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

The Twister

--  Influence #3:  I love very few books as much as I love One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  It's one of the many debts of gratitude I owe to Professor Cobb.  So how do you honor one piece of writing with another?  I recall writing a paper on the novel dealing with its use of storytelling, memory, and the tornado at the end of the book that just seemed to sum everything up perfectly.  Somehow I wound up in Kansas... --

"The Twister"

I.  Pets

Kate shoves the dog inside

Inside the cupboard

The cupboard where the pots go

Where the pots go when they're dry

And they're dry and the dog whimpers

Whimpers but he'll be safe

Safe in the cupboard

With the pots

Kate in the cellar

With the cat

Who couldn't be left

Left in the cupboard

With the dog

They'd kill each other

So the cat had to come with her

With her safe in the cellar

But Martin would understand

Understand that she had to leave the dog

Leave him in the cupboard

Martin will understand

The roof rips off

Sometime between two and three

Three hours before Martin returns

To a hole in the ground

Where his house used to be

He pulls up in the truck

The truck with a bad wheel

On the passenger's side

And sees his house

Sailing gently amongst the clouds

The clouds hundreds of feet

Above his head

The dog runs out to greet him

Greeting him involves nipping at his ankles

Till Martin picks up the dog in his arms

And carries him into the hole

As if the house is still there

And when it falls back down into the hole

Several hours later

Martin will be sitting there

Holding the dog in his arms

Wondering where Kate and the cat were

When the twister hit

II.  Children

Lula-Belle won't get off the swings

She swings until she's over the bar

The bar goes underneath her

And then she feels air

And seconds later

Sand grazes her feet again

And she sails back up into the sky

Brody gets sick watching her

Because swing sets make him anxious

And Kate tells him that's fine

Because lots of things can make you that way

Like when the air gets electric

And your hair goes straight up

Even when you're not upside down

Like Lula-Belle is right now

Two hours later the swingset

Will be flying through the air

And land in Benson's pond

A few miles away

With Lula-Belle feeling lucky

That she knows how to swim

Because otherwise she might have been the first girl

Or even the first person

To drown during a twister attack

Brody will be curled up

Next to the coats of his classmates

Who are in the basement of the school

Crying and calling their mamas

On the cell phones they got for Christmas

Brody's cell phone is in Lula-Belle's pocket

Because she's so pretty

And she wanted to borrow it

So she could call her friend Sissy

When she went over the bar

Brody hides the class gerbil in his pocket

And the little creature feels the tug of the wind

As the windows in the classroom shatter

As Brody's teacher does another head count

And realizes she's been counting the Fratner boy twice

And that Brody is missing

As Brody sails out the classroom window

And lands on the see-saw outside

Luckily the one in the air

And not on the ground

Or he might have been killed

Martin will pick him up hours later

And Brody will ask if the dog's okay

Prompting Martin to say--

'Well, the dog's okay, but..."

But Brody won't listen after that

Him being too upset

Thinking Lula-Belle got carried off

And the swingset with her

III.  Parents

Una got the man across the hall out first

An hour before she had removed Guerna

Who couldn't speak English

But kept saying something

That either meant 'Thank you' or 'Fuck off'

