One Act by a Dead Man
Most of us know a writer. In some cases we know a tortured writer. An individual with massive talent and just as much personal baggage to accompany. When that person is no longer healthy enough to be in our lives, it’s a loss. But when they’re gone for good sometimes all you have left is a bundle of emails, a few pictures, and memories like hard grinds at the bottom of the coffee cup.
The following is a little piece of something from a friend who left a whole lot of beautiful damage in his wake.
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“Scene X”
(Peter and Amy are sitting in a coffee shop in the late fall of 2003.)
Amy: I told you early on that I’m leaving.
Peter: I know. I’m just trying to make the most of the time we have left.
Amy: I’m sorry if I sent mixed signals, but I’m not attracted to you. You’re wasting your time and your feelings.
Peter: Feeling things isn’t a waste. Why must you continually divert all power to shields?
Amy: I’ve been hurt, so I protect myself. Isn’t that my right? The psychic in New York told me that I’ve probably been abused in several past lives, not just in this one…
Peter: I thought the psychic in Bucharest told you that?
Amy: I can’t tell you what the psychic in Bucharest told me. (Pause) My sisters think you said you love me just because I’m leaving, because you want me to stay.
Peter: What does the psychic in New York say about the fact that I love you?
Amy: I don’t need a psychic for that.
Peter: Setting the Weird Sisters and Dionne Warwick aside, what do you think?
Amy: (Taking a sip of her latte) I think you need to leave me alone.
Peter: (Picking up a backpack from the floor and placing it on his lap) Alright, alright! Here. I brought your stuff back. Here: Aliens II, or whatever they call it. The copy of the scene we’re now NOT going to do together, and… oh yeah: (displaying a book he has just pulled from the backpack) “Path to Spiritual Freedom through Unrest” by Corky Riverdancer (He laughs involuntarily).
Amy: Don’t laugh. That’s a good book!
Peter: It’s a shameless cocktail of diluted Mahayana Buddhism, Kerouwacked-out-sub-standard Alan Watts Zen and pop psychology culled from afternoon talk shows. I’d swallow my pride and write such a gravy train if I didn’t think the karmic implications would land me on an ant farm in my next life.
Amy: You’re such a snob. That’s another reason I never liked you.
Peter: You did like me! You know you did. You went out with me repeatedly…
Amy: But, I kept you at a distance.
Peter: We sat right next to each other at the opera.
Amy: I kept you at a distance.
Peter: You kissed me.
Amy: (pause) That was a mistake.
Peter: Why don’t you stick around here? You want to go to LA yet you have two community theater credits, and a few New York classes. Don’t you think you should build your resume?
Amy: Corky says dreams can’t wait.
Peter: The Riverdancer?
Amy: Corky. We’ve met…
Peter: I don’t doubt it in the least.
Amy: Corky says there’s a difference between knowing the path and walking the path.
Peter: He stole that from the Matrix.
Amy: Because it’s true!
Peter: (blinks)
Amy: I really think I’m the young Meg Ryan type. I could have done “You’ve Got Mail”. I could easily be the female lead on a dramatic series.
Peter: What does Corky say about full-on delusional?
Amy: You know what? I’ve had it. The only person who I need to be (pointing to the cleft between her breasts) here in me is me.
Peter: I’m sorry, what?
Amy: I feel called to things, called by the flow of life. It’s time for me to do this now. Maybe LA isn’t even about acting for me…
Peter: You’ve got a guy out there, don’t you?
Amy: NO! (Pause) Why would you say that?! I don’t need men dictating my life. It’s about me now! (Pause) Look, I’ve got to finish packing. I meant it when I said we could be friends. When your resentment subsides, give me a call. I think ultimately you’ll end up in LA. You’d be great on a sitcom, or even a national commercial!
Peter: You want me in LA with you?
Amy: I want you to follow your path. If that puts you in primetime, that’s great! (Pause) But, if I see you anywhere near my apartment, I’ll call the cops…
Peter: (Laconically) I love you, too…
Amy: C’mon! (She stands) Power hug!! (She hugs him aggressively.)
Amy: You know, I’m really happy about the Shakespeare gig you got. I think it’s going to be life-changing for you…
Peter: You think everything is going to be life-changing.
Amy: I’ll call you with my address. Keep up with your dream journal.
Peter: I never started my dream journal.
Amy: That’s a shame…
Peter: I’m working on a waking nightmare journal.
Amy: Snob. (She exits.)
If you enjoyed this piece, consider purchasing a copy of I Didn’t Marry a Prostitute… on Amazon.