Echo

i think my ultimate peak experience in life would be, floating a paper boat down a forest river, and after some time, years if it has to be, when i least expect it, it floats right back to me from the opposite direction. and it’s brought someone familiar with it.

11

you reveal your ace
if you’ve been bluffing, you don’t know what it is either
but this becomes the only card that counts
is it red or black?
will you find that your sight can change the course of consciousness
or are you revealed to be completely insane?

the river asks you to jump into the river
but when you get to that place where you’re perfectly lost in every direction
you find that it was not what you expected at all.

the question is, what kind of story is this?

life is like a train station on more levels than one.

trained in blackened arts
the savant waits

wow

today, in one of my favorite spots in la, i smiled at the guy who played the nazi sniper in inglourious basterds, and he smiled back. that was a nice moment.

maybe you’ve already met the right person, just at the wrong time?

you always move forward, you never go back, but you recognize sometimes life circles back in the future, and that’s always quietly given you hope for things let go. right now, you’re terrified of letting go of the strongest energy spot you have, but you have to believe that if you let go, you can still come back to it later and it will still be here for you. maybe you’re not ready for it yet. or there’s something else you have to do first, before you can claim it the way you want to claim it.

what if i’m completely wrong? and everything that’s up is down, and left is right. what if everything i’m sure of is exactly what i was never sure of at all?

wow, twice now facebook has crashed when i tried to reply to the same person. the attempts were almost 3 weeks apart. it makes me think i’m not supposed to reply. or, either not with what i’m saying, or not at this time.

genre: comedy
location: pawn shop
object: bulletproof vest

A Lesson Before Dying

EXT. CITY STREET – NIGHT

Police cars and SWAT vans haphazardly parked in the middle of
the street, a crowd of gawkers held back by yellow tape.
Policemen evacuate stores as SWAT members in full gear–helmets,
bulletproof vests, automatic rifles–move into
position. The center of attention appears to be MAURY’S PAWN
SHOP, a tiny glass-front affair sandwiched between an A-OK
BAIL BONDS and a LAUNDROMAT.

INT. MAURY’S PAWN SHOP – NIGHT

INSERT TITLE: ONE HOUR EARLIER

The bells above the door jingle as a haggard-looking MAN
steps through the door. Old man MAURY is behind the counter.

MAURY
Back so soon, Mr. Tolberg? How’s
your wife?

MAN
I’d like to see your guns…

INT. MANAGER’S OFFICE/QUICKIE CAR WASH – DAY

INSERT TITLE: ONE DAY EARLIER

The phone on a cluttered desk rings incessantly. A flustered
middle-aged man with his arms full of dirty rags bursts
though the door, lunging towards the phone. This is the same
guy from the pawn shop–TOM TOLBERG.

TOM
Quickie Car Wash, manager speaking.

INT. MINIVAN – DAY

The woman on the phone is CAROL, Tom’s frazzled wife. She’s
driving and talking on the phone while two 7 year-old
identical twins battle each other noisily in the backseat.

CROSSCUT between Tom and Carol.

CAROL
Your sons’ principal called to say
they’ve been suspended for putting
a “kick me” sign on a classmate.
(to kids)
Stop hitting your brother, Eric! A
stapler is not a toy!

TOM
Sounds harsh for just a prank.

CAROL
They attached the sign with a tack.

TOM
Oh.

CAROL
They’re terrorists, Tom. Devil
spawn.
(to kids)
Do you want me to turn this car
around? Because I will. I’ll turn
this car around and drop you two
right off a cliff you don’t start
behaving.

A shoe comes flying from the back, hitting her on the head.

CAROL
WHO THREW THAT SHOE?

They each point to each other.

TOM
Calm down, Carol. They just need a
lesson in respecting authority.
Kick ‘em out of the car and tell
them to walk home. Pick them up in
half an hour. That should scare
some sense into them.

CAROL
No way. That’s abusive.

TOM
It worked on me. A kid only has to
walk 6 miles home in a blizzard
once to know where the line is.

Another shoe bounces off the windshield followed by giggles.

CAROL
Fine. But anything goes wrong, I’m
holding you responsible.

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET – DAY

Carol is struggling to forcibly pull the boys out of the
minivan.

CAROL
This is for your own good.
Having…parents…is a privilege.

She slides the door closed, gets in the driver’s seat and
takes off, the boys running behind the car, wailing.

Half a block away hidden in the bushes, a MOTORCYCLE COP
watches, arms crossed. He’s quite unamused.