Una didn't care or know which

She wheeled out Bette and her sister Marguerite

And wondered how people got such fancy names

In a run-down old town in the Midwest

And was upset with herself

For having a name that wasn't Mary Ann

Or Jane or Jolene

Something simple like that

She had been at the nursing home all day

Wheeling people into the pond

Because everybody knew that twisters

Didn't go over water

And there wasn't any time to get somewhere safe

Because who knew what was safe

And what wasn't

Hours earlier she had tried calling Kate

But her daughter was known to panic

And she'd probably done something stupid

Like hidden herself in the cupboard

With all the pots and pans

Like an idiot

She didn't want her daughter to die

But if she had to die

She certainly didn't want her dying

Surrounded by cookware

And the thought made her angry

Una carried Mr. Lox

And let him float on a sofa cushion

She pulled off the ratty old sofa in the lobby

Of the Potonac Nursing Home

And it was big enough to support the little man

So much so that he smiled when she put him on it

And even used his walker as an oar

So he could get to the middle of the lake

Where Bette and Marguerite were doing synchronized swimming

The showoffs

Una could have been in the pond with them

She was older than some of them

But she still had her senses

And her arms were still strong

So strong that whenever the man across the hall

Wouldn't eat his potato casserole

She'd arm wrestle him

Wagering that if he lost, he'd eat

And if he won, she'd let him grab at her

Without slapping his hands away

And she always won

Except when she didn't, on purpose

Because she wanted to give him something to live for

Pretty soon everyone was in the pond

And when the twister it

It was like being on a rollercoaster

But one that was going on all around you

So once again all the residents

Felt like they were seeing life

But not really a part of it anymore

Una was on the shore

Just dangling her feet in the water

And she reminded herself to call Kate

As soon as she had everybody back in their rooms

Once the storm had passed

IV.  Friends

Four hours after leaving Dandy's

Carla still couldn't tell

If she was satisfied with her purchase or not

And she thought of going back

And trying on that red number

One more time

Before someone else snatched it up

The glass ceiling in the mall

Shattered above her

In such a way

That Carla almost thought it was raining

And she wondered to herself

How they managed to make it rain in the mall

But truth be told

She didn't think too much of it

As it was possible to do anything nowadays

Kate couldn't be persuaded to go shopping

Not today

Not with a twister coming

Silly Old Kate

Who was not older than Carla

But who Carla called Silly Old Kate

And with no objection from Kate

Or anyone else for that matter

The glass stuck in her hair

And on in her clothes

And it snuck into her shopping bags

And lodged itself into her purchases

Which gave her even more reason to return them

People were screaming

But Carla walked calmly back to Dandy's

And explained the situation

As the salesgirl listened

Or seemed to

But really was just in shock

Because she realized

That she might die in Dandy's

Not just her workplace

But her own personal vision of Hell

When the wind entered Dandy's

It lifted up Carla's skirt

The skirt too small for her

And she nearly fainted from embarrassment

Even though nobody was left in the store

But her and the mortified salesgirl

She had enough sense about her

To jump on top of the salesgirl

Sending them both under the counter

As a mannequin came flying over their heads

And crashed into a perfume display

Making the entire store

Smell like a cheap hooker

Carla and the salesgirl stayed there

For what seemed like hours

Until Carla was so exhausted from shopping

And the other crises of the day

And the salesgirl still in shock

That both drifted off into a kind of sleep

Keeping each other warm

And kept warm by the expensive clothes

Now ruined by water damage

And the violence of the twister

But still effective

Though non-retailable

As they lay on top of the two women

Serving a simpler purpose

Than originally intended

V.  Siblings

Beth James pulled up to the house

Or the hole

Depending on what you'd call it

Forty-one hours after the twister

Passed over Topeka

And landed somewhere in Tennessee

Impossible though that seemed

To the meteorologists

And journalists

And everybody else

Beth James didn't care

She just wanted her sister

The pond had been drained

Because now it was full of swing sets

And old people

The mall was destroyed

But Carla was a hero

She'd saved a young salesgirl

Kept her warm

With body heat

And a cashmere scarf

That somehow managed to wrap around both of them

Thank God for a waif-obsessed society,

Thought Beth James

The hole was three stories deep

Which seemed odd

Since the house had only been one story

And as Beth James approached

She saw the dog running up and down a ramp

That had been erected

So that the family could get in and out of

The hole

Brody was sitting in his new room

Which consisted of several planks

Nailed together

And placed about a story down

That could only be reached

By a rope ladder

Brody found the whole thing fun

It should be noted

Beth James had coffee with Martin

In the new basement

Which was so far down

You could barely see the sun

Even as it beat down on you

Burning your face

He wouldn't talk about Kate

Or the cat

But to say that they would have been happy

To have gone together

Beth James would not accept that

Her sister could still be alive

There were other ponds

Other malls

Other cashmere scarves

Their mother had saved an entire retirement home

And she was well into her seventies

How could her sister not manage

To take care of herself and a measly cat?

It seemed intolerable

Beth James climbed out of the hole

Not getting any answers from Martin

She blew a kiss to Brody

And resolved to call her mother later

To update her on her daughter's alleged demise

And also to return a parka to Dandy's

It didn't look the same when she got it home

And tried it on in front of the mirror

That had been smashed in the twister

So that it now looked like a funhouse mirror

Everything twisted and distorted

Now everything seemed like that

Like the world was being viewed through a broken mirror

And Beth James didn't know who to complain to

Or whose fault it was

Maybe God's

Maybe Martin's

Maybe one and the same

When you think of God and a husband

And who's supposed to do what

She drove away

Still not ready to cry for her sister

Because the air was still electric

And maybe that twister would come back

And return a few of the things

It had borrowed

Pull the Rug Out

--  It's funny how you think you've processed a break-up until a flash of something sends you right back to the moment when you were in the fetal position shaking so hard from grief you thought you were going to explode from the inside out...  Notice that I'm using "you" a lot here.  It's a nice, distant word isn't here.  This is me imagining--another nice word, "imagining"--what it would be like if a husband made an unwanted reappearance without actually reappearing. --

