what I had to do.'
'That's nuts.'
'You think? You think I don't know that? Let me tell you something. When you start swerving your car into the oncoming traffic lane ON PURPOSE then you believe whatever you need to believe to keep the wheel straight. I needed you dead. So you were dead. It was hard, but it was manageable. You, alive, and out there somewhere, knowing I was in pain, knowing I still loved you, knowing everything you knew, and still choosing to stay away--that WAS NOT MANAGEABLE. So you had to go. And once you were gone, I still had trouble, so I joined a Group. And now I'm getting better. Granted, this isn't really helping my progress any, but next week I'll work through it.'
'What are you going to do? Tell them the ghost of me showed up and told you that you're crazy?'
'First you break my heart, then you mock how I mend it. You are an unforgivable bastard.'

Victor started to walk back into the restaurant
But he was conscious of A.J. not moving
He felt like his legs were going to buckle
He stopped at the door

'You know, Victor, when I left, I knew exactly how you were going to handle it. I mean, I didn't imagine...this, but I knew what you would think. You would think that you won.'

Victor turned around
And stared at him
He couldn't believe
What he'd just heard

'You won because I was the asshole. I left. I took off. I decided not to fight anymore. So you won. I surrendered. You would have hung in there till the end, but in the meantime, life would have been horrible for both of us. You always win. Because you keep all the bad stuff about you locked away in your head. I may be an asshole on paper, but a relationship is not something you can put on paper. You can't just jot down all the things that happened and say, "Here. This is what this was. This was our relationship." It's not just actions. It's feelings. It's...it's not a contest. And if it was, we both lost. Not just me.'

He walked over to the window
Where Victor could see the Group sitting
Talking amongst themselves
They weren't any good with each other
They needed him to unite them

A.J. pointed at them through the window

'You may be a star to those people, but if they knew what went on inside your head--I know. I know what you think, how you judge people, how everything you say and do is calculated, manipulative, good or bad--everything is planned out years ahead of time. Your whole life is like one fucking storyboard. They may love you, but they don't know that. I loved you, AND I knew that. I knew what went on inside your head. If they knew what you were thinking, they'd hate your guts.'

Victor looked at the Group
Gregory, who he'd bribed
By appealing to his over-sized appetite
He picked the steakhouse for him
Because he understood Gregory
And what he needed

Elizia who had to be told she was pretty
All the time, constantly
Who had to be the center of attention
Just like Victor
But who was at least willing
To share the spotlight

Carrie who wanted companionship
Who probably wished he wasn't gay
So they could date
She'd had a crush on her friend
The one that died
And what probably hurt her more
Than his death
Was the fact that she could never say
She lost a boyfriend
Just a friend

Then there was Raqu
His mother took care of him
She coaxed him
Nagged him
Kept him on track
What he missed wasn't just her
It was the support
And as long as it came from someone
He felt himself getting better
He didn't cry as much
Today at Group
He smiled four times
A record

And he heard those words again--

'If they knew what you were thinking, they'd hate your guts.'

He looked at A.J.

'Are you just going to show them what I'm thinking, or are you going to show them what I remember too?'
'What difference would it make?'
'If you show them what I'm thinking, they will hate me. That's true. But if you show them what I remember, what I know, my memories, how I got here, to this--they'd still hate me. But at least they'd understand. But you can't. You can't show them that. But don't be too upset, A.J., neither can I. I couldn't show you either. Maybe that's where it all went wrong.'

Victor walked back into restaurant
Sat down at the table
And when Elizia asked him
Who the man was
He was talking to outside

He said, very simply

A.J.

. . . . .

It had been three weeks
Since his final Group meeting
He had explained what happened
To the Group
That night at the steakhouse

They all left quietly
None of them caused a fuss
Victor thought they might be in shock
But he wasn't going to pursue the matter

Friday nights were once again spent
With bad television
Saturday mornings merely involved
Extra sleep and news blogs

He had moved into another apartment
A small place with no closets
So he'd had to buy dressers
As well as a microwave and towels

He started going out again
Not romantically speaking
But with friends and co-workers
He managed to laugh once in awhile
But it was a slow...

Well, journey
He supposed

The loss of the Group was different
Than losing A.J.
It was like going out on a date
And having it go really well
Only to reveal something too personal about yourself
And then never hear from the person again

It was expected
There was no shock to it
Maybe that's what made losing A.J. so hard
The shock of it

One night, Victor was doing late night shopping
At the supermarket near his house
When he nearly ran his cart right into Allen
Between the frozen foods section
And the pet food

'Oh...hi.'
'Hey Victor.'
'Uh...have you been...well?'
'Sure.'
'Great.'
'Yeah. Good seeing you.'

Allen started pushing his cart
Past Victor
But Victor maneuvered his cart
To block him

'Can I move past you now?'
'I know you think I'm crazy.'
'And trapping me with your shopping cart is going to change that?'
'Did you know there aren't any groups for people dealing with break-ups? None. I went on the computer after...After I told the Group...uh...'
'The truth?'

He felt himself getting angry
But he knew that wasn't fair

'I looked on the computer and the nearest group for people specifically having a hard time with a break-up is five states away, and that's a Christian group, so guess what the odds are that I'd be let in there?'
'I'm not sure what you're getting at.'
'I was in pain. I didn't know what to do. I know you think I'm a bad person, and lately, I've realized that I probably am, but I'm not crazy. I think I've been in pain for a long time, long before A.J. even, and when you're in pain you do whatever you have to do to make it better. That's not an excuse, or maybe it is, but I don't think it's a crazy one. I needed people who understood how I felt, and I felt like I lost someone, then I found the Group. So that's where I went. I'm sorry I did what I did, but I thought you should at least know why.'