EXT. QUICKIE CAR WASH – DAY

Tom is drying off a black Mercedes as the OWNER points out
spots he’s missed. A FEMALE EMPLOYEE hurries up.

FEMALE EMPLOYEE
Tom, your wife’s on the phone.

TOM
Tell her I’ll call her back.

FEMALE EMPLOYEE
She says she’s calling from…jail.

Tom looks up as the customer eyes him, totally judging.

INT. BAIL BONDS OFFICE – NIGHT

A blubbery bondsman with a combover reviews the paperwork.

BONDSMAN
Reckless endangerment of minors.
Problem is, she pulled a new judge
who wants to make an example of
her. Bail’s set at $20,000. I’ll
get her out for 10%.

TOM
We’re barely scraping by! I don’t
have that kind of money.

BONDSMAN
As they say in my trade, be in jail
til dawn or you’ve got to pawn.

INT. MAURY’S PAWN SHOP – DAY

The bells above the door jingle and Tom enters with a
cardboard box, placing it on the counter in front of Maury.

TOM
I need $2000 or my wife’s gonna
kill me.

Maury looks him over kindly, a man who’s heard it all.

MAURY
Cup of tea?

INT. VISITING ROOM/JAIL – DAY

Tom sits at a table as Carol, wearing an orange prison
jumpsuit, is led into the room by a GUARD. Her hair is in
thuggish cornrows and she’s got FISH written across her
forehead in lipstick.

CAROL
(brink of tears)
You need to get me out of here. I’m
not strong enough for this.

TOM
Bail is being processed and they
said you should be out by tonight.

CAROL
Oh thank God!

TOM
But you should probably know, I had
to pawn some things.

CAROL
What things?

TOM
Like…the good china.

CAROL
Okay.

TOM
Some jewelry. Actually, all of it.

CAROL
What else?

TOM
Um…your Coach purses, laptop,
breadmaker, and that ugly
collection of porcelain clowns you
never liked anyway.

CAROL
You mean that antique collection of
porcelain collectibles my dead
mother left me that you never
liked? Didn’t you pawn any of your
own stuff?

TOM
Sure…uh, my wedding band.

Carol looks at him like she could kill him. Instead, she
gives him a terrifyingly cold smile, pats him on the hand.

CAROL
We’ll talk about this when I get
home.

Tom is terrorized. Every married man knows what this means.

INT. MAURY’S PAWN SHOP – NIGHT

Same scene as earlier–Tom, looking haggard, walks in.

MAURY
Back so soon, Mr. Tolberg? How’s
your wife?

TOM
I’d like to see your guns…

MAURY
Oh? Anything in particular?

TOM
Doesn’t matter.

Maury takes out a small snub-nosed revolver and puts it on
the counter. Tom immediately picks it up and points it at
Maury.

MAURY
Mr. Tolberg, it’s not even loaded.

TOM
I’m really sorry about this but
please…call the police and tell
them you’re being held up. My wife
is angrier than I’ve ever seen her
and I’m too scared to go home. I’m
just hoping that maybe in 10 to 12
years, she’ll have cooled off by
then.

Okay, here’s the story I wrote for the 2nd assignment that won 1st place, even though i liked the complexity of the first piece better.

genre: fantasy
location: diner
object: a stretcher

No Man’s Land

logline: A young waiter drifting through life meets a mysterious stranger in the middle of the night.

INT. DINER – NIGHT

A stout, exhausted COOK tosses two plates of burgers with
fries up on the kitchen ledge and bangs a nearby bell.
Seconds later, RAHUL, a frazzled young man in his 20’s,
sweeps in and picks up the plates, putting them down in front
of a couple, moving quickly to another booth to take an
order. His eyes are exhausted and his shoulders hunched from
the weight of life, but he has the natural graceful movements
of a dreamer–someone who gets things done quietly and
efficiently without actually being present.

A bell DINGS.

Rahul returns and picks up more food.

TIME SPEEDS UP. Hours fly by as CUSTOMERS come and go, RAHUL
canvassing the room, bringing food, taking orders, bussing
tables, the hands of the clock on the wall above the cashier
register swinging around and around, marking the passage of
time. 11…12…1…2…

RAHUL (V.O.)
The graveyard shift. The underbelly
of time. But there’s a method to
the madness. After 1, you get
people coming off night shifts.
After 2, you get drunk crowds
stumbling in after the bars close.
But 3am to the break of
dawn…that’s No Man’s Land. That’s
when the rock of society lifts up,
and something…different crawls out.