"Pull the Rug Out"

Turn the pictures over

Maybe he's behind one of them

Turn them all over

I want to see the hooks

The hooks in the walls

Maybe he's hanging from them

Like a little demon

GERALD!

GERALD, I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE!

I KNOW IT!

I can feel it

I can feel him here

He left three years ago

Three years

And I can still feel him

And it's because I didn't send his things

I should have sent his things

When he left

I should have rid this house of him

From top to bottom

But I thought I was lucky

Lucky

Can you believe it?

Lucky that I got to keep all this

All this junk

This high-priced junk

That still carries him

Inside of all of it

I'm not talking about a ghost

He's not dead

I wish he was

But he's not

He's in the Bahamas

The Carribbean

Who knows where

With some woman

Maybe

I never cared to ask

But wherever he went

He didn't want to take any of his stuff with him

But I should have got rid of it

I know that

I know that now

But it's not too late

I can still get rid of him

Take out all the drawers

Empty them on the floor

Anything that's not mine

Throw it in the trash

I don't care if it's nice

I don't care if it's pretty

I don't care if it's wrapped

In one hundred dollar bills

Get rid of it

All of it

He didn't say a word to me

Not a word

Just left

One day I came home

And he was gone

I found his journal

So I know why left

As best I can know

But it doesn't make sense

It still doesn't make sense to me

It never will

I don't think it ever will

Rip the sheets off the bed

Those were his

The pillows were his

The blankets are mine

But they can go too

He slept underneath them

So they might as well have been his

I cried, you know

I did my time

I grieved sufficiently

I'm sure of that

I didn't see friends

I didn't answer calls

I locked myself away

For an entire year

And then I emerged

And I'm not going back again

I'm not diving back into that pain

No matter how much these things

Try to pull me down into him

Back into what that was like

When he left

And I'm not talking about

When I came home

And he was gone

I'm talking about when he was here

And not talking

And not caring

About anything

Especially and including me

Pull the rug out

Pull it out from underneath me

Go ahead

I'll just jump

When you do

I've done it before

I don't have time to move

Just yank it right out

So I know I can still make it

So I know I can feel it go

And still be left standing

I walked by this rug the other day

And I realized

That if he was willing to leave this

This rug that belonged to his mother

That he loved so much

That got cleaned regularly

Even when the car looked like an anthill

If he was willing to leave this

Then...

He must have really hated it here

He must have been so unhappy

And why didn't I see that?

Why wasn't I aware?

What did I miss?

. . . . .

I walked by this rug

And all of a sudden

It rushed into me

That pressure

Like I was back in that moment

Alone

It's something you never get used to

When you've been with someone

And then you're alone

That feeling of loneliness

That state of being

You don't live in it

You run into it

Every once in awhile

In your hallway

In your bedroom

In your kitchen

It's an unfriendly roommate

Who moved in

After your husband moved out

And you forget it's there sometimes

You think it's gone

But it's never gone

It doesn't leave

And you look at that rug

That you never liked

That you've been keeping

Because you thought it meant

He was going to come back

He would come back for it

Wouldn't he?

It doesn't occur to you

Until the ninetieth time you see it

After he's left

What it really means

What it really stands for

That he was willing to leave it

He was willing to leave you

He was willing

And now he's happy

How do you reconcile that?

Pull the rug out

Get it out of here

It's his rug

And he doesn't live here anymore

A Little Touch of Something

-- Influence #2:  I'd be lying if I say music is important to me.  It's strange to say that, because it's almost mandatory to say that it is important--and vitally so.  I find that when I write, I can't have anything else going on around me, or it permeates what I'm writing far too much.  Although, sometimes, that can be a good thing.  To write about my second influence, I had to have his music playing in the background--and Broadway Radio served my purpose nicely.  This is my Cole Porter piece, and here's the idea behind it:  If you had to write a song, but it couldn't be a song, what would you write?  If it couldn't have any music behind it, but it had to sing all the same?  And let's make it a tad more difficult--let's make it a Cole Porter song.  Now let's give it a try, shall we?  Oh, and for the record, my favorite Cole Porter song is "The Still of the Night." --

"A Little Touch of Something"

Would you like a drink?

