The little princess rests easily upon her shelf
Her green skin dressed in a layer of dust and grime
Guarding her small delicate body from notice
Carefully, I take her from the shelf, cupping her in my hands
With a cloth, I begin to slowly clear away the dust
Starting with her small umbrella, revealing the cranes dancing across it
Next comes her little jade slippers glistening and sparkling as I clean
Her green dress smooth and cold to the touch
Last comes the face, her smile beautiful and vibrant
Her hair pulled back, the artist emphasizing each strand
My hands shake as I take my figurine back to the desk
The customer stands there waiting for my princess,
Tossing a wad of bills on the desk, he watches the clock
He waits impatiently as I delicately wrap her in layers of paper
Grasping the Jade Lady in a large meaty hand, he leaves my store
The bell a hollow sign of a Princess' passage
Shadows gather in her abandoned hollow on the shelf.
With a sigh, I take back up the cloth and start clearing out the dust.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Memories
Staring across the black waters of Lake Geneva, a girl in my arms and a smile on my lips,
The pounding of the heavy metal music in my blood and ears, sweat pouring down my body,
A tear sliding down her face as we say goodbye, turning I keep my own from falling,
Wind tearing through my hair as we turn the sailboat into it, fingers trailing through the waters,
The twinkle and spark in my eye as we dance on the bar, Chinese faces foreign but filled with the same pleasure,
A clock showing four in the morning, as the computer screen blurs and burns, a pile of open psychology books and a deadline fast approaching,
His eye flickers a little as I stare down at the sterile hospital bed, the only motion he can still control as the disease takes from him what is most precious,
Glass globes fill every niche and corner of the room, each a perfect memory,
Dust lays thick on some, and others shine with an inner light,
Some are fogged and stained over, and more yet are crystal clear,
Delicately one is lifted off the soft pillow it rests on,
Inside I hold someone precious to me as we listen to music fill our hearts, and souls,
With a crash that sounds deafening in the silence the globe shatters on the ground,
Its neighbor, a scene of a hospital bed and a scared little boy, follows it to the floor boards the smashing of glass its death cry,
Slowly with building fury, I take each memory off its shelf and smash it to the floor, hurl it against the wall, crush it beneath a boot heel,
Until nothing remains but empty shelves and bits and pieces of glass,
Turning I walk out the door and close it firmly behind…
The pounding of the heavy metal music in my blood and ears, sweat pouring down my body,
A tear sliding down her face as we say goodbye, turning I keep my own from falling,
Wind tearing through my hair as we turn the sailboat into it, fingers trailing through the waters,
The twinkle and spark in my eye as we dance on the bar, Chinese faces foreign but filled with the same pleasure,
A clock showing four in the morning, as the computer screen blurs and burns, a pile of open psychology books and a deadline fast approaching,
His eye flickers a little as I stare down at the sterile hospital bed, the only motion he can still control as the disease takes from him what is most precious,
Glass globes fill every niche and corner of the room, each a perfect memory,
Dust lays thick on some, and others shine with an inner light,
Some are fogged and stained over, and more yet are crystal clear,
Delicately one is lifted off the soft pillow it rests on,
Inside I hold someone precious to me as we listen to music fill our hearts, and souls,
With a crash that sounds deafening in the silence the globe shatters on the ground,
Its neighbor, a scene of a hospital bed and a scared little boy, follows it to the floor boards the smashing of glass its death cry,
Slowly with building fury, I take each memory off its shelf and smash it to the floor, hurl it against the wall, crush it beneath a boot heel,
Until nothing remains but empty shelves and bits and pieces of glass,
Turning I walk out the door and close it firmly behind…
Monday, October 29, 2007
Darkened Mirror
The Phone rings.
“Hello?” me.
“Alice, be at the Nxt Gen at 7.” Robert. Boyfriend. Asshole.
“Robert, I’m not sure, I-“
“Look, I pulled a shitload of strings to get you this gig, don’t fuck it up! Bye.” Click.
I love you too.
Marlboro time, match head flaring to life, touching paper, igniting tobacco.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Praise be to God.
Inhale. Hold it in. Exhale.