Allen moved his shopping cart back a few inches
And surveyed Victor's face
He started two sentences
Before settling on a question

'Are you still in pain?'
'Yes.'
'Think it'll never go away?'
'Yes.'
'Are you in danger of--?'
'No. Not right now.'
'That's a start.'

He looked into Victor's cart.

'Five tubes of cookie dough?'
'I want to make cookies.'
'Okay.'
'And not...you know...destroy them. I'd like to achieve something. I'd like to do something successfully that I've only failed at up to this point.'
'You've settled on cookies?'
'Cookies now, people after, and maybe one day myself.'

Allen smiled
He looked proud again
Like he'd seen a touchdown
From a player with an injury
One he'd dismissed
As not being able to play

'Victor, do you know why I was in Group?'
'I assume it was what you were assigned.'
'You think I could have been leading a stamp collectors' meeting?'
'I...Yeah, I guess not.'
'I lost my brother. Very slowly. He had...Well, it was progressive. It took a year for it to happen, but when it did, it was devastating.'
'I'm sorry. I really am.'
'If you're saying loss is loss, I guess I'd have to say you're right. I've been leading the Group for seven years and I've heard about all kinds of loss. When I started Group I thought my story was the worst. I made a contest out of it in my head. Every week since then I've lost that contest.'
'I know the feeling.'
'But now, I also know that it's not a contest. Hurting is hurting. Pain is pain. When you lose somebody--when you really lose them--it is what it is. There's nothing comparative about it'
'Thank you for saying that.'
'The flip side of it is that the same advice can be applied to just about everybody.'
'There's advice?'

Allen laughed
He put his hand on Victor's arm
And looked him in the eyes
A few weeks ago
Victor would have turned away from the focus
Of genuine attention
Attention paid to somebody weak
Who needs to find strength

But now he stood in it
In the full glare of it
And listened

'Victor, my advice is, you can spend all your time thinking of who's gone, or you can think about who's here. Sometimes that's not always possible, but when it is, you should try it. That's my advice.'

He patted Victor's arm

'Good seeing you.'

Victor remembered something
His mother once told him
That nobody ever gives an asshole advice
His mother had a nice way with words

What she meant was
If you're worth someone
Telling you something
That they think will help you
You should listen
And know that
You can't be all that bad

'Hey Victor'

He turned around
And saw Allen reaching
For a tube of cookie dough

'Maybe you came to the right place after all.'

What I Will Put Up With

-- I was thinking of all the things you say you want when you're looking for a relationship: "Someone funny," "Someone reliable," "Someone sensitive," etc. It occurred to me that everybody would probably say they want the same list of things. A lot of people try stating what they don't want, but the problem with that is you end up not being able to recognize what you don't want until you're saddled with it. So how about a list of things you'd be willing to put up with, but nothing more than what's on that list? Sound good? Let's see. --

"What I Will Put Up With"

I will put up with cursing
Swearing doesn't bother me
My father swears
My mother swears
I've been known to scream obscenities
Out my car window
At people in their eighties
Who apparently have nowhere to be
Ever

So I can handle cursing
That won't bother me

I will put up with balding
If you have hair, great
If not, it's not a huge deal
But don't
For the love of God
Don't
Wear a hairpiece
Or get sockets
Plugs
Whatever they call that stuff
Just don't

I don't mind balding
I'll put up with it
I won't put up
With people who don't just suck it up
And be bald
Just be bald
Okay?

I will put up with families
All kinds of families
Overbearing mothers
Delinquent brothers
Fathers who grab my ass
Whatever
It's fine
I'll deal with it

I will put up with bad breath
I mean, I'll give you gum
But as long as you take it
And chew it
And never say 'No'
And revel in your foul breath
I will put up with you

I will put up with procrastinators
I will put up with forgetfulness
I will put up with mild alcoholism
And I will put up with sports fanatics
As long as the sport isn't polo
Because that's just weird

I will put up with you
If you still talk to your exes
I will put up with you
If you flirt with other girls
As long as they're not as pretty as I am
I will put up with you
If a giant pair of breasts
Attached to a tiny little body walk by
And you look at them
As long as you acknowledge
That those breasts
Are about as genuine as I am
When I tell you that you're satisfying me sexually

I will put up with bad table manners
I will put up with coffee addicts
I will put up with crying
As long as it's during movies involving baseball
Otherwise I'll get suspicious

I will put up with nicknames
I will put up with obnoxious friends
I will put up with obnoxious friends with nicknames
I will put up with barbecues at the homes
Of aforementioned obnoxious friends
With obnoxious nicknames
Where their girlfriends comment
On how 'healthy' my physique is
While I stab you under the table
With the nearest fork
And you'll put up with it
Because I put up with everything else

I will put up with all these things
And I will negotiate every other thing
That comes along
As long as you do the same

I'm not looking for ideal anymore
I'm not looking for the same list of words
That everyone else has
That encapsulates the perfect man
Making him a cardboard cut-out
That we can carry in our purses
And pull out when we need to compare someone
To Little Mr. Amazing

I'm looking for someone bearable
Someone who exhibits all the flaws
I am willing to deal with
And nothing more

And if I find that
I'm good
I'm done
I'm off the market

And if that sounds sad

Well
Trust me
I've put up with much worse

Katie in the Snow

-- Influence #7:  Snow --

"Katie in the Snow"

She wrapped his coat around her

It felt soft on her skin

And she fancied herself

That's what she did

She fancied herself

What a peculiar phrase

But it rang true

She was naked

She was glowing

She was covered by a man's coat

A man she'd only met an hour earlier

She was a filthy slut

She was fabulous

She was a new woman

A new naked woman

On the top floor

Of the Hotel Wonder

It was snowing outside

The entire downtown area

Where she worked

Was blanketed

That's the word writers use, isn't it?

