(A man and a woman, in bed.)
-Our stories, His and mine, areabout to merge.
-How so?
-Give me time. He and I are notthe same person, as you know, but it would be silly to claim thatour stories, at times, do not merge. A visual aid for the innereye: My story is on-going. It has a beginning I cannot remember, amiddle which I alternately try to remember and forget, and an endwhich did not occur at the moment of this sentence's conception butwhich might occur at any time. In fact, it may have happenedalready; in which case, I have ended, but this sentence and,consequently, He has lived on.
-What are the odds that thisgibberish has lived on? And, furthermore, where is this "visual aidfor the mind" you promised?
-Inner eye.
-Whatever. Gibberish. Hasn't thisexperimental, post-modern bullshit been played out?
-Patience. Give me time. My storyis a straight, horizontal line which intersects at infrequentintervals the stories of the others I have created--in this case,His--which your inner eye should see as vertical lines or, in somecases, waves. Vertical lines cross once, waves run parallel and, ofcourse, may cross any number of times.
-You're talking about or, rather,around Experience: drawing on your personal story for inspiration?
-Yes, but not in the way you'dsuppose. I experience nothing that I would classify asinspirational. I have not the luxury that Willy Wordsworth had, forexample, of idle hours roaming Nature with my sister behind mewriting down everything I say, every word's worth.
-What's a word's worth?
-We'll get to that. Give me time.
-It's a bad joke.
-It's a self-important poet withthe luxury of privilege and poetry rife with apostrophe.
-The point of punctuation?
-To end a sentence, to addemotional oomph--
-Your point aboutapostrophe?
-Alas! she realizes that this isan aimless diversion!
-Cute, but let's re-cap beforeyou totally lose me: He's on a vertical line or a wave that has nowintersected your story which is boring, mundane, inspiration-free?
-Yes. And thank you.
-Where do the two of you meet?
-On the shitter, reading theYellow Pages.
-The phone book? Or did you twohave an accident?
-The phone book. We are lettingour fingers do the walking.
-I'm not touching that one.
-Or this one?
(He pulls down the sheet,revealing his naked torso.)
-Put that away! I thought youwere actually going to begin the damn story.
-Oh, but I have begun myexposition.
-I needn't be further aware ofthat point!
-So sorry, I will put itaway.
(He replaces the sheet.)
-The story, please...? So you'reon the toilet reading the Yellow Pages.
-Yes, we are. He too--like somany of my characters, it seems--is a writer. Who else mustinterrupt a great novel in order to sketch his own ideas in themargins? Who else can have a moment of inspiration while verifyingthe meaning of persiflage in the dictionary and finding,three pages too early, peristalsis instead? And who elsewould thumb through the Yellow Pages for anything other than aphone number, especially on the toilet at 2:30 in the morning?
-Got me? I'm listening.
-Whether the heading was Aviationor Advertising is not important; what is important is that we both,He and I, found Scott Glenn--no relation to the Scott Glen,a nom de fume, if you will--the Aviation Ad Man near the beginningof the Yellow Pages. Scott is one of those guys who writes messagesin the sky with clouds and smoke, a Skywriter, a business man, norelation to writers like Us--or so I thought.
Back to the visual aid: BeforeHis, the writer's, wave intersects--
-So it's a wave?
-Yes. Before His wave intersectsmy line, He has a Before which is important to the present story:He is in a failing relationship which He feels the need to rescue,although He's not sure it's worth the trouble. And Before thatthere is another woman whose wave intersected His and whosepresence, though no longer physical, weighs heavily on His dailymental activity and, in turn, the present story.
-And, in turn, the present story?
-It's a love-of-a-lifetimerelationship amicably ended for reasons of practicality, mainlydistance, now both temporally and spatially. The present woman isaware of this Other and therefore this Other is somewhat of aburden to Her as well.
-Hmm, now I see.
(She rises and sits on a chair afew feet from him. She begins to smoke.)