“Oh shit.” I stare around the apartment, not really seeing it, envisioning the packed and cramped club, the audience and me, all the eager hungry faces fixed unblinkingly on me, pulling me deeper into their mindless demanding sea of eyes, mouths, noses…. Them and me.
Inhale. Exhale.
Suddenly the damn place seems too fucking small.
Inhale. Exhale.
I grab my keys, stuffing them into the pocket of my leather jacket as I pull it on, guitar case in hand and I’m out the door. Gone.
Halfway to my car, my pocket starts to ring.
“Hello?”
“Alice! Hey, it’s Jane!”
“Hey, Jane.”
“What’s wrong, hun? Robert again?”
“No- yes…. He got me a gig tonight. And you know me and audiences, and-”
“Oh, shit, Alice…. Hey! What are you doing now?”
“Nothing, I guess. The apartment was getting-“
“Alice, come by! I got some new shit and I think you could really use it.”
“Jane, I don’t know if I should-“
“Sure you should! See you soon! Love ya! Bye!” click.
Yeah, well, Jane, I don’t know if I should hit anything before the show. Oh, ok, Alice, I’ll see you there, bye. Bye.
I finish the conversation in my head as I go to my car:
1984 Dark-Red Volvo: not too many miles, well used, black cracked leather interior, slash marks across the passenger seat from previous owners, hole where the stereo should be- due to rise in car theft; driver’s side door needs replacing due to scratch marks covering it from when former owner’s girlfriend discovered he was married. Will sell for cheap!
My addition’s: a pair of leopard skin dice hanging from the duct taped mirror with Princess written in pink, and a bumper sticker that reads: “I want to be Barbie, that Bitch has everything.”
Guitar goes in the back, I go behind the wheel, sometimes, I wish it was the other way around.
* * *
Name: Alice Darling
Age: 23
Sex: female
Date of Birth: 25/02/1976
Occupation: singer/ songwriter/ waitress
Marital Status: dating
Significant other: Robert Argent
Parents: Michelle and Peter Darling
Address: Apartment 467, 1101 Wonderland Dr.
Phone number: (617)-555-4650
e-mail address: aliced@antisocial.com
Appearance:
Eye color: blue
Hair color: bleach blond
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 105 lbs.
***
Red light. Yellow. Red. Green. Yield sign. Asshole who doesn’t know how to use his f@*king blinker. Change lanes. Merge left. Another Red light. Another asshole. On and on. Gotta love this city.
Right blinker. turn wheel. Accelerate. right blinker. turn wheel. Brake. Shift to park. Turn off the engine. I’m here.
“Hello?” me.
“Alice, be at the Nxt Gen at 7.” Robert. Boyfriend. Asshole.
“Robert, I’m not sure, I-“
“Look, I pulled a shitload of strings to get you this gig, don’t fuck it up! Bye.” Click.
I love you too.
Marlboro time, match head flaring to life, touching paper, igniting tobacco.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Praise be to God.
Inhale. Hold it in. Exhale.
“Oh shit.” I stare around the apartment, not really seeing it, envisioning the packed and cramped club, the audience and me, all the eager hungry faces fixed unblinkingly on me, pulling me deeper into their mindless demanding sea of eyes, mouths, noses…. Them and me.
Inhale. Exhale.
Suddenly the damn place seems too fucking small.
Inhale. Exhale.
I grab my keys, stuffing them into the pocket of my leather jacket as I pull it on, guitar case in hand and I’m out the door. Gone.
Halfway to my car, my pocket starts to ring.
“Hello?”
“Alice! Hey, it’s Jane!”
“Hey, Jane.”
“What’s wrong, hun? Robert again?”
“No- yes…. He got me a gig tonight. And you know me and audiences, and-”
“Oh, shit, Alice…. Hey! What are you doing now?”
“Nothing, I guess. The apartment was getting-“
“Alice, come by! I got some new shit and I think you could really use it.”
“Jane, I don’t know if I should-“
“Sure you should! See you soon! Love ya! Bye!” click.
Yeah, well, Jane, I don’t know if I should hit anything before the show. Oh, ok, Alice, I’ll see you there, bye. Bye.
