SARAH

Prospective addition for the play 'Carrying'

It was better. It was better that way. It wasn’t something I was ready for or he was ready for. It was just better. At least I thought it was, think it was. And I felt better because I knew I wasn’t the only one. Before it happened I had taken my friend Erin, and I sat in the lobby and watched these teenage boys, wait for their girlfriends and play xbox. With their hoods up playing video games, kids playing games. And I was a kid. And I’m not saying we used it as birth control or making excuses for the girls I knew, know that have had three or four. Or excuses for me or whatever. But it was better. I was 23, 24. A year out of college. And it wasn’t like I had been with a lot of guys, and it wasn’t like he was an important one. Before this, important. He worked at the bar I worked at, he played keyboards in some ironic cover band, he sent things into McSweeneys, and was tall, and sweet and I didn’t know his middle name. Because we had only hung out for a month. But I usually ask people what there middle names are, it gives you a false sense of intimacy. I mean you don’t think about that, if you thought every time you had sex ‘would you be willing to be bonded for the rest of your life with this person in raising a human being together’ no one would get laid. So it was better. It was the better thing to do, and I called Lisa and cried and decided. And she offered to come and go with me, and he offered but Erin said she would. And the appointment was all set, and the night before I just started bleeding. And I bled until it was gone. I just sat in the bathroom and I bled. And I felt relieved and guilty all at the same time. And I’m not saying that I’m being punished or whatever, with this thing, now, because I don’t know that I believe in something bigger to punish me. And maybe it was my body just rejecting it, saving it. And maybe that’s what this thing is too I don’t know. But the thoughts we have, something has to be listening right? Even if it’s our smallest cells listening, something has to be listening. Something has to grow.

the why

If I wrote poems I'd do that, but I am no ee. except my grammar is reckless and I hate capitalization. My phrases are too long for lyrics, too many commas, and semicolons you can't sing. And I don't love you to write a love song, and my rhymes would be all wrong. Because the truth is I'm just a Melisma, a single syllable slid up the scale. Least that's what I've been told. And reading lyrics always seems trite, unless notes are held close. Songs and poems are too contained, too cool and I am not cool. I have accepted this and am cool with this. So I will write you words, I will give you words, some from my brain others from my heart to my brain, others just wedged in between silence blank spaces I need to fill. Others to fill the silence, ...like that sentence there was to fill the silence. And I will speak these words in your head in my voice, in your idea of my voice, my pauses, my rhythms, my stops, and goings, and redundancies repeated. And you will think my thoughts for a moment, have my thoughts swim in your head and give birth to new thoughts thought babies. Children that will quietly play blocks in a corner that you'll forget about or scream, or bellow in sing song voices, or leave with a babysitter. And for a moment, a brief moment we'll have shared something. Like a kiss with your eyes closed. where you don't quite know where all parts are going, and thoughts flutter in and out but it's just that kiss. In the moment that kiss, that word. and that kiss makes you want to kiss back, kiss differently, or to never kiss at all, but it makes you want to do something, think something, feel something, all cause of a moment. And if I wrote songs I could express this ever so much better, but I still wouldn't get kissed back.

A FINAL REQUEST

DAVID, 37
Validation, That's all we want right? Validation? You see me, you hear me, you care that i exist. That somehow my non existing would make some sort of hole, some void, that I'd like to think you couldn't fill but you probably could.

They can hire someone new for my job, and my parents will be sad in so much as I'm an extension of them. The love they feel as any parent does out of obligation, not to demean it, but  it's not a love they'd feel if I was wasn't their kid, just someone they met at the farmer's market or a dinner party. So that's them. And my friends have other friends, other people to call and vent to, or laugh with, and yes on occasion they'll miss me, and say it's a shame but they'll learn to fill the void. And it... I will be something that sneaks up on them from time to time. And you can and will meet someone new, or have already. Look at you meet people every day. And I am and will not be your last one. The deli guy where I get my coffee will think I moved, as will my cobbler, my pharmacist, people so rarely say good bye. There will be one less person at mass on Christmas, one less voice cheering for the phils, one less person waiting for the N train at Ditmas.. And the cats will eventually make noise to alert a neighbor, or the smell will be too much, or Johnny will come over like I asked and pick them up, check on 'em. Please don't come over, you're allergic or say you are or whatever. It will be okay, they'll find other laps.

And eventually the money I owe will be paid,  my things will be sold and dispersed and people will have pieces of me. Things  that they'll find in their closet or catch their eye on their bookshelf. I'm giving Stef my copy of Denial of Death,  just cause it'll piss her off.  And a friend from college or high school, or a drinking pal will say one day 'whatever happened to?..' and they'll think for a moment to call and then go on having their drink. And that's not a slight, it's just ilfe.

