Monday, October 20, 2008
Marry Me
MY LITTLE BOOK OF HATREDS--an introduction
I CARRY THIS ‘little book of hatreds’ around with me nearly everywhere I go. Especially when I feel that I may need it (which is most of the time now; it’s therapeutic). Like when I go to meetings at work (department meetings, committee meetings, all-school meetings, etc.) where I hear the most incredible nonsense coming out of people’s mouths--introducing terms like ‘stellar,’ ‘institutional effectiveness,’ ‘social constructs,’ etc. (You come to expect this kind of rubbish from colleagues at work, but still it’s no excuse. I’d never say anything like that! I’d rather use words like shit and piss and cunt and cum.) What surprises me and saddens me at the same time (and makes me glad that I have my little book along) is when I am with friends (perceived friends), and they express outrage at the most natural things that come my way. For example, a number of years ago, the first time I’d hiked in West Canyon, I had my brother drop me off from his boat at the mouth of the canyon. I was alone. He said that he’d come back and pick me up in three days. By noon on the first day, I noticed that I had seen no one else--had not even seen any other footprints. And so, of course, I took off my clothes (except for my shoes, which I did discard the next day) and continued hiking. (I usually wear clothes when I hike; I don’t want to offend strangers (although their wearing clothes does offend me.)) This is desert hiking, and I always carry with me lots of water. And, of course, I’m drinking the water; and, of course, I’m having to pee. Often. In fact, it seems that I’m having to pee every ten or fifteen minutes (I’m drinking a lot, remember). And I’m wanting to see as much of this canyon as I possibly can because I’ve only got a few days to do it in, and it’s a long canyon, and . . . . And so, I think to myself: Can’t I just walk AND pee? At the same time. And so, I do. And I tell this to my friends. And they’re shocked. They can’t believe it. ‘You pee right there while you’re walking?’ one of them says. And the other one says, ‘Don’t you get it on your leg?’ And after a moment of my own shock, I reply, ‘Well, of course, I get it on my leg.’ Pause. ‘That is, legs. What’s wrong with a little urine on your legs, anyway?’ (These folks would probably be shocked to learn that the bread I bake (and which they claim to love) contains lots and lots of little weevils kneaded in and cooked right along with that wonderful, home-ground flour that I make and use.)
I CARRY THIS ‘little book of hatreds’ around with me nearly everywhere I go. Especially when I feel that I may need it (which is most of the time now; it’s therapeutic). Like when I go to meetings at work (department meetings, committee meetings, all-school meetings, etc.) where I hear the most incredible nonsense coming out of people’s mouths--introducing terms like ‘stellar,’ ‘institutional effectiveness,’ ‘social constructs,’ etc. (You come to expect this kind of rubbish from colleagues at work, but still it’s no excuse. I’d never say anything like that! I’d rather use words like shit and piss and cunt and cum.) What surprises me and saddens me at the same time (and makes me glad that I have my little book along) is when I am with friends (perceived friends), and they express outrage at the most natural things that come my way. For example, a number of years ago, the first time I’d hiked in West Canyon, I had my brother drop me off from his boat at the mouth of the canyon. I was alone. He said that he’d come back and pick me up in three days. By noon on the first day, I noticed that I had seen no one else--had not even seen any other footprints. And so, of course, I took off my clothes (except for my shoes, which I did discard the next day) and continued hiking. (I usually wear clothes when I hike; I don’t want to offend strangers (although their wearing clothes does offend me.)) This is desert hiking, and I always carry with me lots of water. And, of course, I’m drinking the water; and, of course, I’m having to pee. Often. In fact, it seems that I’m having to pee every ten or fifteen minutes (I’m drinking a lot, remember). And I’m wanting to see as much of this canyon as I possibly can because I’ve only got a few days to do it in, and it’s a long canyon, and . . . . And so, I think to myself: Can’t I just walk AND pee? At the same time. And so, I do. And I tell this to my friends. And they’re shocked. They can’t believe it. ‘You pee right there while you’re walking?’ one of them says. And the other one says, ‘Don’t you get it on your leg?’ And after a moment of my own shock, I reply, ‘Well, of course, I get it on my leg.’ Pause. ‘That is, legs. What’s wrong with a little urine on your legs, anyway?’ (These folks would probably be shocked to learn that the bread I bake (and which they claim to love) contains lots and lots of little weevils kneaded in and cooked right along with that wonderful, home-ground flour that I make and use.)