Blanketed?

The downtown area

Was under two feet of snow

And it was a gorgeous sight

Katie hated work

She hated commuting into the city ever day

And then she hated going back

To her little apartment

On the outskirts

Where there was just enough crime

And not enough sunlight

And every morning

The first thing she felt was heat

The heat of a neighborhood

Where a tree wouldn't last a week

And the smell of garbage

Permeated into every surface

And probably every inch of skin

On her body

So when the snow started falling

And it was clear

She wouldn't make it to the bus stop

Without freezing to death

Katie was only too glad

To dash into the Hotel Wonder

Having an excuse to sit at the bar

Like a certain kind of woman

And flirt with whatever businessman

Might just be in town

It was only a coincidence

That she met Frankie

Who was not a businessman

But a Starbucks' employee

Who was also gladly trapped

At the nicest hotel

In the state

During a snowstorm

He was two years younger than her

But she felt like a predator

He bought her a drink

He smelled like coffee

His arms had that nice

Muscular bounce to them

Not strong, exactly

But solid

Arms you could depend on

She told him about her work

How she worked with numbers

How she worked with two brothers

One was always sick

The other was always miserable

It was hard to tell them apart

Her boss was just as unhappy

As everyone else was

And he'd often talk to her

About his marriage

And his dreams

And Katie would let him

Because it would help extend

Her first break in the morning

The city looked different under snow

She sat on the chair near the window

Letting her fingers run over the glass

As if they were going down

The body of her lover

She was caressing the image

The image of a metropolis

Frozen in place

By a snowstorm

Nothing violent

Just a firm hand

Placed on the shoulder

Of a cluster of lives

Saying 'Slow down' or 'Stop'

'Let's try this again'

'Not so rough.'

'Easy does it.'

'Softer.'

Katie had no money in her bank account

But the young man came from a wealthy family

And working at Starbucks was the job he maintained

So that his parents felt justified

In helping him out

By paying for his school

His car

His credit cards

And rooms in hotels during snowstorms

Where he would spend hours

Making love to women

Who did not come from families like his

Katie got dressed

She was careful

Very careful

Not to wake the sleeping boy

Whose forehead she kissed

Right before leaving the room

But not leaving a number

Or a way to get ahold of her

Should he desire to do so

She took the elevator down

Down to the lobby

And walked out into the snow

It was another two blocks down

To her bus stop

But she had a feeling

That the buses wouldn't be running

So she stopped where she was

Wondering what would come next

Another boy

Another snowstorm

Another stroke of luck

To her right

She saw a group of kids

Maybe five or so

Having a snowball fight

In front of a diner

That didn't seem to be closed

She knelt down

Put together a snowball of her own

And snuck up behind the group

She waited until one of them

The largest boy in the group

Was ready to throw his snowball

At a girl she'd wager was his sister

Then lobbed it at his head

And ducked into the diner

As the other kids screamed

With surprise

Having seen an adult

Act like a child

They were destroyed

By their own laughter

Katie sat the counter

All alone in the diner

Except for a young man and woman

Eating pie at a booth

Near the other end of the establishment

The waitress approached her

And asked what she'd like

Katie didn't know what to say

She wanted to go back to the room

And run a hot bath

Soak in it until her skin turned hot pink

She wanted to go back to her apartment

Catch up on some cleaning

Drink wine and watch the weather channel

She wanted to quit her job

She wanted to find a man

She wanted to leave this city

And move back home

Where it never snowed

And it never needed to

Because if you needed another chance

To start over as someone new--

You just...did it

She ordered the pie

Because it looked good

From where she was sitting

Because at that moment

It was what she wanted

And it wasn't until then

That she realized

Just how much she wanted

And how deeply

She watched the snowball fight outside

And thought how wonderful it was

To have something hit you so hard

And be able to laugh about it

Take the hit

And start all over

The Boys in the Rain

-- Based on a true story, if the truth was something everyone could live with happily. --

"The Boys in the Rain"