The crowds thin as the hours pass. When the clocks hands
swing into position marking 3 o’clock, time returns to normal
speed. The bells above the front door chime behind a
departing group. The only customer left is an OVERWEIGHT MAN
in a green fishing hat reading a worn paperback romance novel
at the counter. In the kitchen, the cook is frying something.

Rahul takes out his notepad and doodles, drawing the man. His
drawing is detailed and well-done. He has talent. He looks
away and suddenly notices a man sitting in a booth right in
front of him shuffling playing cards.

The man is black with smooth skin, a slight frame, wearing a
neat black suit, white shirt and thin, red tie. Sneakers.
Next to him is a shiny vinyl backpack. His unlined face, the
sparkle in his eye and his unusual attire make it hard to
tell his age–he could be anywhere from a 17 year-old kid
coming from a school dance, to an eccentric 40 year-old.
We’ll call him DEE. Rahul approaches with a menu.

RAHUL
I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear you
come in.

DEE
No worries, I’ve got nothing but
time.

RAHUL
Can I bring you anything to drink?

DEE
Just coffee since I’m working.

Rahul returns to his station–pours the coffee just as the
cook puts down a plate of a giant brown mass swimming under a
lake of gravy. Rahul brings the plate to the guy at the
counter and brings Dee the coffee. Dee closes his eyes, flips
a card face up, opens his eyes, then puts the card in one of
two piles. Repeats.

RAHUL
If you don’t mind me asking, what
are you doing?

DEE
Just a little game to pass the
time. Testing my psychic abilities.

He flips one face up so that Rahul can see it but he can’t.

DEE
9 of Diamonds?

Rahul is looking at the 6 of Hearts.

RAHUL
Nope.

Dee’s face breaks into a devilish grin.

DEE
Guess I’m not psychic.

RAHUL
(amused)
Well, maybe it’s for the better.
It’s probably a burden to be able
to see the future.

DEE
That’s true. For most people, it
probably wouldn’t even make a
difference.

RAHUL
What do you mean?

Dee points to the guy at the counter wolfing down his chicken
fried steak.

DEE
Take that guy. If I walked up to
him and said, “Hey bud, in a few
minutes you’re gonna have a heart
attack and land face first in that
gravy so you should make the most
of the time you have left,” do you
think he’s going to stand up and
call his kids to tell them he loves
them, forgive his wife for leaving
him, and make peace with the world?

RAHUL
He’ll probably just think you’re
nuts.

DEE
Yes, probably. And your cook there.

He points at the cook half hanging out the back door of the
kitchen, smoking a cigarette.

DEE
If you told him that he’s going to
die in a fire at the age of 54
after falling asleep with a
cigarette in his mouth, do you
think he’s going to quit smoking
and start making each day count?

RAHUL
(uncomfortable)
You said you’re not a psychic.

DEE
I’m not. You don’t have to be to
know that each and every person in
this world is going to die. And
that’s the point. Every single
person knows they’re going to die
someday, and yet, it doesn’t seem
to motivate them to start living.

RAHUL
How do you know those guys aren’t
living their lives?

Dee laughs. His teeth are perfect and straight. He leans in
looking deep into Rahul.

DEE
Rahul…are you living your life?

Rahul looks flustered.

RAHUL
How do you know my name?

Dee points at Rahul’s nametag. Rahul self-consciously covers it with his hand.

DEE
You seem smart, talented, young.
You still have promise. So what are
you doing waiting tables in the
middle of the night?

RAHUL
I–I dropped out of law school. I
hated it, wasn’t doing that well so
I left to figure out what to do
with my life.

DEE
And how long ago was that?

Rahul stares hard at Dee.

RAHUL
Why do I get the feeling you
already know?

DEE
We’re just two strangers meeting in
the middle of the night and having
a conversation.

RAHUL
Two years ago.

DEE
Uh huh. And what have you figured
about your life since?

RAHUL
I have to get back to work. It was
nice talking to you…

He pauses, doesn’t know the guy’s name. Dee smiles broadly,
openly.

DEE
Death.

Rahul turns, rolling his eyes.

RAHUL
(under his breath)
Of course it is, you morbid fuck.

Rahul goes back to the cash register. He stares at Dee who’s
engrossed in his cards.

COOK
You alright, Ra?

RAHUL
Yeah, couldn’t be better.
(beat)
And you should quit smoking.

Suddenly, there’s a CRASH. The man in the fishing hat at the
counter has face-planted into his plate of food. Rahul rushes
over and lifts the guy’s head up, but his eyes are rolled
into the back of his head.

RAHUL
Call 9-1-1!

