Marlon Brando Died Today

It's January 5th, 1953
And Marlon Brando
Died today

It's July 9th, 2057
And Marlon Brando
Died today

He died before he got a chance
To fuck up his potential
And, more importantly,
The memory of his potential

A hundred and four years later
His hologram would malfunction
On the set of Streetcar 2: The Desire Returns
And Vivien Leigh's hologram would get pissed off 
And shut herself off
And nobody could really blame her

Even Marlon Brando's hologram was kind of an asshole
And yet, undoubtedly, way more talented than all the other holograms

The real Marlon Brando
Died sometime between these two imaginary points
In history and in history-yet-to-come
But of the three potential Brando deaths
The real one is the least interesting

In the first imaginary death
Brando overdoses
Or he gets drunk and belligerent at a bar
And some guy stabs him in the gut

Or he gets into a car accident
Like James Dean

Or he dies in a plane crash
Like Buddy Holly

Or he takes a nosedive off a bridge
Because he goes to sleep one night
And imagines himself getting old and irrelevant
Doing anything for money
Losing every ounce of his trademark sex appeal
Finding his legacy tarnished by bad decision after bad decision

Once he sees that image in his mind
That vision of the future
He can't bear it
He drives to San Francisco
Makes love to a woman named Carla
And then dives off the Golden Gate Bridge
Every fiber of his being certain that he's making the right call

Marlon Brando will kill himself thousands of times
Before he dies of old age in a reality
That is about as depressing as any real reality can be

The first few hundred suicides all have the same effect
Brando is jettisoned from icon into legend
A mystery surrounds his life and work
That can only exist
When the person himself is no longer around
To talk about what he was thinking when he was filming that movie
Or what he thought of that director
Or which of his co-stars he screwed
Or why he's never been as good since then

The last suicides are all just tragic
Because by then the damage has been done
And the ending of it all just seems like an acceptance of defeat

An agreement that life had gone too far
Without really going anywhere at all

When Marlon Brando's hologram is created
It shorts out the circuits in the holo-lab
And permits a virus to enter the system
Which infects the Gregory Peck hologram
And from that point on, he's never quite as good
As the original Gregory Peck
And he speaks in an odd French accent
That can't be corrected

Brando's hologram is a box office smash
But notoriously unreliable and totally unreprogrammable

The Director of the holo-lab didn't even want to do a Brando hologram
Because of how difficult the original model was
But the Programmers assured the Director that the quirks would be un-quirked
Without losing any of that signature, Brando spice

Unfortunately, there was no way to get the spice
Without putting together an almost identical model
Of Brando One

And, in doing so, film was reinvigorated
But so was an ulcer the Director thought she'd seen the last of

When the hologram malfunctioned for the last time
It was the Director who pulled the plug
Pulled funding for Streetcar 2
And swore that would be the last time they'd resurrect someone so volatile
Even though they were already halfway through completion
Of the Joan Crawford hologram
And The Revenge of Mildred Pierce had been greenlit for months

Somewhere on the Golden Gate Bridge
The wind was in Young Brando's hair
And the smell of Carla lingered on his skin
Below cars were going by
It was still early in the day
Maybe it was a weekday?
Who knows?
Young Brando had lost track of time
Both forwards and backwards

A bird landed on his shoulder
But not a real bird
A hologram of a bird

The first hologram ever created in the holo-lab
A robin named Lucy
Who malfunctioned after six years
And was never replicated
Out of respect for such a monumental achievement

Brando tries to touch Lucy
But his fingers go through her
And she flies a few feet away
Until she disappears the way a television show disappears
When somebody changes the channel

Young Brando knows in that moment that he is both insane
And sane in a way he will never be again
If he continues on with life

He sees outcomes

One where he gets down
One where he jumps
And one where he doesn't move at all
But lives out his days on the Golden Gate Bridge
Creating a new life for himself
As an eccentric who used to make movies
A designation he will end up with anyway
So why not just stay put?