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Mess
MESS
CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)
Character
Police Officer
Wrestler
Worker #1 with Dolly
Boxer
Worker with Piano
Worker #2 with Dolly
Singer
Worker with Vacuum
Actor
Speaker
Worker #3 with Dolly
CURTAIN OPENS with minimal lighting and the following props across the stage: a microphone stand at downstage center with a microphone attached; immediately to its right, on the floor, a trumpet and a child’s toy drum; farther to the right, a set of barbells with additional weights; at center stage right, a large wooden crate, on end, partially wrapped in duct tape, a telephone on top; at center stage center, a stuffed chair: a love seat; at center stage left, a wood podium, a broom leaning against on the right--upside down--and an American flag on a pole to the left–-rightside up. In front of the podium lies a corpse, sprawled face down across the floor.
(Note: gender and race and age of each character is unspecified; therefore, left to the director’s discretion.)
-------
Lights come up slowly. Hold ten seconds.
Immediately, CHARACTER, wearing black trousers and a white t-shirt, walks across stage, right to left, muttering grouped pairs of single words with each step: "right-left, up-down, slow-fast, light-dark, day-night, right-wrong, good-evil, dog-cat, yes-no." Does a little hop over the corpse and exits stage left.
POLICE OFFICER enters from stage left, assumes the police officer position: arms behind back and looking skyward. Begins walking slowly, strolling, whistling, stepping around corpse, and looking upward and around. Exits stage right.
Telephone rings three times. Stops.
CHARACTER, now wearing blue t-shirt with the black trousers, enters from stage left, maneuvers around corpse, walks across stage, again muttering the word pairs with each step: "black-white, big-little, large-small, tall-short, fat-thin, hot-cold, even-odd, sun-moon, no-yes." Exits stage right, between barbells and crate.
WRESTLER enters from stage right, walks past and behind wooden crate and love seat, takes place prone on floor behind podium. Begins exercising: push-ups, then sit-ups.
Telephone rings. Stops.
WRESTLER continues exercising uninterrupted: sit-ups, then jumping jacks, more push-ups.
POLICE OFFICER enters from stage right, walks to downstage right, all the while looking upward and around entire stage: the police officer position. Whistles. Returns to upstage right. Exits.
CHARACTER, now wearing yellow t-shirt, enters stage right and walks across stage, right to left this time, muttering words with each step: "Rich-poor, boy-girl, man-woman, bride-groom, husband-wife, skinny-fat, wet-dry, snow-rain, yes-yes." Hops over corpse. Exits stage left.
WRESTLER stops exercising, walks toward downstage left, looks down at corpse. Backs up, takes running leap over body. Exits.
Telephone rings.
WORKER enters stage right, pushing dolly with its own large wooden crate across downstage, right to left, has some difficulty maneuvering around barbells and weights, microphone stand, and corpse, but manages well enough, i.e., scatters weights, knocks--but not over--mic stand, and catches one arm of corpse with jagged edge of crate, drags body a bit before shaking it loose. Continues. Exits.
Telephone rings.
BOXER enters from left, walks past and behind stuffed love seat and wooden crate and begins shadow boxing. POLICE OFFICER enters from right, assumes police officer position. WORKER follows, entering from right, pushing large grand piano across upstage, right to left. Another WORKER enters, stage right, pushing crate on dolly, maneuvering around obstacles expertly. Telephone rings three times and stops. CHARACTER, now wearing red t-shirt, enters stage right, rushes across stage, right to left, muttering single syllable words the whole time: "north-south, east-west, up-down, front-back, left-right, right-left, high-low, no-no." Passes WORKER WITH DOLLY leaps over corpse. Exits.