A sherry?

A bit of something

A little touch

I could offer you

A little touch of something

A respite from the cold

A warm embrace

To chase the chill away

Or at least

Keep bad thoughts at bay

A little bit of good cheer

Oh we're all so lonely

Oh we're all so sad

Everybody here is

Wishing somewhere else

Is where they could be

But not me

Because if you're here

If you're even here a little

Straying here a little

Praying for a little sympathy

A little bit of you is all I need

To keep me here and happy

A little touch of you

And I'll be free

It's true that the loss will ache you

Break you before you're well

You'll sip your sherry silently

And violently compel yourself

To dance inside your mind

While time erases itself

Complacently you patiently wait

For someone whose not coming

Coming to terms with what's at hand

And believe me

I understand

But all that I can offer

Is a little touch of something

A blessing or a blanket

A kind word and my kinship

As one relationship ends

We'll be friends

We'll be more than friends

But that's all up to you

Just tell me what to do

And there will be...

Little shows of kindness

Little acts of caring

Little ways of moving on

As long as we go slowly

And my dear, we will go slowly

Come what may

With just a...

A little touch of something

We can make the larger woes

Go away

A little you

A little me

A little laugh

A little sherry

A little bit

Day by day

Night by night

And all we'll ever see

Is a little touch of something

Something between

You and me

Where It Came From

-- There's a great play called "The Voysey Inheritance" that deals with what happens to a family when they're forced to choose between money and the love they have for themselves.  I thought of that while I was writing this, but I haven't read the play in over a year, so it's probably safe to say I haven't stolen anything from it, but I thought it was worth mentioning that I'm not unaware the two have similar themes.  It's part of a larger piece.  A mother has made her living doing something horrible, and it's been a good living.  Her two daughters are mortified when they find out what's gone on, but her youngest, and her only son, seems to be taking it a bit better...and here's the reason. --

"Where It Comes From"

You two

You two girls

Man

Man oh man

You make me fucking sick

Do you know that?

You act like

Like

Like you didn't know

You didn't know?

Is that what you're trying to say?

That you didn't know?

YOU DIDN'T CARE

That's the truth

That's the fucking truth

You didn't care AT ALL

So don't even act like

Like

Oh my God

Oh my God

Fuck that

You two make me fucking sick

You're going to judge Mom

Go make your own fucking money then

You see how easy it is

You're disgusted

Oh but you took the Christmas presents

DON'T INTERRUPT ME

DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!

You took the Christmas presents

You took the birthday presents

You took the cars

The fucking clothes

The rent when you needed it

And when didn't you, right?

You didn't ask

You didn't ask

Where it was coming from

Don't say

Because you didn't think of it

Because even if you had

You wouldn't have

You didn't want to know

It couldn't concern you

Did it concern me?

Yeah

Did it bother me?

No

Because every person

In this fucking country

Whose got anything

Got it doing stuff worse

Than what Mom is doing

Anything that shimmers

In this fucking world

Was pulled from a corpse

After the person who took it

Shot the fucker

Everybody's got blood on their hands

Even the people who don't look down

And notice it

You're so offended?

Then leave your car keys on the table

Take off the shoes Mom bought you

Leave your purses

Both of you

You're going to judge?

Who alive can fucking judge anymore?

You two?

You think you're the last two?

The last two on the fucking planet

Who get to have a say

In how they get

What they get

If you knew where it came from

You still would have taken it

It might have bothered you

It might have made you uncomfortable

But you still would have put on the shoes

You still would have driven the car

And you still would have walked around

Like you didn't know

Even after you did

And if you really do have such a problem with it

Leave now

And let the rest of us

Keep doing what we do

Let us keep making the money

Because we've made peace with it

We made peace

By not pretending

That there was any other way

To survive

And see some things shimmer

In the process

Get the fuck out of here

You knew

Where it came from

You're the walking products of it

You look in the mirror everyday

You knew where it came from

Not Yet

--  This is the first of the "Influence" pieces.  That's right, 1 out of 100.  Why do I always have to take on massive projects?  This coming from a guy who named his college theater company "Epic."  My first influence was easy to pick.  I consider her one of the best actresses of all time, and without a doubt, the most likable.  Breakfast at Tiffany's is one of my favorite movies, and the scene with her singing "Moon River" is a movie in and of itself.  So when it came time to write something dealing with my love of Audrey Hepburn, it didn't take long to figure out what I wanted to do.  She's one of those people you wish had made more movies (you know, the exact opposite of Heather Graham) and so I thought I'd write her one more movie...but that could take a year, so instead, I'll write her final line in the movie.