Then Option Four reveals itself:

Young Brando rewinds himself
To the moment he first saw a movie
A moment he didn't even remember
Until he worked his way back to it
Carefully, skillfully avoiding all other obstacles and impasses
Until arriving at his chosen destination

The First Movie

Young Brando finds himself sitting next to Younger Brando
Perhaps a Brando that never existed at all

For this doesn't resemble any movie theater
Brando remembers from his youth
Nor does the movie on the screen look like any movie
That would have been made when Brando was that young

The memory he needs is from a dream
And so he dreams it

He borrows some popcorn from the bucket the Younger Brando is holding
And gets a glare from that cherubic face

Yup, he thinks, that's me all right

He sits silently and watches the movie with his younger self
Onscreen, a version of him--a digital version, a hologram
Screams out for Stella
Screams out in the jungle
Screams out that he could have been something
He could have been--

He looks at Younger Brando
Who seems interested, but not impressed

Not a bad way to be, thinks Young Brando

Not a bad way to be
At all

Two Showers

I shower before I go to bed at night
And I shower when I wake up in the morning

Scott thinks this is weird
This morning at breakfast he asked me why
I shower before bed and then in the morning
When all that happens in between is me sleeping

I took off my glasses
I put down my coffee
I immediately regretted not spiking it

I said, 'Scott'
And then I paused
So he can take a moment to sit back
And prepare himself
For the logic
That will invariably
Give him a headache
For the rest of the day

'Scott,' I said, pause
'I take a shower before bed
And then in the morning
Because during the night
Any number of disgusting things
Could be happening to my body

Bugs could be crawling over it
All night--and I wouldn't know
Such is the Catch-22 of being a sound sleeper

You don't wake up for anything
But you also don't wake up...for anything

Dust could be collecting on me
After all, I don't move during the night--'

Not like Scott
Who does an entire aerobics routine
In his sleep

'--I could be sweating
I could be drooling
I could be weeping
Which, considering the nightmares I have
About all the ways I've wasted my life
Wouldn't be all that surprising

I could be a sleepwalker

I could be walking out the door every night
Rolling around in the garden
And then casually wiping myself down with a damp facecloth
Just so my waking self won't notice

Microscopic organisms could be jumping off your body during the night, Scott
And right onto mine
Since, as we both know, one of us pays far more attention to our persona hygiene
Than the other one does

The dog could be creeping into our room every night
To lick me and then walk away

You could also be licking me, Scott
But since your favorite team hasn't won in awhile
I seriously doubt it

Scott, while we were are sleeping
Hair is growing
Skin is stretching
Dead cells are falling off my body
And being replaced by new ones

And you expect me to just get up
Get dressed
And start my day
As if everything is fine and dandy?

Nothing is fine and dandy, Scott
Nothing

And don't ask me why I don't just shower in the morning then
And then skip my nightly shower
Because if you think what potentially happens to me when I'm sleeping is bad
You can't imagine the barrage of germs and filth
I'm exposed to on a daily basis
Just by interacting with other people

So I take two showers
And I spike my coffee
And I've been ordering prescription anti-anxiety medication from Canada
Because I don't feel like telling a doctor
That thinking about going to the supermarket
Makes me want to pull out my eyelashes
And lay them out on the kitchen counter
So you can find them when you get home

Now eat your damn eggs
And shut the hell up'

And he does

Because Scott and I?

We understand each other

Interruption

I gotta go
I don't want to, but...
I have a life, you know, and...
And it isn't this
Although this would be nice
This--this would have its perks
You being one of them
You would be a perk
You and your beard
You and the way you wear sweatpants
You and that dry humor that drives me crazy
You, my friend, you--are a perk

And also--an interruption

Because I have this whole, you know, life
It's a good life, too
It's...stable

I have a good job
I have a house--unpaid for, but, you know, nice
A nice house
It's all--everything is...

Nice

And you--let's face it, you're not nice

I mean, you might be nice
You're--it's not that you're not nice, it's that--

You would interrupt me

All that I've worked for
All that I earned
Everything that, if I lost it, would--

You make the idea of throwing everything away
Look so appealing

It's the way sunlight hits something
And makes it look clean

You hit me
And I look reckless

And not only do I look reckless, but, truthfully
I like the way recklessness looks on me

But I have to say 'No'
And get dressed
And apologize
And kiss your back
And let you sleep
And not...