POLICE OFFICER supervises all.
All except BOXER and POLICE OFFICER exit.
BOXER continues shadow boxing, uninterrupted.
Telephone rings. Stops.
BOXER and POLICE OFFICER exit, left and right respectively.
Silence and order return; order is supreme, silence exalted. Hold for fifteen seconds.
Telephone rings. Five times. Stops.
Telephone rings. Three times. Stops.
Telephone rings. Four times. Stops.
SINGER enters from right, stops exactly half-way between podium and microphone. Begins singing. POLICE OFFICER enters from right and stands next to SINGER. Assumes police officer position. Leans over and whispers in SINGER’s ear. SINGER continues singing.
WORKER WITH VACUUM cleaner enters from stage left, plugs machine into socket at center stage center. Begins vacuuming hardwood floor of stage. Vacuum is loud--very loud. Incredibly loud.
Telephone rings. Many times. No one hears.
SINGER continues singing. POLICE OFFICER whispers again. SINGER continues singing. POLICE OFFICER looks at SINGER. SINGER sings. POLICE OFFICER whispers again in ear. SINGER sings. POLICE OFFICER shouts. Shakes fist. SINGER sings. POLICE OFFICER escorts SINGER off stage right. SINGER continues singing.
ACTOR enters stage left, sits on floor beside corpse. Motionless.
Phone rings three times. No one hears it; no one answers it. Vacuum still very loud.
ACTOR changes position: now lies down motionless, on side, beside motionless corpse, spoon-like.
POLICE OFFICER enters from backstage right. Assumes police officer position. Watches--from a distance--ACTOR beside corpse. POLICE OFFICER shifts position; leans against wooden crate. Continues watching motionless ACTOR beside corpse. Frowns. Telephone rings. POLICE OFFICER shifts position again; returns to police officer position. Observes ACTOR, still motionless. Frowns. Exits backstage right.
ACTOR snuggles up next to corpse. Kisses on cheek. Strokes hair. Then rises from floor beside corpse. Exits stage left.
POLICE OFFICER (off-stage, unseen) frowns.
WORKER WITH VACUUM cleaner completes vacuuming stage. Turns off vacuum. Unplugs vacuum. Exits with vacuum.
SPEAKER in formal wear enters from downstage left, walks past all the props: the corpse, microphone stand, weights, wooden crate and telephone, love seat, podium and broom and flag, finally settling at upstage center. Stands facing audience. POLICE OFFICER (still frowning) enters, stage right; assumes police officer position. Observes SPEAKER. SPEAKER begins speaking. Inaudible sounds–-not loud. SPEAKER makes emphatic hand and arm gestures. Voice grows softer. Raises arms and head skyward. More gestures. Emphatic. Concludes speech and waves to audience.
POLICE OFFICER observes everything.
Telephone rings.
POLICE OFFICER escorts SPEAKER off stage, right.
CHARACTER with black t-shirt enters stage right, hops over corpse, walks across stage, muttering single pairs of words: "Mother-father, brother-sister, son-daughter, mother-daughter, father-son, mother-son, father-daughter, mom-dad, yeah-yeah!" Exits stage left.
WORKER WITH DOLLY and crate enters from stage left. In attempting to maneuver around corpse, bumps into it, pushes it, drags it along for a bit: crate and dolly and corpse get unimaginably tangled up together. Dolly and crate teeter. WORKER makes desperate lunge to save it from falling. Fails. Crate crashes to floor with a thud, breaks apart, scattering wood and contents of crate: another corpse. All fall into orchestra pit. Stage corpse too knocked off stage and into pit.
WORKER visibly upset. Appears frightened as well. Leaps into orchestra pit. BOXER and WRESTLER rush from stage right and left, leap into pit to assist WORKER. POLICE OFFICER enters, stage right. Leans over and looks into pit. Observes. Assumes police officer position. Supervises. Garbled discussion in pit seems to reveal the uncertainty of which corpse rightfully belongs in crate, which corpse rightfully belongs on stage. Argument ensues.