I want to tell you a story

A story about three boys

All about to enter eighth grade

Standing in the pouring rain

Under on a porch

Letting rain fall on them

The first boy is named Mark

It's his porch they're standing under

He lives in a worn-out old house

In the bad part

Of a less than notable town

With his grandmother

And his mother

Whenever she feels like coming home

And raising her children

Mark will finish middle school

Having been the special project

Of his Reading teacher

She will give him a typewriter

Her personal typewriter

Because he'll say he wants to be a writer

And she thinks it will inspire him

It will

But it won't matter

It'll be one of those things

Mark will go into high school

And go fairly unnoticed

Until his sophomore year

When he realizes

Like every other unnoticed kid in the country

That bringing in a note

Threatening to harm people

Will get you quite a lot of attention

Mark will be one of the many boys

In the Columbine generation

Long before it's okay

To even coin such a term

He will be able to return to school

And will regret not having pursued

A private education

At an all boys' high school

Where he surely would have gotten picked on

Even moreso than in public school

After graduation

He will disappear

Into plain sight

Where nobody will think

To look for him

Henry is the boy screaming in the rain

He hates getting wet

And the magazine he bought

At the mall that day

On what seemed like an adventure

To a mild boy such as him

The magazine will be drenched

And he'll be cross about this later

Until his grandmother buys him a new one

He loves looking at new magazines

And this fact about him

Will not change

He will have a fantastic eighth grade experience

As soon as he decides not to continue on with his friends

Into the public high school that Mark winds up at

No, that is not in Henry's future

He will go into a private school

Not the all-boys' highschool, however

It will take him far too long to ajdust

Almost into his senior year

And when he finally gets the hang of it

He will graduate

This will be the underlying trend

Of Henry's life

Upon graduating high school

He will go to a local college

And look for his two friends

The two boys with him in the rain

Until he is out of college

And decides that he wants to write about them

And what they meant to him

Even though he isn't exactly sure

If they meant anything at all

Jake is the third boy

The one everyone loves

Nobody loves Mark

Except Jake

And Henry loves Jake

But in a way he's not comfortable admitting

These are the boys in the rain

Jake will have a girlfriend in eighth grade

Then another

Then another

Then the first again

Then nobody

Henry will try to keep in touch

But he'll fail

Mark will remain friends with Jake

Even after Mark is nearly expelled

For his threatening note

But a stupid argument junior year

Will terminate their friendship

Permanently

This argument is brought on

By Jake's misery over his parents' divorce

A messy affair

With accusations of infidelity

And violence

With and involving everyone

And both his brothers

One younger, one older

Coming to terms with their sexuality

Leaving Jake feeling normal

And yet not normal at all

His house will be sold

A beautiful home

That he can never go back to

And he'll date an older girl

For all of his senior year

Living in her dorm room

At the nearby college

That Henry will attend a year later

Until they break up

And Jake lives out of his car

Until he moves in with his older brother

And his older brother's boyfriend

Gets him a job selling office supplies

Henry will look for Jake too

But when he finally finds him

One day in the dining hall

Of the college he attends

He'll be stunned into silence

Jake will see him

As he's sitting with his girlfriend

The one and only time they reconcile

And he'll wave him over

The two will talk

Neither having any news

About Mark

And that'll be that

Henry will walk out of the dining hall

Skip his next class

And get into his car

Noticing finally that he's wet

That he's soaked through

After not having noticed

That it was raining

He'll watch the rain come down

Onto the windshield of the car

He'll start the engine

But not turn on the wipers

He'll just sit there

Thinking of his magazine

Of how hard he tried

To keep it intact

How important it was

What a neat freak he became

How for a short while

The idea of keeping things pristine

Became an obsession

Until it overpowered him

And became too strong

Too control

Even as an addiction

He'll think of the three boys in the rain

Who didn't mind getting wet

Who knew they were being children

Who felt the moment escaping

Even as it was

Escaping

He thought of the boys in the rain

And wondered if what they say about air

Applies to rain as well

If it's all the same rain

Just recycled

And if so

Was the rain coming down

Hard on his car

In hard drops

In rivers

In oceans

In buckets

Was this rain the same rain

That poured on him

When he was one of those boys

And was it pouring on Mark somewhere?

And would it pour on Jake

When he left the dining hall?

And was it possible

For all three of them

To be under that rain

And be those boys again

For one fleeting instance?

Was it possible

To be boys again

And the rain didn't stop

And it wouldn't

For quite some time

Dance with Me, Gorgeous

-- Influence #6: I tend to admire people who do something that I'm fairly sure is impossible for me to do. That might be why I find dancing fascinating. Who needs magicians when you can watch dancers? What's more, I feel like you can appreciate something so much more when it's clear you'd fail miserably if you tried to copy what you're seeing. I tend to be critical of anything theatrical, because in the back of my mind, I always think--I could give that a shot, and maybe do it just as well. Watching good dancing, however, is like watching those Indian rubber people. I just shake my head and say 'I wouldn't even begin to know how...' In addition to everything else, I love anything with the word 'dance' in the title. It's just such a great word. I once wrote a piece that I loved called "Kiss Your Mother Boys, She's Been Dancing," that my friends still make fun of to this day. Keep in mind, I've been working on The Glass Menagerie, so if this sounds a bit like Jim, the Gentleman Caller, forgive me. So, do you want to dance? --

"Dance with Me, Gorgeous"

It's balmy
That's what I would call tonight
I'd say it's balmy
I love a balmy night
When the world feels like a steam room
Gets you to sweat
Gets all the toxins out
That's what I like

These socks are driving me crazy
They're itchy
You ever wear itchy socks?
They're all I wear
I buy pair after pair
Can't seem to find any
That don't drive me nuts
That's just my luck, I guess

I like the sounds my shoes make
When I'm walking across a floor
Nicely polished
The floor, not the shoes
The shoes are all scuffed up
I can't seem to keep 'em clean
Not my talent
Keeping things clean

Tomorrow I'm turning seventy-three
Can you believe it?
Seventy-three years old?
It feels like yesterday
It all feels like yesterday
Except for yesterday
That I can't remember
But everything else is crystal clear

. . . . .

Would you like to dance?
I know you're shy
I can tell a shy girl
And you, miss, are shy
There aren't shy girls anymore
Did you know that?
They've gone extinct

My granddaughters
They're brazen
I love them for it
But that's what they are
They don't know what 'shy' is
You can believe that

I wouldn't mind
Dancing with a shy girl
Might be nice
Might remind me
Of yesterday

I heard about your husband
My deepest sympathies
I lost my wife a few years back
It feels like yesterday
But it's been a few years
I wake up
I look over
To her side of the bed
She's not there
It's not yesterday
It's strange
But you know
Life does what it does

So you don't want to dance?
I know you haven't said no
But you haven't said yes either
You're just sort of looking
Like you're going to cry
Is that because of me
Or your husband
Or because you can't dance
Or because you don't want to
But you're wishing that you could want to?
Any of those sound familiar?
Anything I can do to help you
Pick out which problem you're facing?