I finish the conversation in my head as I go to my car:
1984 Dark-Red Volvo: not too many miles, well used, black cracked leather interior, slash marks across the passenger seat from previous owners, hole where the stereo should be- due to rise in car theft; driver’s side door needs replacing due to scratch marks covering it from when former owner’s girlfriend discovered he was married. Will sell for cheap!
My addition’s: a pair of leopard skin dice hanging from the duct taped mirror with Princess written in pink, and a bumper sticker that reads: “I want to be Barbie, that Bitch has everything.”
Guitar goes in the back, I go behind the wheel, sometimes, I wish it was the other way around.
* * *
Name: Alice Darling
Age: 23
Sex: female
Date of Birth: 25/02/1976
Occupation: singer/ songwriter/ waitress
Marital Status: dating
Significant other: Robert Argent
Parents: Michelle and Peter Darling
Address: Apartment 467, 1101 Wonderland Dr.
Phone number: (617)-555-4650
e-mail address: aliced@antisocial.com
Appearance:
Eye color: blue
Hair color: bleach blond
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 105 lbs.
***
Red light. Yellow. Red. Green. Yield sign. Asshole who doesn’t know how to use his f@*king blinker. Change lanes. Merge left. Another Red light. Another asshole. On and on. Gotta love this city.
Right blinker. turn wheel. Accelerate. right blinker. turn wheel. Brake. Shift to park. Turn off the engine. I’m here.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Snow
The metal wheel strikes the flint giving birth to the gas-powered flame; Charmaine’s cupped hand protecting it from the falling snow; at least long enough to light her cigarette. The girl continues down the steps of the school, taking intermittent pulls on her cigarette. Clamping the cig between her lips, she pulls the hood of her jacket over her head protecting her from the steadily increasing snowfall, and hiding her eyes from the World.
“You shouldn’t smoke.” says David stepping out from under the cover of a nearby shop.
“I hate staying later than the other students,” Charmaine responds, as she continues walking down the sidewalk towards the bus stop.
“If you want to graduate you have to make up for the classes you missed,” replies David falling into step with Charmaine. “Here, let me carry your books.”
“No,” answers Charmaine, shaking her head. “I want to carry them myself.”
“If you want.”
The pair continues on in silence, Charmaine smoking her cigarette while David walks along beside her, hands in pockets.
“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry” apologizes Charmaine looking up at David.
“I know.”
When they reach the bus stop, David turns to check the schedule; when he turns back, Charmaine’s several feet past him. “Are we walking today?”
“No,” says Charmaine pausing in front of a store front for David to catch up to her. “I want to bring him something this time. Something special.”
“We can stop by the flower stall outside the hospital,” offers David looking at the displays in the window Charmaine was looking at.
“Flowers?” asks Charmaine, taking a long drag of her cigarette as she thinks about it. “Yes, I like that idea, David. But I don’t want to buy them.”
“There aren’t that many places to find fresh flowers in the city, Charmaine, let alone in winter.”
“There are always some in the BaiZhu Park.” counters Charmaine, smiling proudly and turning back towards the bus stop.
“The next bus is in 15 minutes,” says David as he falls into step with the girl.
“Then we’ll just have to wait 15 minutes.”
“You shouldn’t smoke.” says David stepping out from under the cover of a nearby shop.
“I hate staying later than the other students,” Charmaine responds, as she continues walking down the sidewalk towards the bus stop.
“If you want to graduate you have to make up for the classes you missed,” replies David falling into step with Charmaine. “Here, let me carry your books.”
“No,” answers Charmaine, shaking her head. “I want to carry them myself.”
“If you want.”
The pair continues on in silence, Charmaine smoking her cigarette while David walks along beside her, hands in pockets.
“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry” apologizes Charmaine looking up at David.
“I know.”
When they reach the bus stop, David turns to check the schedule; when he turns back, Charmaine’s several feet past him. “Are we walking today?”
“No,” says Charmaine pausing in front of a store front for David to catch up to her. “I want to bring him something this time. Something special.”
