by Dana Jerman

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.

—

“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.