Interrupt

This life you have going on

The same way I don't want you
Interrupting mine

Sometimes you have to find the value in something like this

You have to tell yourself
That the beauty of it isn't what you think it is
That the brevity, the sharpness, the disruption
That those--things--aren't anything to be upset about
That they're actually...

It's a fire in a forest

Quick and devastating
But it leaves behind better soil
So stronger things can grow

I'm going to leave
But thank you

From now on, when I bump into people
And they notice something about me
Something different that makes me seem happier
That gives me a different sort of smile

I'll just say 'Thank you'
And that'll be all

But...

It'll be you

You'll be what I think of

And this

This little...

Interruption

The Left Eye's Watching You

(A living room.  FRIDA, a middle-aged woman, is sitting in a chair sipping wine.  EMILY, a girl in her twenties, is sitting across from her, very nervous.)

EMILY:  You have a lovely home.

FRIDA:  Thank you, Emily.  I decorated it myself.

EMILY:  Oh, I assumed your husband did.

FRIDA:  Really?  Why would you assume that?

EMILY:  All the, uh, dead animals.  I thought maybe he was a hunter or something.

FRIDA:  Carlson?  Oh no.  (Laughs.)  The only thing he ever killed was a good time.  I'm the one fascinated with death.

EMILY:  Derek said you're a spiritual advisor?  I have to admit, I'm not really sure what that is.

FRIDA:  I teach people how to live as fully as possible while they're still alive, and then once they die, they leave me all their money and I make sure their wishes continue to be carried out after their deaths.

EMILY:  So, you read their wills and--

FRIDA:  Oh, wills aren't necessary, Emily.  I'm in constant communion with the dead.

EMILY:  I, uh--are you?

FRIDA:  Yes.  Always.  Voices in my head all the time.

EMILY:  Well that's--uh, that's something.

FRIDA:  It's so nice that Derek's finally letting me meet you.  I'm sorry he's running late from work.  He's always running late.  He gets that from his dead father--who, by the way, is a great admirer of your cleavage.

EMILY:  I'm sorry?

FRIDA:  My deceased husband loves your breasts.

EMILY:  No, I think I got that part, but--What?

FRIDA:  He wanted to be here when I met you.  After all, Derek has mentioned marrying you on more than one occasion.

EMILY:  (Can't help but be intrigued.)  He has?

FRIDA:  Yes, and so, of course, the whole family wanted to be here to size you up.  My mother says you're dressed like a whore.

EMILY:  Mrs. Nager!

FRIDA:  Actually dear, her last name was Morgan.  She kept her maiden name.  A very progressive woman.  A real feminist.  She says you look like you're going to a married man's funeral so you can sit at the back of the church.

EMILY:  What does that even mean?

FRIDA:  Hang on, Aunt Eva's here now.  Oh boy, she says she knows your grandfather.

EMILY:  He's been dead for eight years.

FRIDA:  She wants to know if he died from some untreated venereal disease.

EMILY:  I beg your pardon?

FRIDA:  Apparently, he has a voracious sexual appetite.  In the eight years he's been dead, he's already slept with Greta Garbo, Marie Curie, and all of the Andrews sisters.

EMILY:  My grandfather was a lovely and timid man!

FRIDA:  Well, it's always the quiet ones, dear.  Aunt Eva's concerned you may have some of his predilections, if you catch my drift.

EMILY:  I have to say, Mrs. Nager--

FRIDA:  Call me Frida, dear.

EMILY:  Uh, Frida--that I find this all a little--Well, I think it's bullshit.

FRIDA:  Oh, don't let my great-grandmother hear you say that.  She was never fond of cynics.  Whenever she was in the presence of a non-believer, her fake eye would begin to twitch.

EMILY:  Now that she's dead, I doubt she still has her fake eye.

FRIDA:  No, I have it.

EMILY:  You--excuse me?