Time spent arguing.
Eventually, argument concludes, and decision is made. Work begins. BOXER and WRESTLER place one corpse into reassembled crate and duct-tape it all together. Lift crate back onto stage. Climb back onto stage. Arrange crate somewhere on stage. All the while, WORKER, working alone, struggles and lifts and drags and repositions other corpse back onto stage at approximate previous position. Done, all three inspect their work. Seem satisfied. Dust off hands; shake hands. All exit, including POLICE OFFICER.
Repaired crate remains on stage.
Stage returns to order. Silence. Hold ten seconds.
CHARACTER, now with white t-shirt, enters stage left, hops over corpse, crosses stage, left to right, muttering the words: "True-false, pro-con, heaven-hell, ding-dong, yin-yang, life-death, birth-death, alive-dead; oh-oh!"
POLICE OFFICER enters, stage left. Observes surroundings; surveys surroundings. Assumes police officer position.
Stage is in order: older; wiser; more experienced. Silence achieved. Hold ten seconds.
Lights. Curtain.
CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)
Character
Police Officer
Wrestler
Worker #1 with Dolly
Boxer
Worker with Piano
Worker #2 with Dolly
Singer
Worker with Vacuum
Actor
Speaker
Worker #3 with Dolly
CURTAIN OPENS with minimal lighting and the following props across the stage: a microphone stand at downstage center with a microphone attached; immediately to its right, on the floor, a trumpet and a child’s toy drum; farther to the right, a set of barbells with additional weights; at center stage right, a large wooden crate, on end, partially wrapped in duct tape, a telephone on top; at center stage center, a stuffed chair: a love seat; at center stage left, a wood podium, a broom leaning against on the right--upside down--and an American flag on a pole to the left–-rightside up. In front of the podium lies a corpse, sprawled face down across the floor.
(Note: gender and race and age of each character is unspecified; therefore, left to the director’s discretion.)
-------
Lights come up slowly. Hold ten seconds.
Immediately, CHARACTER, wearing black trousers and a white t-shirt, walks across stage, right to left, muttering grouped pairs of single words with each step: "right-left, up-down, slow-fast, light-dark, day-night, right-wrong, good-evil, dog-cat, yes-no." Does a little hop over the corpse and exits stage left.
POLICE OFFICER enters from stage left, assumes the police officer position: arms behind back and looking skyward. Begins walking slowly, strolling, whistling, stepping around corpse, and looking upward and around. Exits stage right.
Telephone rings three times. Stops.
CHARACTER, now wearing blue t-shirt with the black trousers, enters from stage left, maneuvers around corpse, walks across stage, again muttering the word pairs with each step: "black-white, big-little, large-small, tall-short, fat-thin, hot-cold, even-odd, sun-moon, no-yes." Exits stage right, between barbells and crate.
WRESTLER enters from stage right, walks past and behind wooden crate and love seat, takes place prone on floor behind podium. Begins exercising: push-ups, then sit-ups.
Telephone rings. Stops.
WRESTLER continues exercising uninterrupted: sit-ups, then jumping jacks, more push-ups.
POLICE OFFICER enters from stage right, walks to downstage right, all the while looking upward and around entire stage: the police officer position. Whistles. Returns to upstage right. Exits.
CHARACTER, now wearing yellow t-shirt, enters stage right and walks across stage, right to left this time, muttering words with each step: "Rich-poor, boy-girl, man-woman, bride-groom, husband-wife, skinny-fat, wet-dry, snow-rain, yes-yes." Hops over corpse. Exits stage left.
WRESTLER stops exercising, walks toward downstage left, looks down at corpse. Backs up, takes running leap over body. Exits.
Telephone rings.