Ain't it a sad thing
When you're sad
But you don't know why you're sad?
It's like being sick
But not knowing what medicine to take
I take so much medicine
I forget what's supposed to do what
Couldn't tell you
If you quizzed me on it

Well, I'll leave you alone
For a few minutes anyway
But I'll be back
I'll be back as a young man
To ask you again
I had more confidence
When I was younger
That's who you need to talk to
You need to talk to me
Back when it was yesterday

. . . . .

Hey Gorgeous!

Gee, don't stand there
Don't just stand there
Get out there
Out there on the dance floor
Can't you hear 'em playing?
They're playing so good tonight
So good I can hardly stand it

And I just got new shoes
Brand spanking new
Shiny as the floor
They're going on
Aren't they a pair?
Huh?
Don't you think?

Why are you so quiet?
You shy or something?
Gee, every girl's shy nowadays
Why is that?
Can't get a girl to talk to you
Even when you're wearing new shoes
Ain't that something?

I'm just itchin' to dance
I can feel it in my toes
They're feeling like...
Like...
Like they're going to crawl
Right out of my socks
And do their own dancin'
If you don't say 'Yes' to me soon, Gorgeous

It's a hot kind of night, ain't it?
I wasn't going to go out
I was going to stay in tonight
Get some reading done
I read, you know?
I'm a regular scholar
But then tonight rolled around
And it just got so balmy
The air--
Gee, the air
You could practically taste
The salt in it

And you just have to go out
When it's like that
All salty like sweat
Dripping down a girl's chest
Well
You have to go out
In weather like that

Aw, I made you blush
I'm sorry, Gorgeous
Just trying to get a response from you
Don't want you to feel bad
You don't, do you?

Say, you got a guy?
You got a guy already?
Is that it?
Where is he?
Off fighting, I bet
You look like a soldier's girl
But I don't see a ring on your finger

I won't try to steal you
I just need a dancing partner
A one, two, three and that'll be it
I promise
Word of honor

Now, would I lie
To a soldier's girl?

Tomorrow's my twenty-third birthday
Can you believe it?
I'm an old man!
Just ship me off on an iceberg
That's what I told my pals today
Can't imagine myself
Being much older

After a certain point
I bet you just wither away
You can't dance anymore
And who wants to live
If they can't dance?
That's not living
Not if you ask me
Which you didn't
But still
It's true, Gorgeous
It is true

Oh say
I didn't see that ribbon
Your guy
He's gone, ain't he?
Gee, I didn't know
How long ago?
A few weeks
Aw, I'm sorry
I really am

And this was probably
Your first night back
Since you heard
Just wanted to get away
And be left alone, huh?

Maybe you just couldn't stay in the house
Couldn't take the air anymore
Is that it?
Gee, Gorgeous, I apologize
He was a hero though
Do you know that?
You must
You must know he was a hero
And you should be real proud
That he had someone like you
To dance with

But you're still here, you know
And as long as you're here
It's just plain silly
Not to really be here
Standing in a dance hall
Not dancing
Watching everybody else live

You know
I had to stop going to church
Not because I'm a heathen
But because they want you to pray
So quietly in church
And I don't buy that
I'm a loud guy
I got a big mouth
But I can celebrate loudly, can't I?
I don't see why prayers
Have to be quiet

What do you say we go out there
And we dance a little prayer
Dance one right out
For your boy
For your hero
We'll live a little
And laugh a little
And that'll be it
I promise

I can see you starting to nod
I can see your foot tapping
And you're going to say 'Yes,' aren't you?
Before you know it
Today'll be over
And you'll be glad you did it
And that you got through another day

You'll be glad you made the best of yesterday
I can promise you that
So come on
Gimme your hands
And I won't get fresh
I'll just make you laugh
Or I'll try to at least
With this big mouth of mine

Once around the floor
And I'll let you come back
And be shy
Just as soon as you dance with me

C'mon
Dance with me, Gorgeous

Willing to Pay

--  I had so much fun putting together the solo show, mainly because writing around a theme tends to bring out the best in me.  So is it any wonder I want to do it again?  (Not a solo show, not just yet, I'm still tired from the last one.)  I want to do something that's a combination between the monologue show and an actual play.  Based around what theme?  Sex.  Simple enough, right?  As someone recently pointed out, most of what I write features sex in it.  I say, why just feature it?  Let's put it front and center.  Ha!  So here's my idea.  I want ten negative words and/or phrases that are related to sex--Not just obscenities, let's be creative people.  Words like "hookup," "one night stand," etc.  I'm even going to do the first one for you:  Hooker.  'Cause let's face it--who doesn't love hookers?  All my favorites happen to be in Broadway shows, but that doesn't mean I can't write one sans Cy Coleman.  I'm not entire sure where I'm going with this whole idea yet, but that doesn't mean y'all can't chime in with thoughts, suggestions, anecdotes, etc.  Let's hit the ground running, shall we? --

"Willing to Pay"

So you charge?

How much do you charge?

Are you going to charge me?

Oh, okay

Well that's good

So this is what?

What would you call this?

A freebie?

Is it free just to talk?