FRIDA:  On the mantle over there.  It was her left eye.  The right one she was buried with, of course.  But, I loved her so much, I figured keeping a little souvenir wouldn't be all that bad.  And it does still twitch from time to time.  It's like my own little smoke alarm.

EMILY:  It's actually nothing like a smoke alarm.

FRIDA:  Dear me, I think I can see it twitch.

EMILY:  Do you not like me, Frida?

FRIDA:  Of course I like you!  I adore you!  You're adorable!  But my cousin Maxine--she says you have mud eyes.

EMILY:  I have blue eyes.

FRIDA:  And cousin Maxine had terrible vision.

EMILY:  Maybe you should loan her your great-grandmother's eye.

FRIDA:  A sense of humor!  How delightful!  I thought that was very funny, but nobody else did.  Oh well.  You win some, you lose some.

EMILY:  I lost a bunch of dead people.

FRIDA:  Family, dear, they're family.

EMILY:  But you approve of Derek dating me?

FRIDA:  I think it's fantastic.  I'm over the moon about it.

EMILY:  But none of your dead relatives are?

FRIDA:  My father seems to like you.

EMILY:  Okay.

FRIDA:  Wait--my mother's talking to him now.  (A beat.)  He changed his mind.  I'm sorry, Emily, it seems they all hate you now.

EMILY:  You're full of it.

FRIDA:  There goes that left eye again.

EMILY:  Frida--Mrs. Nager--this has been fun.  But I think I'll wait for Derek in the hall next to the stuffed squirrels.

(She stands.)

FRIDA:  Wait!

EMILY:  What?

FRIDA:  My grandfather likes you.

EMILY:  Huh?

FRIDA:  My grandfather.  Papa Joe.  He says you're feisty.  And he likes that my grandmother hates you.  That means you're in.

EMILY:  Just like that?  Just because of one person?

FRIDA:  My grandfather was the head of the family, Emily.  If he likes you, you're in.  It's as simple as that.

EMILY:  Oh.

(She sits.)

Well that's...good.

FRIDA:  I'm so relieved.  I'd hate to have to poison another one of Derek's girlfriends.

EMILY:  What?

FRIDA:  (Laughs.)  Just kidding, dear.  More tea?

(EMILY looks at her wearily.)

EMILY:  I'm good.

(Lights.)

The Crocodile

(WENDY wakes up in bed with a start.  There's a CROCODILE sitting in her nursery.)

CROCODILE:  Tick tock.

WENDY:  Hello?

CROCODILE:  Hello Wendy.

WENDY:  Are you--

CROCODILE:  Firstly, I'm not going to eat you.

WENDY:  Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way.

CROCODILE:  I didn't want you to scream and wake up John or Michael.

WENDY:  John is away at university.  Michael is an artist living in the odd part of town where it always smells of old cabbage.

CROCODILE:  But aren't they children?

WENDY:  Not anymore.  It's been years since we went to Neverland.

CROCODILE:  Time is such a strange thing.

WENDY:  I expected Peter to come back and visit, but he never did.

CROCODILE:  Yes, about that--

WENDY:  I certainly didn't expect a visit from the Crocodile.

CROCODILE:  I had no intention of visiting, actually.

WENDY:  Oh?

CROCODILE:  I'm not fond of travel.  It upsets my stomach.  Tick tock.

WENDY:  Why are you here?

CROCODILE:  Why are you here?  I mean, if your brothers are gone--

WENDY:  I'm an unmarried spinster.

CROCODILE:  Oh?

WENDY:  Yes.

CROCODILE:  But you're so pretty.

WENDY:  Thank you very much, Mr. Crocodile.

CROCODILE:  Why aren't you married?

WENDY:  I never met anyone I liked as much as Peter.

CROCODILE:  But Peter was just a boy.  And you were just a girl.  Surely you don't compare every man you meet to a flying adolescent in tights?

WENDY:  I can't help it.  I fell in love and I never truly fell out of it.  The heart wants what it wants.

CROCODILE:  Yes, well, uh--

WENDY:  I even stayed here in the nursery when Mother and Father passed away instead of moving into their bedroom.  I didn't want Peter to show up here one day and not know where I was.