WORKER enters stage right, pushing dolly with its own large wooden crate across downstage, right to left, has some difficulty maneuvering around barbells and weights, microphone stand, and corpse, but manages well enough, i.e., scatters weights, knocks--but not over--mic stand, and catches one arm of corpse with jagged edge of crate, drags body a bit before shaking it loose. Continues. Exits.
Telephone rings.
BOXER enters from left, walks past and behind stuffed love seat and wooden crate and begins shadow boxing. POLICE OFFICER enters from right, assumes police officer position. WORKER follows, entering from right, pushing large grand piano across upstage, right to left. Another WORKER enters, stage right, pushing crate on dolly, maneuvering around obstacles expertly. Telephone rings three times and stops. CHARACTER, now wearing red t-shirt, enters stage right, rushes across stage, right to left, muttering single syllable words the whole time: "north-south, east-west, up-down, front-back, left-right, right-left, high-low, no-no." Passes WORKER WITH DOLLY leaps over corpse. Exits.
POLICE OFFICER supervises all.
All except BOXER and POLICE OFFICER exit.
BOXER continues shadow boxing, uninterrupted.
Telephone rings. Stops.
BOXER and POLICE OFFICER exit, left and right respectively.
Silence and order return; order is supreme, silence exalted. Hold for fifteen seconds.
Telephone rings. Five times. Stops.
Telephone rings. Three times. Stops.
Telephone rings. Four times. Stops.
SINGER enters from right, stops exactly half-way between podium and microphone. Begins singing. POLICE OFFICER enters from right and stands next to SINGER. Assumes police officer position. Leans over and whispers in SINGER’s ear. SINGER continues singing.
WORKER WITH VACUUM cleaner enters from stage left, plugs machine into socket at center stage center. Begins vacuuming hardwood floor of stage. Vacuum is loud--very loud. Incredibly loud.
Telephone rings. Many times. No one hears.
SINGER continues singing. POLICE OFFICER whispers again. SINGER continues singing. POLICE OFFICER looks at SINGER. SINGER sings. POLICE OFFICER whispers again in ear. SINGER sings. POLICE OFFICER shouts. Shakes fist. SINGER sings. POLICE OFFICER escorts SINGER off stage right. SINGER continues singing.
ACTOR enters stage left, sits on floor beside corpse. Motionless.
Phone rings three times. No one hears it; no one answers it. Vacuum still very loud.
ACTOR changes position: now lies down motionless, on side, beside motionless corpse, spoon-like.
POLICE OFFICER enters from backstage right. Assumes police officer position. Watches--from a distance--ACTOR beside corpse. POLICE OFFICER shifts position; leans against wooden crate. Continues watching motionless ACTOR beside corpse. Frowns. Telephone rings. POLICE OFFICER shifts position again; returns to police officer position. Observes ACTOR, still motionless. Frowns. Exits backstage right.
ACTOR snuggles up next to corpse. Kisses on cheek. Strokes hair. Then rises from floor beside corpse. Exits stage left.
POLICE OFFICER (off-stage, unseen) frowns.
WORKER WITH VACUUM cleaner completes vacuuming stage. Turns off vacuum. Unplugs vacuum. Exits with vacuum.
SPEAKER in formal wear enters from downstage left, walks past all the props: the corpse, microphone stand, weights, wooden crate and telephone, love seat, podium and broom and flag, finally settling at upstage center. Stands facing audience. POLICE OFFICER (still frowning) enters, stage right; assumes police officer position. Observes SPEAKER. SPEAKER begins speaking. Inaudible sounds–-not loud. SPEAKER makes emphatic hand and arm gestures. Voice grows softer. Raises arms and head skyward. More gestures. Emphatic. Concludes speech and waves to audience.
POLICE OFFICER observes everything.
Telephone rings.
POLICE OFFICER escorts SPEAKER off stage, right.
CHARACTER with black t-shirt enters stage right, hops over corpse, walks across stage, muttering single pairs of words: "Mother-father, brother-sister, son-daughter, mother-daughter, father-son, mother-son, father-daughter, mom-dad, yeah-yeah!" Exits stage left.