We're just talking

I mean

I wouldn't

Not with a--

You know

What do you call yourself?

A hooker?

Ohhh

Sorry

Didn't mean to--

Never mind

So what do you charge?

And what do you charge for?

I mean

What can they touch

Before they pay?

They must be able to touch you

Right?

I mean

You shake hands

Don't you?

Without charging?

Do you ever give out coupons?

Sorry

That was a joke

A bad one

A bad joke

Can you talk into my tape recorder?

Thanks

That makes life easier

For me

Thanks, yeah

Do you ever get scared

I mean there are a lot of sickos out there

You must have met some of them

Did any of them try to kill you?

Not even one

Wow

That's disappointing

I mean

For me

I mean

Not for me

But, you know

Dramatically speaking

See

I'm putting together this piece

This piece about sex

And I'm just curious about--

You know

People who engulf themselves

In sex

Well

Isn't that what you would--

What would you say you...

You know

Isn't that what you do?

It's your life, right?

I mean

This is your life

Isn't it?

Why do you think--

Can I just ask this?

Why do you think

People are willing

Willing to pay?

Some sort of

Sick thrill of it?

I mean, because--

You can get sex

Pretty much anywhere

For free

So why pay?

You know?

Or

You don't know

Of course

I--what?

Well I'm not paying

Not for that

I mean

I can pay for--

Talking's fine

I can pay for that

That's kosher

But it's just talking

It's for a project

Why pay for anything more?

It is more

It's intimate

It's private

It's vulnerable

The person is paying

To make themselves vulnerable

I mean

Why do that?

Does that make sense?

This isn't intimate

We're just talking

This might be public one day

In front of people

What you're saying

Might actually be spoken

This is just me

Trying to validate

Put some validity

Towards my idea

My idea about sex

That it's...

It's...

What do you think it is?

And I mean

Why pay for it?

Why pay anything for it?

It doesn't make sense to me

Can you speak into the tape recorder?

Yeah, sure

We can work something out

But first

Let's talk

Did the Devil Invite You?

--  Influence #5:  My favorite girlfriend of my father's (and yes, I did have one) introduced me to many things that I still hold dear:  Grease 2, Marilyn Monroe, and my fifth influence--Jim Steinman and the music of Meatloaf.  Am I embarrassed by this?  Absolutely not.  I still count "Bat Out of Hell" as my first show album.  Other people may consider it hokey, and it probably is, but to me, it's everything I want and need in rock 'n roll:  Sexual innuendo, nine minute long running times, and theatrics that anybody else would be scared to touch.  Now, enough talk.  Let's rock. --

"Did the Devil Invite You?"

You know it still does the trick

That sick guitar riff

And the smell of your old perfume

When you hitch up your dress

A mess will be coming

And it'll probably be coming soon

Oh I know you didn't come for Jesus

Our souls are far beyond repair

So dare you show up

Just to fill a cup

And dance off your despair?

Did the devil invite you?

Did he send you to spy

Did he beg for information

Or is this just a vacation

From another heartbroken guy?

Are you sad you wound up here

Hanging with the same old crew?

Did the devil tell you to come here

And if he did

What did he tell you to do?

Now look at your flirting

Turning all the heads

With the flash of your thigh

And an eye on the prize

You got a nasty scar

From that fight in '98

With another man's woman

Cause you took the bait

You're looking at me

Like I'm your new destiny

Seeing good in me that's not there

You're going to suck me dry

Then leave me to die

With a flick of the wrist

And a flip of your hair

Did the devil invite you?

Did he ask you to show?

Is he somewhere around here

Watching us dance

And hoping he can follow us

When I take you home

Did the devil invite you?

Did he tell you I had to be had

I know God didn't send you

He won't even defend you

Cause girl when you're bad

Man, you're bad

My new girl appeared

At the end of the night

At first sight she knew

That something wasn't right

She grabbed you by the hair

And tore up the place

And before she was done

You had another scar on your face

And when she finally tossed you

You got lost in the night

And wound up in Shephard's Pond

All the boys were sad

But my girl was still mad

When she told me that you had drowned

And I remember her screaming

Screaming at you

On the top of her lungs--

Take the devil with you

Go on and take him

Take him right out of this bar

Put on your coat

And head out the door

I bet he drives a real nice car

Take the devil with you

Don't let the screen door hit you

When you finally say goodnight

And if you come back again

You better bring a friend

Stronger than the devil next time

What You Need

-- The strangest things come out of me at 3:30am.  I should mention that this is no way autobiographical, and as a way of telling--Usually I write angry or sad pieces when I'm content, and when I'm not content, I don't write at all.  Easy, right?  --

"What You Need"

What you need is a task

A task to do and finish

Safely, everyday

That will never change

To rearrange yourself into pieces

That never cease to be

Easy to put together

What you need is a room

With a door that locks

That has no key

Where you can't hear me

Asking you to come out

Even when I need

When I need something from you

I should get it myself

I should learn which shelf

To keep my things on

So I never have to bother you

When you don't want me to

What you need is a stranger

To put your smiles on

While I get looks

Saying we'll talk about this

Later

When we get home

When we're alone

And you can tell me

About all I'm doing wrong

Not being strong enough

To be your armband

Or give you a hand

With your social demands

I'm failing at saving you

Flailing in a pool

While you sail past me

On a nice blow-up float

Gloating to your friends

That you're quote

"The normal one"

What you need is a poet

No, no, that's not it

You need a prince

You need a glimpse into the future

To know we'll be okay

Before you devote more time

To today or the next

Texting me asking if we can have sex

Tonight, because you feel like it

Not asking if I feel like it

Chomping at the bit to be the couples

You think you see in your friends

Assuming what they have will never end

But us, we might

We just might

But we didn't end tonight

And that's something

Right?