I don't know that we ever get this feeling of validation, and maybe a secret little part of me thinks I will after the fact. And another part knows there is no after the fact. My mother would hate me for saying it, but let's face it it's a possibility. I am an autonomous one. I have had no measurable impact on my community, created nothing of great substance, have no real family, no official relationship, no dependents, no ones life or livelihood is resting on me. And you will say my dear that I am wrong. That I am needed. You will scream from the rafters that I am validated. YOU will validate me. Scream, validating my existence. And I won't be there to hear it. Because the truth is, it's not something you can ask for? And if you have to ask, it's too late.

Kerry, 28

Ok, so I don't want to know about your hopes and dreams. I know about too many people's hopes and dreams, and where they are from, and their parents, and siblings, and their thoughts on relationships, relationships that we never had. I listened to too many people's hopes and dreams who became no one, I've invested in and imagined and counseled too many hopes and dreams that left. and the truth is I'd just be pretending to listen. And I'm sure yours are great, and your upbringing was great, and fucked up and all that, and you have some schpiel on love that is going to make me think you're damaged in a really lovely way, that I am going to think I can fix.
But I think. I think we should just be direct here. Because i have this problem. More of a habit really . Where I'll let you, men, boys, whatever, have all that small talk and the entire time I'm thinking, do you really want to sleep with me? And I know that biologically most men want to sleep with any vagina, unless unless of course they think the head and the heart that go along with the vagina are attached. And by my listening to all this; your hopes and dreams and bla bla bla, whatever, you are going to think that I want more , that I want to be a part of those hopes and dreams and thoughts on relationships, and future thoughts on relationships. And I don't think I do. I might but I don't know. Because I don't know you. But I do know that before I decide any of that, listen to any of that, invest in any of that.. can we just point blank just get to it. And see if that other stuff works. Can we just see if we have fun? Like actual unweighted fun! Because I'm tired of listening to things I"ll never be a part of. And one day when we're tired of having fun, you'll ask me about my hopes and dreams and aspirations and for the first time I'll speak. And they'll mean something, because you'll know me.

Insecurity Speech

for Grayson, who I will someday force to hop on a coffee table.

EXCUSE me everybody. Everybody, I'd like to say something. To all of you, fine, fine people. First of all I want to thank you so much for having me, to this party, event, thing. And um Happy Birthday to Francesca, I don't know you but you seem real awesome. And I know we only talked really briefly when I walked in and said 'I'm a friend of Brian's, Happy Birthday' but i felt something. I did.
I would just like to say from the bottom of my heart that i think you are really cool, like super cool, like cooler than cool. shit i already said cool.. And um I just uhhm i really don't think i belong here, because i am um not you know um cool. And I know cool people don't acknowledge the existence of cool, but I'm not. And that's ok, thats ok um but i just wanted to um thank you for giving me something to aspire to that i will never reach because you guys are just so fucking cool it makes me nauseous. So cool that I've been sitting in a corner pretending to check my phone watching how cool you are. And there isn't an app for that. Which is really really cool, like worse than ice cold. And um yeah. Because I look at you and it's like fuck man, your shit is more attractive and intelligent than me, not that I've seen or carried a conversation with your shit but... I should go. I'm going to go. Also Xander if you could tell me where you got that shirt man, I'd appreciate it

After the Fall

It's difficult for me to write about my mother. She has eyes like soul saucers and strangers tell her secrets. At 5ft 3 she has more conviction, and cool than I ever will. She also has MS. Two small letters we ignore. I can't express her experience, only attempt at mine. Below is that attempt.

It was always Fall. Always in Fall when it happened. When it started. We were trick or treating and I got half a house, just half a house ahead, because my costume broke. I was the earth, and I wanted to get a safety pin at home; down the street, because it broke. The 'earth' broke, and she slipped, she fell. And there it was, the Fall. The first fall. Here I was at seven holding the (cardboard) weight of the earth in my hands as my mother tripped on a step. She tripped not because she couldn't see it, but because she couldn't feel it. I ran back, saw my mother on the ground for the first time, saw her get up. She fell, she got up, and suddenly I didn't want my candy anymore, and the broken earth didn't matter, she did. Over twenty ears later that's what we kept doing; falling, getting up, and hoping no one would notice.

My mother was 33, newly divorced, had just started a company. She was told it was stress and not just two little letters. MS. Ironically my mom was always a Ms. before, not a Mrs, it was the 80's, but these letters weren't as liberating. M.S. : Multiple Sclerosis; this weird slowly blinding, slowly crippling thing that we couldn't see, that came as the seasons changed, that hit in Fall. Every Fall it would creep in, we'd forget, and there it would be. As we got older she got better at covering.  We weren't going to suffer because of two letters. We'd forget, we'd abuse her like all children abuse their parents. 'Oh mom's acting like a bitch... Oh, maybe it's because she can't see?  Oh yeah that'... And every Fall she'd pretend, pretend she could see, pretend she could walk, pretend she could feel as everything numbed, until she couldn't pretend anymore. On those days we'd get dirty looks at the grocery store because we used the handicap spot, because you can't see two little letters.