“We can stop by the flower stall outside the hospital,” offers David looking at the displays in the window Charmaine was looking at.
“Flowers?” asks Charmaine, taking a long drag of her cigarette as she thinks about it. “Yes, I like that idea, David. But I don’t want to buy them.”
“There aren’t that many places to find fresh flowers in the city, Charmaine, let alone in winter.”
“There are always some in the BaiZhu Park.” counters Charmaine, smiling proudly and turning back towards the bus stop.
“The next bus is in 15 minutes,” says David as he falls into step with the girl.
“Then we’ll just have to wait 15 minutes.”
Thursday, October 18, 2007
I'm scared
I'm scared
I'm scared of mediocrity
I'm scared of being a nobody
I'm scared of being a sheep
I'm scared of the white picked fence
I'm scared of the white picket fence
I'm scared of not leaving my mark
I'm scared of being forgotten
I'm scared of being ignored
I'm scared of being someone who asks instead of doing
I'm scared of being a doormat
I'm scared of being part of the crowd
I'm scared of just making do
I'm scared of not even trying
I'm scared of trying
I'm scared
I'm scared of mediocrity
I'm scared of being a nobody
I'm scared of being a sheep
I'm scared of the white picked fence
I'm scared of the white picket fence
I'm scared of not leaving my mark
I'm scared of being forgotten
I'm scared of being ignored
I'm scared of being someone who asks instead of doing
I'm scared of being a doormat
I'm scared of being part of the crowd
I'm scared of just making do
I'm scared of not even trying
I'm scared of trying
I'm scared
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Untitled
I stand outside in the cold smoking my cigarette, the cherry burning bright,
Thoughts of you coursing through me, pouring through my veins echoing in my head.
People walking by, my mind numb to their greetings, too confused to answer.
Questions form and begin to swirl growing in intensity as they are joined by others.
Half my soul crying out for a return to normalcy, the other demanding I try.
The struggle of the two halves driving me mad, a resolution is all I seek.
The ancient feelings call up times from the past.
Times of searching a crowd for merely a pretty face, playing the vast field.
Of weekends planned around me, others activities lost in my own pursuit of pleasure.
The new desires summoning up images of a future.
Images of dancing with you at a random party with friends,
Pictures of holding you on a sofa while a movie plays on the TV.
Designing activities of fun, sharing the time with another.
I don’t know your thoughts, how can I when I don’t even know my own,
Yet the urge to know them, to share in them is there.
My questions and thoughts float away like the smoke of my cigarette,
Leaving me empty and alone…
Thoughts of you coursing through me, pouring through my veins echoing in my head.
People walking by, my mind numb to their greetings, too confused to answer.
Questions form and begin to swirl growing in intensity as they are joined by others.
Half my soul crying out for a return to normalcy, the other demanding I try.
The struggle of the two halves driving me mad, a resolution is all I seek.
The ancient feelings call up times from the past.
Times of searching a crowd for merely a pretty face, playing the vast field.
Of weekends planned around me, others activities lost in my own pursuit of pleasure.
The new desires summoning up images of a future.
Images of dancing with you at a random party with friends,
Pictures of holding you on a sofa while a movie plays on the TV.
Designing activities of fun, sharing the time with another.
I don’t know your thoughts, how can I when I don’t even know my own,
Yet the urge to know them, to share in them is there.
My questions and thoughts float away like the smoke of my cigarette,
Leaving me empty and alone…
Short Vignette
CHRIS:
“What’s wrong with this one?”
LISA:
“It’s too mushy, Chris.” Matter of factly
CHRIS:
“Mushy?” wtf.
LISA:
“Yes, It’s love this and love that. It reads like a bad hallmark card.”
CHRIS:
“I thought it was one of the better ones.”
LISA:
“Well, look it’s not all bad. You’ve got the emotions you want down, so now we can just work on making them a little…-”
CHRIS:
“Less Mushy.”
LISA:
“I was gonna say: overly sentimental”Pause.
CHRIS:
“Lisa, what about this one?”
LISA:
“It’s too long.”
CHRIS:
“It’s only five sentences!”