What you need is insurance

You need policies

You need rules

Elaborate intricacies

Regarding you and me

And what we'll be

Twenty years from now

And what happens if we don't get there

And don't make our deadlines

And whine about how long it's taking

Before we're making out again

Kissing and missing each other

Before we've even left the building

The breaking begins

Cracking our skin as we caress each other

Blubbering about letting go

Even though

We're the only ones who can

And we do

And we don't try to defy our hands

As our fingers open

And release

What you need is perfection

And when rejection seems

Like a possibility

You're willing to beat it

To the finishing line

And simply do away with me

Less I reject you

You can't protect yourself

So you hit the ejection seat

And out I go

Bellowing at you

That I wasn't going to leave

But you don't believe me

And neither do I

What you need is beyond me

It's more than my capabilities

And it's revealed

Like a curtain

Pulling back

Backtracking to where we started

To see what we need to see

That what we needed

Was a distraction

From what we had

Bad or good

We should have seen it coming

Dumbing down and turning down

Our alarms and stimulating our ability

To be charmed by falsities

Resting in nice eyes

And kind hands

And understanding vocal approaches

What you need

And what I need

Is separate

But equal

And we don't equate

So why wait on the next twenty?

Let's divy it up now

And maybe break even

Take what we need

And then go

Fingers releasing

Let go

Lease is up

Let's go

Movers are here

Let's go

Don't cry

Just go

Go

Go

The Closing Argument

--  Influence #4:  It may seem strange that I consider David E. Kelley an inspiration, but if you think about it, it would be odder if he weren't.  The man is a pioneer of television, and if you read anything I write, you know that television is probably the biggest influence of all when it comes to me.  I think I was most struck by him during what I would call his Renaissance--that's right, I'm talking about when he had two diametrically different television shows on the air at the same time--Ally McBeal (unfairly maligned to this day, when it was good it was unstoppable) and The Practice (ditto).  He even managed to do a cross-over between the two that went off without a hitch.  So no, I never made an effort to watch Boston Legal, and no I've never even seen Picket Fences, but I do know that there hasn't been a writer in the history of television who can write a closing argument like David E. Kelley, and so how else could I honor him but by writing one of my own?  Conveniently, I've been wanting to write one anyway--sort of.  I'm sure many of you got that letter via spam e-mail or myspace bulletins about the two young boys who killed a toddler, and I won't shy away from the word "mercilessly," in England, who were up for whatever kind of parole you have when you're in your twenties after having killed a toddler at the age of nine.  I could never get those boys out of my mind, but more than that, I could never get past people damning them to Hell on every discussion board where the case was brought up.  It disgusted me.  These boys were nine, and yes, what they did disgusted me, but again, they were nine.  They were children.  Why didn't anyone ask HOW this happened, rather than just say "Throw them in jail.  They're depraved."  It was the most blatant example of taking the easy way out that I'd ever seen.  If you're one of those people who would say, "Well, what about the little boy?"  The little boy is gone, and I'm one to look to the living, not the dead.  Does that make me sound heartless?  I find it more heartless to say someone is going to burn in Hell for what they did when they still too young to drive, to even be in junior high school.  I thought of when I was nine, and the mistakes I could have made then.  I wanted to say something, not simply in defense of those boys, but in defense of society standing in judgment of its own productions.  It's own monsters, you might say.  Well, six of one...  --

"The Closing Argument"

There are facts.

Isn't that comforting?

To know

That there are facts?

I find that comforting.

Two boys.

Young boys.

Kill another boy.

Younger than them.

But they're very young.

The boy they kill?

Even younger.

We're dealing with children.

That's not comforting.

It's discomforting.

But there are facts.

We can go back to facts.

They tortured this boy.

It was not an easy murder.

It was prolonged.

It was gruesome.

It was horrific.

This was not easy.

This case is not easy.

And the answers for why

Why this happened

Those aren't easy either.

Standing before you

Are two men

Young men

But not as young

As the two boys

Who murdered that child

A toddler

He was that young

To be considered a toddler

It's discomforting

Isn't it?

I can see some of you

Shifting in your seats

Rocking back and forth

Feeling uncomfortable

I'm sorry

I'm sorry that you have to feel that way

But it'll all be over soon

For you

These young men

Are asking for a chance at life

A chance that they denied

To a young boy

Who would be graduating high school now

Going off to college

Starting a life

Or becoming a drug addict

Becoming a drug dealer

Becoming an awful person

Who knows?

If you say one

You have to say the other

One is easy

The other one is uncomfortable

But you have to say both

You have to consider both

That's why we're here

To consider

Not to attack the dead

But to consider

What they could have become

To consider that they might not

Have become much different

From the two young men

Sitting in front of you

This is a closing argument

And let me making something clear

This is truly a closing argument

There will be no arguments after this

No chance to go back and reconsider

All considering is done now

All thinking on the issue

There will not be another time

To apply sensitivity

Or mercy

Or vengeance

This is it

You can say they showed no mercy

When they murdered that boy

But let me remind you

That when you speak of them

You are not allowed to do so

Without recalling

That they themselves

Were children

I don't use that term loosely

We would call nine-year-olds

Children

Wouldn't we?