CROCODILE:  Well, the good news is, I think you can stop worrying about that.

WENDY:  IS PETER COMING BACK?

CROCODILE:  Not, uh...not exactly.

WENDY:  Not exactly?

CROCODILE:  No, actually, I should have just said 'No, he's not coming back.'  But I didn't want to just--

WENDY:  He's not?

CROCODILE:  It's not that he doesn't want to.

WENDY:  Oh.

CROCODILE:  I mean, I can't really say whether or not he wants to, since he's dead and all--

WENDY:  DEAD?  Peter is DEAD?

CROCODILE:  Ugh, I knew I was going to botch this.

WENDY:  I didn't know he could die!

CROCODILE:  He couldn't age, but he could certainly die.  He certainly DID die.

WENDY:  How?  How did it happen?

CROCODILE:  A mermaid ate him.

WENDY:  A mermaid?

CROCODILE:  Fine, okay, it was me.  I ate him.

WENDY:  You did WHAT?

CROCODILE:  I couldn't help it!  He fell in the water right around dinnertime.  I guess he felt like swimming or something, and I--Well, I ate him.

WENDY:  Oh no.  Poor Peter.

CROCODILE:  Tick tock.

WENDY:  What?

CROCODILE:  Oh, don't mind that.  It's just a little tic...tock.  Sorry, I can't help it.  Anyway, everyone in Neverland said I had to be the one to tell you what happened since I was the, uh, well, the culprit, as it were.

WENDY:  What am I to do now?

CROCODILE:  Well, frankly, Wendy, I think perhaps you should do what you should have done years ago.

WENDY:  Which is?

CROCODILE:  Get the hell out of this room.

WENDY:  And go where?  And do what?  Marry some stuffy British man who will only force me to bear his children and go to boring parties with him?  Be like my brothers and forget all about our adventures fighting pirates and befriending lost boys?  Wash my clothes more than once a month like some prissy society girl?

CROCODILE:  I was wondering what that smell was...

WENDY:  I should just jump out this window and end it all now--

(She runs to the window.)

CROCODILE:  Don't!

WENDY:  There's no talking me out of it!

CROCODILE:  I wasn't trying to talk you out of it.

WENDY:  What a wicked animal you are.  First you eat Peter, and now you're allowing me to off myself.

CROCODILE:  You wouldn't be able to even if you jumped from a building twice as high as the one we're in.

WENDY:  What are you talking about?

CROCODILE:  I sneezed as I was flying in here, and I got fairy dust all over the room--and you, I would imagine.  If you tried to jump out of the window, you'd only fly up towards the moon.

(A beat.)

WENDY:  ...Or to Neverland.

CROCODILE:  What?

WENDY:  I could go to Neverland.

CROCODILE:  That's...a bad idea.

WENDY:  Why?

CROCODILE:  Well, for one thing, you're too old, and also--

WENDY:  (Blissfully.)  I'M GOING TO NEVERLAND!

CROCODILE:  --And I guess I won't be listing the other reasons.

WENDY:  What fun we'll have, Mr. Crocodile!  What adventures!

CROCODILE:  We really don't do adventures in Neverland anymore.  Now that Peter's dead, we all just write bad poetry and listen to Joni Mitchell a lot.

WENDY:  And I shall change all that!

CROCODILE:  Please don't.  I really like Joni Mitchell.  And my poetry is getting a lot better--

WENDY:  Off to Neverland we go!

(She flies out the window.)

CROCODILE:  I knew I should have sent Tinkerbell.

(He flies, somewhat sluggishly, out the window and into the night.)