Before the first fall I was obsessed with make believe, obsessed with Halloween. My father would sit on the floor with me handcrafting costumes meticulously. He turned our house into a castle with tin foil, we'd craft every torret. I loved the idea of being someone else, being somewhere else, pretending. I delighted in the idea of having their thoughts, their feelings, their hopes. As I grew older, I stopped caring for Halloween, for pretending. We had enough of that. Pretending was for safe spaces, puppet theaters, sets and stages. Now I'm a professional pretender, but even then I didn't need more.

Every Fall I get a little restless. I want to move, or change, or in the very least get a new lunch box or trapper keeper. I want a distraction, a project. I go out too much, or hibernate.  I leave the house without an umbrella on purpose. I gain weight, or lose it, I come up with excuses to ignore parties involving masks. I feel it, the shift. My freshman year I found out my grandmother passed away on Halloween, minutes before I had to play a dead body in a play, and my relationship with the day just got more complicated. These scary things just seemed stupid. I lived in NYC for eight years and never attended the West Village parade. Unless I do it all the way, unless I can disappear completely, I don't dress up for Halloween. I don't care to court fear or dress up as a slutty janitor. I guess I don't like seeing people pretend when they don't have to, unless they choose to fully go there. I assume this is hypocritical because I make believe for a living. I become and create people who don't exist, while my mother created someone who did. This Halloween she's 'Mom who can see' she's wearing her 'Mom who can walk mask'. She's pretending that the MS is the pretend thing, and life is the real one. She told us a story and we bought it. We lived, pretending, and sometimes the fall was a little more rough than others, but it would be over eventually. She made us believe, made her self believe so she could keep going, and we did.

Friends from home who I haven't seen in a while always ask me how my mother is. Sometimes I forget, I forget about the two little letters. Sometimes even if it's not true I just answer "She's great". It's amazing the masks we wear.

(For more info on MS and donating please visit the MS Society)

the dobler effect

It has been mentioned to me consistently, that I have really bad taste in men. And they aren't bad men. They're not, so perhaps I have really bad taste in timing. I'll never know if I tend to connect to people when they are in the midst of change, or challenge, or if they are always in that place, or I gravitate to that. And I take full responsibility in this; my patterns, my part. For the most part, not all, they are restless, artistic, funny, intense, intellectual people who have difficulty multi-tasking. Across the board, they have nice eyes, like words, David Lynch, have/do chainsmoke, or are completely against chainsmoking. Emotionally aware, but not emotionally available who usually just 'can't deal with a relationship right now'.

And there's something in me that says that if you like someone enough it won't matter where you are, or what your 'processing' or if you have your shit together. Lloyd Dobler did it! Lloyd Dobler believed, and held on. And I realize most of my issues can be traced to Cameron Crowe's 'Say Anything'. Dobler. John Cusack, there are few women who are not attracted to John Cusack (and Ryan Gosling). The problem with Dobler, he was sensitive, self assured, and geeky; he was attainable.

And I think about these boys. These are boys who would have heldup the boombox when they were eighteen, but they're not eighteen, and boomboxes are heavy. They've made the decision to not ' to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought' and are looking around their late twenties/early thirties freaking out, making up for lost time, making up for lost art, lost money, and holding onto convictions. So the new consuming conviction is work,not the girl, they've tried that before, it's all or nothing. And we accept this because at one point they were the guy that held up a boombox, for some other girl when they were eighteen, and this boombox hurt them.

Lloyd Dobler and Diane Court would break up. He pushed for her, she'd push him to be better, get a career, try to change him and he'd try, but bolt. He'd continue hanging out with smart girls comparing them to her, but never really let them in, once he decided what he was doing. Or trying to do. They'd be stupid try to pry, try to get their own dobler moment. She'd consistently date guys who had Lloyd like qualities, but they'd never really love her the same way or own ' new soul classics'.

Lloyd is cynical and yet open; he is morose and yet curiously happy -- he believes.

This may be our problem, we see the internal Dobler and we want that, but that can't be sustained, that belief. With that boombox moment there's a guy whose going to be pissed off he got a pen, for the rest of his life. There's a guy who 'just wanted to be with a girl for the rest of his life' but probably woke up eventually and swung the opposite direction. And it's not entirely his fault Diane Court took him for granted.

I think most of us have had him, that guy when you were 18 who loved you so ridiculously it made you feel like they knew something no one else did. At that time his future and finances, and career didn't matter to him, because you mattered. We hold onto that guy, that feeling as we get older, because eventually that other stuff has to matter. So instead we look for that, and inherit other peoples doblers. And in turn we become the Lloyd, the believer. We wait, we make orations to people who give us pens, that we know aren't right. We say 'One question: do you need... someone, or do you need me?... Forget it, I don't really care'.
Diane Court went to London, and never got the baggage.