-Once again Before, but slightlycloser to the anticipated point of intersection: Sitting on thedeck of Her brother's shore house with Him, enjoying a few drinks,She sings a song which contains the name of the Other, whichinadvertently, awkwardly, yet pertinently prompts asemi-inebriated, and therefore open--perhaps too open--discussionof the Other wherein She ascertains what She has already suspected,mainly that the key problem with Their relationship is a distantlove--temporally, spatially, but not mentally. He concedes and, asa result of this conversation, vows to try to forget this Other andconcentrate more on His present lover, whom He believes deservesmore of Him than He has given.
(She exhales a large puff ofsmoke.)
-How so?
-Give me time. Still Before, butafter the dock incident: Another amicable break-up, this one of theopen-ended sort, to let space and time test their union, this onebetween our He and our She. With no pressing commitments to speakof--for a few weeks at least-- she decides to stay down the shorewith her brother, reading, resting, and crying. He returns to thecity to do some thinking.
-Hello? Crying?
-No crying?
-I don't think so.
(She puts the cigarette out in apair of his pants.)
-Well, He'd have beenflattered... Anyhow, the crest of the wave, the long awaited pointof intersection is upon us. There we are, both reading the YellowPages in the powder room--as you know, a quiet, private place--thehalf-bath set aside in low traffic areas for visits of a longerduration, ones which aren't solely for flesh-bound--or, in thiscase, bound-up--reasons.
-Bound-up: Perhaps a metaphor forwriter's block, or for a relationship impasse, now suddenly brokendown, released by the Yellow Pages?
-And/Or. I'm impressed. Re-enterScott Glen, Aviation Ad Man.
-Where's his wave been?
-Wouldn't it be romantic, our Heand I think, to have Scott Glen skywrite a message our He haspenned over the beach where He knows, and can almost guarantee viaaforementioned brother--not to mention a little help from Me--Shewill be sitting.
(He lifts the sheet and allowsher to get back into bed.)
-I'm still with you.
-So, we're rolling now: She isthere reading a novel, a meta-novel, some experimental, post-modernbullshit--to coin a phrase. Scott Glenn has deposited from histail-end the first six flying fonts: MADDY,(comma).
-I'm not surprised.
-More, of course: MISSYOU.(period)
-Not very clever, especially fora writer.
-And still more: WISH YOU WEREHER
(She punches his arm, lightly.)
-Um, I'd like to buy a vowel,please?
-Yes?
-An E?
-Sorry no E's. That'sgonna cost you.
-A word's worth?
-Well, technically a vowel'sworth, but thanks for playing along.
(He rises and kisses her foreheadShe reluctantly lets him.)
-What now? And don't say, Giveme time.
-The pointing of fingers: ScottGlen's in the clear; he's got the original note, sans E. Andyou can't really blame Him, the writer, He certainly intended toinclude the E in his costly postcard. As for Her, She almostdidn't look up, even as countless other beach bums pointed skyward.The brother--who had overslept for added drama--could have been ahero had he not arrived on the strand just minutes before thenebulous words completely faded. Thanks to him, when She finallydid look up She saw the letters bloated and enlarged by dispersion,which, of course, only served to emphasize the absence. But, wemustn't kill the messenger.
-So, then, no one is responsible?
-I suppose if we need to blameanyone, then it would have to be me. After all, I'm the one who saton the E. But did you really expect reconciliation?
-It has its merits.
(She pats his thigh.)
-Well, sometimes, in spite ofwhat's missing, things keep moving. In half-written, half-happy,half-truths--and half-baths, consequently--things go involuntarilyonward.
-Like peristalsis.
-You're good. If you only had anE.
(She does not laugh.)
-You realize, of course, thatyou're pushing the whole wave thing with peristalsis.
-Yes, but you said it, not me.
-And couldn't the apostrophediversion have been about colons instead?
-Not important,banter...persiflage, if you will.
-Okay, okay, this is taking waytoo long. How does it end?
-He and I flush simultaneouslyand our stories go their separate ways.
-Like our stories.
-What?
-Time's up, dear. I've metsomeone.
-Are you kidding?
-Did you really expect me to playthese games forever?
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