If a forty-year-old man

Killed a nine-year-old boy

We wouldn't say he killed an adult

We'd say he killed a child

We can relegate the act to adulthood

We deal with the person

The person is a child

We are dealing with people

Who were children

Who were called adults

Who were called monsters

Who were children

It would be inaccurate

To call them adults

Though it may be more

Comfortable

Did we ask back then

What brought two children

To brutally and savagely

Beat and torture

Another child

And I don't mean blame

I'm not asking

If we blamed anyone

I'm asking how this happened

I'm asking what trickled down

Or rose up from the roots

That corrupted

These two young boys

We can't say they're crazy

Craziness is an aberration

The odds that it occurred

In two separate boys

In the same place

At the same time

Who just happened to be friends

Well, that's ludicrous

That's just a ridiculous argument to make

This was no fluke

These boys were soaked through

With some diabolical force

And no, I don't mean a religious force

I mean something as physical

And real

As if we had dunked them in water

Baptized them in hatred

That's what I mean

And I can use religious terminology

If that'll make everyone more--

Comfortable

We didn't ask how they managed to learn

What it's like to withhold mercy

We didn't ask how they managed to learn

To be cruel without feeling guilty

We didn't ask how they managed to learn

The difference between outright killing someone

And making them feel pain first

We didn't ask

We didn't ask them

We didn't ask their parents

We didn't ask the people

That they came into contact with

We didn't ask ourselves

We damn sure didn't ask ourselves

Did we?

We blamed

We blamed their parents

We blamed videogames

We blamed rap music

We blamed rock music

We blamed television

We blamed anything

We blamed everything

But we never turned that mirror

Right around

And said to ourselves

What did I do?

And believe me

We did something

Believe me

There is not a person

In this court today

Who is clean from this

Believe it

Even if it's not

Comfortable

It is possible

Now that these boys

Are old enough

To damn them forever

Or release them

From this crime

These are the options

You've heard the facts

And now

There are options

We can't control facts

But we can choose options

And here they are

I could hire an investigator

I could do that

I'm a lawyer

I have clients

I must go above and beyond for them

Or I would not be a good lawyer

I could find out things

About every one of you

And not just in the jury

But everyone in the courtroom today

I could find out

Who cheats on their spouses

Who cheats on their taxes

Who stole candy from babies

Who stole money via elaborate scams

Who called out sick and went to the beach

Who chose their job over their family

Who took a girl by force one night after drinking too much

Oh, I could find out

All kinds of things

And who knows

I might even find out something

Worse than what my clients have done

But I won't do that

Those sins lie where they lie

Those who are on trial

Are on trial

And the facts are the facts

But I would ask you

With my closing argument

With my closing breath

To look to yourselves

And ask

Before you put these boys away

So that you can go back

To feeling comfortable

What does that comfort cost you?

What happened?

Why did it happen?

Because even after

You put these boys away

Those questions

Aren't going anywhere

And they still

Need to be answered

If You Say My Name's Disaster

-- I just really wanted to write something with this title.  Let's see what happens, shall we? --

"If You Say My Name's Disaster"

If you say my name's disaster

I will master being the nightmare

That you only hope I can be

When you're shaming me

Blaming me for the evaporation

Of your reconciliation

With your last relationship-oriented

Trainwreck of a partner

If you say I am the one who damned you

Into an existence of consistent disappointment

While you appoint me the secretary

Of shoulders soaking up tears

Fears put aside while you ride me

At 3am hoping to be home to him

In time for morning light to make you feel like

Maybe your mistake won't take

As you bike home

Still blown apart

By the brave light of day

If you say I am the devil

Then level with me and stop sending me

Poetry claiming to be wrapped in lust for me

Adjusting yourself to me and my cruelties

And then expecting them to subside

Deriding my personality

But needing your inferiority

To act up so my savior complex

Can react and tack you back to your cardboard wall

Safe, where I put you

Putting you in positions

All kinds of positions

Dealing with the imposition

Of having unfinished business

Keeping me from being better

Because we don't work when I'm better

When I get it together

I'm not as attractive to you, now am I?

I'm the damned guy who won't comply

And be the villain to your starry-eyed good guy

If you're not that what am I?

How will I ever identify myself again?

If you say my name is friend

The light shows end and electricity

Will cease to be a element

Cementing itself as the reason

You make 3am phone calls

Still wanting that ride

Cried to sleep

While he holds you

And wonders why him being a nice guy

Isn't enough to make you stop crying

While I do what's right

Staying up half the night staring into a mug

With your name on it

Wondering why this is friendship

When we're both so hurt by it

Deciding it's still for the best

Better than any other relationship

We've ever had

With each other or others

They've all been disasters

If you say my name's confusion

I will continue to confuse you

Using you to delude myself

Into thinking I'm sexy

Texting you late at night

To get you on your bike

And over here and onto me

Gleefully lovemaking while the city

We both want to leave

Breathes in and out

A slumber-filled peace

That we'll never enjoy

Because we're boys being boys

At all hours of the night

Tightening our hold on each other

Smothering our screams into pillows

Still convinced

Nobody can hear the sound

If you say my name is your name

Then the game we're playing

Becomes tangled up

Wrangling each other into talks

Long walks and feeling-filled phone tag

Bagging each other on bullshit tactics

Pointless semantics keep us on our toes

Growing into prose even Proust would oppose

As being too morose

If you say my name's disaster

You'll admit you can't master me

Nor I you, my sweet fleeting fling

Bringing me nothing but lonely sugar

And a glimpse of eternity

If you say my name

See if you can say it

Without making yourself cry

Then say it again

But after

Good-bye