LISA:
“Yeah, but it feels long, like you don’t know what you’re trying to say. You need to cut to the point quicker.”
CHRIS:
“ Cut to the point? It’s an obit, Lisa, not a term paper.”
LISA:
“Fine.”
Pause.
CHRIS:
“Well, how does this sound: ‘New Orleans has been his home now for ____ years, made so by those closest to him, who remained a shining beacon to the end.’
Pause.
LISA:
“What are you trying to say?”
CHRIS:
“Huh?”
LISA:
“What is the point of that line?”
CHRIS:
“just to say that even though New Orleans wasn’t his home, it is now because of his friends, they make it feel like home.”
LISA:
“Ok, then why do you need that last part?”
CHRIS:
“To show just how much they mean to him?”
LISA:
“You get that across before that part, and besides you’ve got a few more parts to do that.”
CHRIS:
“ok.” Pause. “so cut that last part.”
CHRIS:
“Next: ‘He did not measure his life by awards or positions but by his friends. And in that he was a Prince.’”
LISA:
“Why use ‘Prince’?”
CHRIS:
“It was from Freshman English when we had to read the Prince and the Pauper.”
LISA:
“It seems a little… I don’t know, too deep? Maybe for once having a more straightforward line. Like: ‘He lived a full and satisfying life’”
CHRIS:
“’not because of positions or awards but-’”
LISA:
“’positions earned or awards received’ sounds… more full?”
CHRIS:
“ok.” Pause. “’But by those closest to him, with them he could have been a.. pauper, and still the richest man in the world.’”
LISA:
“That sounds a lot better.”
CHRIS:
“Now the last part: ” ‘he is carried on by his friends and family counted as one and the same in his heart, and by his girlfriend who he loved until the end.’?”
LISA:
“Flatterer.”
CHRIS:
smile. “Yeah, so?”
LISA:
“That last part isn’t necessary, it sounds.. forced.”
CHRIS:
“But I want it in there.”
LISA:
“Chris. You don’t need it.”
CHRIS:
“Fine. But what if I change it to: ‘by his friends and family counted as one and the same in his heart, and always.’”
LISA:
“That sounds good.”
LISA:
“What about the last part? About donations or flowers? Whose taking care of that? It just seems… sad, when they ask for donations instead of flowers.”
CHRIS:
“yeah, I know, that’s why I’ve asked my parents to just ask for flowers.”
Pause.
CHRIS:
“So, I guess let’s go over this one more time?”
PAUSE.
LISA:
quiet
“I can’t.”
CHRIS:
“What?” can’t hear her.
LISA:
“I can’t.” pause. “I can’t, Chris.”
CHRIS:
“Can’t what? I don’t-“ baffled
LISA:
“Can’t do it again.”
CHRIS:
“Do? Oh.” Understands what she means literally, wants her to explain more.
Pause.
LISA:
“I can’t keep lying to myself! Telling myself this is someone else’s!”
holds up paper. “It’s yours, Chris! We’re writing your obituary!”
CHRIS:
Pause.
LISA:
“I can’t go over it again. I can’t hear your parents telling me what happened; I can’t hear myself telling it to the others. I see you lying in that coffin. I can’t see myself without…”
CHRIS:
“shush”
LISA:
“Don’t you see how Sick this is!! I’m helping to write my boyfriend’s obituary!”
Pause.
LISA:
“Why do you need to do this!? Why, Chris? Do you not want your parents to write it!? Is that it?”
CHRIS:
“no.”
LISA:
“Do you want it to sound good!?”
CHRIS:
shakes head.
LISA:
“Explain to everyone why you lied!?”
CHRIS:
“No.”
LISA:
“Then why!? I don’t understand! I thought I could do it, but I can’t! Make me understand!”
PAUSE.
CHRIS:
“You don’t get it.”
LISA:
“No, I don’t, Chris. Explain it to me. Please!?”Pause.
CHRIS:
“Lisa. I don’t know when I’m going to die. Soon is all the doctors can say.” Bitter“ Soon. But I don’t know the day, don’t know the hour. Maybe I’m with my family or maybe I’m with our friends. But maybe not. Maybe I’m not able to say all the things I want to say.” Pause.“All the goodbyes I want.”Pause.