Picture it--a little old woman, still gorgeous, sitting at a small table at a Parisian cafe.  She's just spent the past few days traveling around the city and meeting all sorts of people.  She's clearly sad about something, but hasn't told anyone what.  As she sits at the table, a waiter approaches.  It's very early in the morning, and music starts to play as the camera focuses on her face.

"Not Yet"

Do you know

I've never been to Paris?

Not until now

And not even now

Not really

I haven't been to the Paris

I thought I'd go to

When I bought my ticket

A few months ago

When I did that

It was a different Paris

I thought I'd see

I'm a silly old woman

With grand thoughts

I suppose

I'm silly because

I wanted to take a train

All around Europe

But my children

Worried for my health

So instead

Just Paris

And not even the real Paris

Nobody was very romantic

Not to me anyway

Not even once

I don't know what I expected

I'm not some spring chicken

But I don't feel old

Not a bit

And so sometimes I forget I look it

I walk around like I'm nineteen

And wait for some nice man

To ask me into a carriage

Or a gondola or something

Which is foolish

They don't have gondolas in Paris

Not that I've seen anyway

Nobody wears berets

Nobody paints on the sidewalks

Nobody is rude

It's not the Paris I dreamed of at all

. . . . .

I dreamed of a man

Who would look like William Holden

Do you remember William Holden?

Or are you too young?

You're a sweet boy

For listening to an old woman

Old enough to be your grandmother

And an American woman too

Do you even understand what I'm saying?

Oh, you're smiling

That means 'No'

I've learned that much here

Still

You must have heard of William Holden

Even here in Paris

He was wonderfully handsome

I had such a crush on him

When I was a girl

When I got married

I remember being distinctly disappointed

That I hadn't married William Holden

William Holden?

No?

No

I can see you don't understand

You're either too young

Or you say his name differently

In French

He seemed like a lovely man

A bit of a cad

But so dashing

Not like my late husband

Nicholas was also lovely

But terribly dull

A bore

Four weeks after we were married

I bought a ticket to Paris

Ready to run off

In search of a French William Holden

Whether he was real or not

I didn't know

I didn't care

I just knew I had to leave

My father met me at the airport

He walked me back to his car

And brought me home

To my husband

And we never talked about it

About me running away

None of us ever talked about it

Never about anything

We never did

Here

Sit down

You've been standing this whole time

Sit

Sit

You must understand sit

Sometimes I think

That my father knew then

And that's why he didn't let me leave

He could see I was pregnant

Even though it had only been four weeks

He knew

And that was why he couldn't let me get on the plane

Even as I cried

Cried

Begging him to let me go

I knew he hated seeing me cry

My mother could watch me cry for days

She was a cruel women

I'm afraid to say

But I was his little girl

And I was so unhappy

All I wanted was to leave

And he didn't let me

And never a word was spoken

And I hated him

Until the day he died

. . . . .

It's a pretty place

Paris

Especially now

Now that I'm leaving

My plane takes off

In a few hours

And I'm not sure

If I haven't seen enough

Or if there's just nothing else to see

I saw the museums

I saw the exhibits

I saw the Eiffel Tower

Everything but what I wanted to see

I wanted to see

What I saw in my wildest hopes

What I thought I missed

When I was home

Raising children

Being a wife

Hating everything

I thought there was a party here

A glorious party

That I wasn't going to

And maybe there was

Maybe I've just arrived too late

What a sad thought that is

. . . . .

Get me an eclair, darling boy

Eclair?

That you know

I'm sure you know 'tip' as well

You'll get a good one

I haven't spent much on this trip

Not nearly as much as I could have

I contemplated going through

My children's inheritance

While I was here

But I haven't

I'm old

But I'm not mean

Not yet

'Not yet'

I suppose those two words

Are what keep people hopeful

While you're alive

There are so many trips you can take

As long as you have a few days in you

And an English-to-something dictionary

And a bit of adventure in you

You're not dead

You're not old

You're not done

'Not yet'

An eclair, darling boy

I might have places to go to yet