Broke

Laying down shirtless
Near the sprinkler
In your yard

Summertime, two months ago
Too cold to not have a shirt on

Don't have a pot
Or piss to put in it
But I think I'm clever
So whatever
I smile
You're amused
You grin
You look away
You can't help yourself
And I help those who can't help themselves
Do the thing they're not supposed to do

I supply the lies
You just tell the truth
And we'll get along
With no shirt and no service
By the sprinkler
In your yard

Broke, but with a mended heart
Broke, but with expensive dreams
Broke, but rich in everything but currency

You're worried we'll be living out of a car
I say, 'I've lived in worse'

You wear my t-shirts
I wear your heels
To make you laugh
Trip and nearly break my ankle
You catch me
I've never been caught
Off-guard or otherwise
I've never landed
On anyone
That didn't fall through
Until you
You stopped me
From breaking

So broke--but not broken
So broke--but new in so many ways
So broke--but a believer

For the first time
A believer

Looking at my own shit
And recognizing it
For what it is

Putting a dollar in the dream jar
Every time I get a big idea
Hearing you tell me that this bill isn't paid
And that debt's racking up
And you're biting your nails
And I'm drinking too much
But we're this but not that
We've been one thing and another
And so I can live in another
I can be the possibility of me
And not worry about what the reality's doing
Or who I owe
Or why you're crying
Or where you're going
When you're done crying

'Cause only you can break me
And make me not recover

Only you can take me apart
In a way where nobody'll ever
Get to put me back together

Only you know which tendons to cut
And doors to shut
And what I'm really scared of

And it isn't being broke
Broke's a breeze for me
Hell, my mom still owes the doctor
For my delivery

Broke--just not left
Broke--just not lonely
Broke--just not alone

How much would make you feel safe enough
To come back?

How much could I pile up
So you could sleep on it like a pillow
And feel comfortable again?

How were we once so happy
Sleeping by a sprinkler
Without our shirts
And now we see dollar signs
And find ourselves counting pennies
Asking were we blind and then
Wondering if there's another side
To the ride we're on

How'd that happen?

What did we know about happiness
That we forgot?

And how did we get so broke?

The Shot is Going to Hurt

Billy, I'm not going to lie to you

You're going to the doctor's today
And you're going to get a shot
And it's going to hurt

It's going to hurt a lot
Like, a whole lot

I mean, it might not
Because sometimes it doesn't
For certain kids

But most of the time
It hurts
And it's not fun

It's definitely not fun

Now, some kids like getting shots
But I doubt you're one of those kids
Because those kids are weird
And later on in life
They grow up and they turn into weird people
Who like doing...weird things with...other people
So I'd actually prefer it
If you freak out a little about getting a shot
Because that is a totally normal response
To having somebody you only see once a year
Puncture your skin with something

This is not going to be pleasant for you
And, depending on how much you cry
It's going to be even worse for me
Which probably doesn't seem possible
Seeing as how you're the one getting the shot
But trust me, the embarrassment of dealing with a screaming child in a public place
Mixed with the sadness you feel watching your kid feel pain you can do nothing about
Is way worse than the awful pain you're going to feel when that needle goes deep into your arm
Looking for something it may never find

All that being said
I am going to use
What every parent since the dawn of time has used
In order to get a child to do something
Their kid doesn't want to do

Bribery

You tell me what you want
And I will give it to you
Provided it isn't something insane
Like that game console I know you've been eyeing
That is worth even more than the obscene amount of agony
You're about to experience

All in exchange for you not punching the doctor in the face
Or losing your shit in front of the other parents in the waiting room

We can negotiate about crying and sniveling
And hypventilating
But only if you agree that all of that is done in private
Away from the judging eyes of the other parents
Who are going to go through the same damn thing
As soon as their kids get their shots

If I teach you nothing else as a parent
I will teach you to suppress your suffering
So that it's only visible to those
You absolutely can't hide it from
Because that is a vital life lesson
Maybe the most important one of all

Billy, this shot may be the most painful moment of your life
It may become the thing that you compare all other pain to from now until your death
It may even change who you become as a person
But it has to happen to you
The same way it happened to me
And every other person who wasn't raised on a commune
Or off the grid somewhere
And if you think I'm going to take my chances on you getting the Chilean measles
Just so you don't have to suffer through one excruciating shot
You're dead wrong, pal
Dead wrong

But think about what you want to be bribed with
And then we'll get in the car
And go get this thing over with

After that, we need to have a nice long talk about Santa Claus

Because we might as well rip all the band-aids off at once