CHRIS:
stronger “This way I can. This way I can make sure everything that need to get said, gets said.” Pause.“This way I can be sure my friends know how just how much I love them.”Pause.
LISA:
“But why me, Chris? Why can’t you tell Xander or Matt? They’ve known you the longest, get them to help…”
CHRIS:
“I. need. you, Lisa.”Pause.“Because you know me better than anyone else. You know what I am trying to say. You know the feelings behind them. How much they all mean to me. How important my family, Diana & _____, are to me.”Fear.“You can make sure I say all the things I need to say. And…”
PAUSE.
LISA:
“I’m sorry, Chris.” Pause. “Why don’t we go over it again?”
CHRIS:
“There’s… oh.”Pause. “I’m afraid, Lisa. I’m afraid I won’t get the chance to say good-bye and this scrap of paper with some chicken scratches is all my friends will have, that somehow they are supposed to understand from this.”“Just how much they mean to me. How much my life was made better by them.”
PAUSE.
LISA:
“I understand.”
Pause.
LISA:
“I love you.”
BLACK OUT
LISA:
“Christopher Bartholomew Thompson, 19, of New Orleans, LA, passed from this life on Thursday May 16th, 2000”Chris was born on September 3, 1980 in Shreveport, LA, to Peter and Marianne Thompson. New Orleans has been is home now for _____ years made so by those closest to him. Chris lived a full and satisfying life not because of positions earned or awards received but those around him. With them he could have been a pauper and still the richest man in the world.Christopher is carried on by his friends and family, counted as one and the same in his heart and always.Flowers in remembrance of Chris can be brought to the church. There will be a reception after the funeral.”
“What’s wrong with this one?”
LISA:
“It’s too mushy, Chris.” Matter of factly
CHRIS:
“Mushy?” wtf.
LISA:
“Yes, It’s love this and love that. It reads like a bad hallmark card.”
CHRIS:
“I thought it was one of the better ones.”
LISA:
“Well, look it’s not all bad. You’ve got the emotions you want down, so now we can just work on making them a little…-”
CHRIS:
“Less Mushy.”
LISA:
“I was gonna say: overly sentimental”Pause.
CHRIS:
“Lisa, what about this one?”
LISA:
“It’s too long.”
CHRIS:
“It’s only five sentences!”
LISA:
“Yeah, but it feels long, like you don’t know what you’re trying to say. You need to cut to the point quicker.”
CHRIS:
“ Cut to the point? It’s an obit, Lisa, not a term paper.”
LISA:
“Fine.”
Pause.
CHRIS:
“Well, how does this sound: ‘New Orleans has been his home now for ____ years, made so by those closest to him, who remained a shining beacon to the end.’
Pause.
LISA:
“What are you trying to say?”
CHRIS:
“Huh?”
LISA:
“What is the point of that line?”
CHRIS:
“just to say that even though New Orleans wasn’t his home, it is now because of his friends, they make it feel like home.”
LISA:
“Ok, then why do you need that last part?”
CHRIS:
“To show just how much they mean to him?”
LISA:
“You get that across before that part, and besides you’ve got a few more parts to do that.”
CHRIS:
“ok.” Pause. “so cut that last part.”
CHRIS:
“Next: ‘He did not measure his life by awards or positions but by his friends. And in that he was a Prince.’”
LISA:
“Why use ‘Prince’?”
CHRIS:
“It was from Freshman English when we had to read the Prince and the Pauper.”
LISA:
“It seems a little… I don’t know, too deep? Maybe for once having a more straightforward line. Like: ‘He lived a full and satisfying life’”
CHRIS:
“’not because of positions or awards but-’”
LISA:
“’positions earned or awards received’ sounds… more full?”
CHRIS:
“ok.” Pause. “’But by those closest to him, with them he could have been a.. pauper, and still the richest man in the world.’”
LISA:
“That sounds a lot better.”
CHRIS:
“Now the last part: ” ‘he is carried on by his friends and family counted as one and the same in his heart, and by his girlfriend who he loved until the end.’?”