WORKER WITH DOLLY and crate enters from stage left. In attempting to maneuver around corpse, bumps into it, pushes it, drags it along for a bit: crate and dolly and corpse get unimaginably tangled up together. Dolly and crate teeter. WORKER makes desperate lunge to save it from falling. Fails. Crate crashes to floor with a thud, breaks apart, scattering wood and contents of crate: another corpse. All fall into orchestra pit. Stage corpse too knocked off stage and into pit.
WORKER visibly upset. Appears frightened as well. Leaps into orchestra pit. BOXER and WRESTLER rush from stage right and left, leap into pit to assist WORKER. POLICE OFFICER enters, stage right. Leans over and looks into pit. Observes. Assumes police officer position. Supervises. Garbled discussion in pit seems to reveal the uncertainty of which corpse rightfully belongs in crate, which corpse rightfully belongs on stage. Argument ensues.
Time spent arguing.
Eventually, argument concludes, and decision is made. Work begins. BOXER and WRESTLER place one corpse into reassembled crate and duct-tape it all together. Lift crate back onto stage. Climb back onto stage. Arrange crate somewhere on stage. All the while, WORKER, working alone, struggles and lifts and drags and repositions other corpse back onto stage at approximate previous position. Done, all three inspect their work. Seem satisfied. Dust off hands; shake hands. All exit, including POLICE OFFICER.
Repaired crate remains on stage.
Stage returns to order. Silence. Hold ten seconds.
CHARACTER, now with white t-shirt, enters stage left, hops over corpse, crosses stage, left to right, muttering the words: "True-false, pro-con, heaven-hell, ding-dong, yin-yang, life-death, birth-death, alive-dead; oh-oh!"
POLICE OFFICER enters, stage left. Observes surroundings; surveys surroundings. Assumes police officer position.
Stage is in order: older; wiser; more experienced. Silence achieved. Hold ten seconds.
Lights. Curtain.
No One Told
NO ONE TOLD THEM
NO ONE TOLD THEM about the insects. Or the birds. Or the mice. Or any of the other larger animals.
No one had said a word about the winters (or the summers, for that matter). Or the sky. The water table. Or the instability of the land–-the landscape--the geology. The seismic activity. The potential for flooding. The fire risk. Or the winds. Nothing about the winds.
Or the problems with the infrastructure. The weaknesses in the foundation of the home. The roof, the walls, the siding. Or the fact that the electricity was always going out; the bad plumbing; the leaky faucets. The water heater. The furnace.
No one had warned them about the food either, or the water and the air, or the lack of rain and the lack of food (because of the bad soil) and the long lines, the difficulty breathing; and the stress and the medications. Oh, the medications! So many of them. Or the insect bites (so many of them too). And how long the pain would linger, even after the insects had been killed and removed from their bodies–-from their arms and their legs and between their legs, and the back of the neck. Even after the ointment had been applied.
And the size of it all: just how big and how out of control everything had become.
They weren’t told about the lies either–-and not just the lies they had come to expect; or the lies they were still surprised to hear (like the ones about the Colorado River, or the Columbia River, or the Sea of Cortez), but also the lies they themselves would be telling--the lies they would be telling to the ones they loved the most.
Or the neighbors. No one had told them about the neighbors. No one had bothered to tell them about the neighbors. The fighting, the screaming and the yelling and the hitting; or the horrible things that went on in the basement on Sundays; and sometimes even the horrible, cruel things that went on right there in the backyard for everyone to see. The incident with the pliers and the Phillips-head screwdriver. And at night: the footsteps along the side of the house.
Or what would be happening soon to their own families: the visits to the emergency room. The follow-up visits. The mortuary. The cemetery.