LISA:
“Flatterer.”
CHRIS:
smile. “Yeah, so?”
LISA:
“That last part isn’t necessary, it sounds.. forced.”
CHRIS:
“But I want it in there.”
LISA:
“Chris. You don’t need it.”
CHRIS:
“Fine. But what if I change it to: ‘by his friends and family counted as one and the same in his heart, and always.’”
LISA:
“That sounds good.”
LISA:
“What about the last part? About donations or flowers? Whose taking care of that? It just seems… sad, when they ask for donations instead of flowers.”
CHRIS:
“yeah, I know, that’s why I’ve asked my parents to just ask for flowers.”
Pause.
CHRIS:
“So, I guess let’s go over this one more time?”
PAUSE.
LISA:
quiet
“I can’t.”
CHRIS:
“What?” can’t hear her.
LISA:
“I can’t.” pause. “I can’t, Chris.”
CHRIS:
“Can’t what? I don’t-“ baffled
LISA:
“Can’t do it again.”
CHRIS:
“Do? Oh.” Understands what she means literally, wants her to explain more.
Pause.
LISA:
“I can’t keep lying to myself! Telling myself this is someone else’s!”
holds up paper. “It’s yours, Chris! We’re writing your obituary!”
CHRIS:
Pause.
LISA:
“I can’t go over it again. I can’t hear your parents telling me what happened; I can’t hear myself telling it to the others. I see you lying in that coffin. I can’t see myself without…”
CHRIS:
“shush”
LISA:
“Don’t you see how Sick this is!! I’m helping to write my boyfriend’s obituary!”
Pause.
LISA:
“Why do you need to do this!? Why, Chris? Do you not want your parents to write it!? Is that it?”
CHRIS:
“no.”
LISA:
“Do you want it to sound good!?”
CHRIS:
shakes head.
LISA:
“Explain to everyone why you lied!?”
CHRIS:
“No.”
LISA:
“Then why!? I don’t understand! I thought I could do it, but I can’t! Make me understand!”
PAUSE.
CHRIS:
“You don’t get it.”
LISA:
“No, I don’t, Chris. Explain it to me. Please!?”Pause.
CHRIS:
“Lisa. I don’t know when I’m going to die. Soon is all the doctors can say.” Bitter“ Soon. But I don’t know the day, don’t know the hour. Maybe I’m with my family or maybe I’m with our friends. But maybe not. Maybe I’m not able to say all the things I want to say.” Pause.“All the goodbyes I want.”Pause.
CHRIS:
stronger “This way I can. This way I can make sure everything that need to get said, gets said.” Pause.“This way I can be sure my friends know how just how much I love them.”Pause.
LISA:
“But why me, Chris? Why can’t you tell Xander or Matt? They’ve known you the longest, get them to help…”
CHRIS:
“I. need. you, Lisa.”Pause.“Because you know me better than anyone else. You know what I am trying to say. You know the feelings behind them. How much they all mean to me. How important my family, Diana & _____, are to me.”Fear.“You can make sure I say all the things I need to say. And…”
PAUSE.
LISA:
“I’m sorry, Chris.” Pause. “Why don’t we go over it again?”
CHRIS:
“There’s… oh.”Pause. “I’m afraid, Lisa. I’m afraid I won’t get the chance to say good-bye and this scrap of paper with some chicken scratches is all my friends will have, that somehow they are supposed to understand from this.”“Just how much they mean to me. How much my life was made better by them.”
PAUSE.
LISA:
“I understand.”
Pause.
LISA:
“I love you.”
BLACK OUT
LISA:
“Christopher Bartholomew Thompson, 19, of New Orleans, LA, passed from this life on Thursday May 16th, 2000”Chris was born on September 3, 1980 in Shreveport, LA, to Peter and Marianne Thompson. New Orleans has been is home now for _____ years made so by those closest to him. Chris lived a full and satisfying life not because of positions earned or awards received but those around him. With them he could have been a pauper and still the richest man in the world.Christopher is carried on by his friends and family, counted as one and the same in his heart and always.Flowers in remembrance of Chris can be brought to the church. There will be a reception after the funeral.”
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