No one had said anything about the rest of the town, either: the curfew, the sidewalk tax, the trampolines, and the floodlights at the slaughterhouse. And the schools. (How could they have not told them about the schools?) And the bumping sounds and the hoses, and the continuous, round-the-clock firing up of the trucks. And the section of town where the slaves were kept and fed and then beaten--and then, later on, let loose. Or the paper mill and all the costly delays; the toxic waste plant, the noise from the sound factory. And the on-going construction: all of it; the jack-hammers, especially. But also the saws; the chain-saws and jig-saws and the buzz-saws that whirred and whined until you thought you were going crazy.
They didn’t know about the bubbles, either.
Or the thing with their own bodies.
Or about the people who went down to the post office every day to do nothing but buy stamps for their goddamn stamp collections. The money exchanged. And the work: the work gained and the work lost. The paper work too. And what it was all supposed to mean; and what that meaning was supposed to mean. To what purpose it was all for.
No. No one had told them about any of this: what it was going to be like. No one had said a word. Not a single word; not a single soul.
And they didn’t ask. They didn’t think to ask. They didn’t know beforehand how it was going to be. And now it was too late. It was too late to ask. They had to figure it out on their own.
And they weren’t doing a very good job of it.
NO ONE TOLD THEM about the insects. Or the birds. Or the mice. Or any of the other larger animals.
No one had said a word about the winters (or the summers, for that matter). Or the sky. The water table. Or the instability of the land–-the landscape--the geology. The seismic activity. The potential for flooding. The fire risk. Or the winds. Nothing about the winds.
Or the problems with the infrastructure. The weaknesses in the foundation of the home. The roof, the walls, the siding. Or the fact that the electricity was always going out; the bad plumbing; the leaky faucets. The water heater. The furnace.
No one had warned them about the food either, or the water and the air, or the lack of rain and the lack of food (because of the bad soil) and the long lines, the difficulty breathing; and the stress and the medications. Oh, the medications! So many of them. Or the insect bites (so many of them too). And how long the pain would linger, even after the insects had been killed and removed from their bodies–-from their arms and their legs and between their legs, and the back of the neck. Even after the ointment had been applied.
And the size of it all: just how big and how out of control everything had become.
They weren’t told about the lies either–-and not just the lies they had come to expect; or the lies they were still surprised to hear (like the ones about the Colorado River, or the Columbia River, or the Sea of Cortez), but also the lies they themselves would be telling--the lies they would be telling to the ones they loved the most.
Or the neighbors. No one had told them about the neighbors. No one had bothered to tell them about the neighbors. The fighting, the screaming and the yelling and the hitting; or the horrible things that went on in the basement on Sundays; and sometimes even the horrible, cruel things that went on right there in the backyard for everyone to see. The incident with the pliers and the Phillips-head screwdriver. And at night: the footsteps along the side of the house.
Or what would be happening soon to their own families: the visits to the emergency room. The follow-up visits. The mortuary. The cemetery.
No one had said anything about the rest of the town, either: the curfew, the sidewalk tax, the trampolines, and the floodlights at the slaughterhouse. And the schools. (How could they have not told them about the schools?) And the bumping sounds and the hoses, and the continuous, round-the-clock firing up of the trucks. And the section of town where the slaves were kept and fed and then beaten--and then, later on, let loose. Or the paper mill and all the costly delays; the toxic waste plant, the noise from the sound factory. And the on-going construction: all of it; the jack-hammers, especially. But also the saws; the chain-saws and jig-saws and the buzz-saws that whirred and whined until you thought you were going crazy.
They didn’t know about the bubbles, either.
Or the thing with their own bodies.
Or about the people who went down to the post office every day to do nothing but buy stamps for their goddamn stamp collections. The money exchanged. And the work: the work gained and the work lost. The paper work too. And what it was all supposed to mean; and what that meaning was supposed to mean. To what purpose it was all for.
No. No one had told them about any of this: what it was going to be like. No one had said a word. Not a single word; not a single soul.
And they didn’t ask. They didn’t think to ask. They didn’t know beforehand how it was going to be. And now it was too late. It was too late to ask. They had to figure it out on their own.
And they weren’t doing a very good job of it.
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