The cook rushes towards the phone. Rahul looks around
desperately. In the back booth where Dee had been, there is
only a full cup of coffee, but no other trace of him.

INT. DINER – LATER

The paramedics roll the body of the man out on a stretcher in
a body bag. Rahul, looking weary, approaches Dee’s booth and
picks up the coffee cup. There are two dollar bills and a
small piece of paper under the saucer. He picks up the paper.

On it is written: RAHUL SOMASETTY OCTOBER 29, 1982 –

Rahul stares at the piece of paper for a long time. Finally,he takes a deep breath and turns it over.

Written in large block letters: MAKE EVERY MOMENT COUNT

6 hours left.

genre: comedy
location: pawn shop
object: bulletproof vest

la.

i’m looking out at my temple right now.

working on my script.

waiting for brian to come home.

waiting for what comes next.

this is my home. the only place i’ve called home and felt it. and i’m going to pack it up and give it to strangers for a few years.

maybe. i keep waiting for another option to open at the last minute. this feels like a test.

my body has been transforming. i think body composition is determined by the mind sometimes. or maybe something bigger working through the mind. my weight went up 10 lbs despite same level of exercise and eating healthier in seattle. the last year my body was lean and angular. and now i’m still strong but with all these curves. sometimes i look in the mirror and my body surprises me, it’s so new. like, brian has given me a hard time for as long as he’s known me about not having an ass. how asian people don’t have asses. that’s how i know for a fact this booty is new booty. i keep thinking that whoever is coming up in the future must like a girl with an ass. maybe my body is preparing me to be recognized.

reality does seem more stratified. i can feel so many possible interpretations and paths, but it’s harder to tell which ones can be agreed upon by both myself and those outside myself. it’s getting easier to see people, but harder to interpret what it means in this plane of living. like when things like this happen:

i was waiting in the line outside of the women’s room at the warriors game. i must have been deep in thought because at some point, i realized there had been a little girl wailing behind me for a really long time. i turned around and it’s a hispanic girl about 4 years old–long brown hair and big doe-eyes, tugging at her mother’s arm and wailing in spanish. her sobs came from deep inside her, unadulterated sorrow, vibrating beyond what a child should know. these cries were real.

the mother was a beautiful woman, make-up and outfit crafted carefully, a strong, seductive creature. cold. in this moment, she stared at the wall as an exercise in discipline, a rock with no ears.

i looked away, and the girl continued wailing the same line over and over.

you nunca dame me nada! you nunca dame me nada!

she had her mother’s coat clutched in her fists and she pulled as she cried. she had the devastation of a woman begging for her lover not to leave. i suddenly realized i understood what she was saying.

i turned and asked her mother, “is she okay?” at the same time, i wrapped my arm around the little girl’s bird-like shoulder, rubbing her arm gently, soothingly.

her mother looked surprised that i had said anything, then said, “you know kids. they’re so spoiled. they see everything, they want you to buy it. they see a candy they want you to buy. they see a giant finger they want you to buy. just ignore her.” she waved her hands in front of her face the whole time, the way people do when they want your attention to go away. the way they do when they’re lying.

“that’s not it!” the girl wailed. now her eyes were pleading me. she was saying something in a panic i couldn’t understand.

“well, is there anything you can give her that will make her feel better? sometimes with children it’s a negotiation.”

“she’s just being a drama queen,” the mother said, again waving the issue away with her hand.

the girl wails louder, saying something really fast. i look to the mother and she says, “just ignore her.”

but the girl is tugging at my hand with a desperation and all i want to do is pick her up and hug her and spend the rest of the night listening to her if i have to.

i bend down so i’m at her level and ask her what it is.

“she never let’s me talk to my dad when he calls. i want only one thing and she never lets me talk to my dad.”

she is heaving up her soul in these sobs, every word something red and beating, and i suddenly realize i’m an active witness to a girl who is in this moment, losing, and will one day have lost her faith in this world. and as she looks up with those eyes aging from the inside out, she’s not screaming just for the love and mercy of an impenetrable mother, but for an echoing world of god, universe and angels to acknowledge her existence.

but i also realize the real world situation. father moves on leaving a bitter mother with a child she resents as a burden. child is used as a means of punishing him. a bitter life for all involved.

the mother pulled her away and into a bathroom stall. i worried she would beat her. the girl’s sorrow reverberated around me like the ringing after an explosion. i felt great sadness for her. i felt great sadness for the conundrum of human experience, that we must be born out of pain so that we may learn why we live.

i couldn’t touch the situation. but i wish i’d had more space to give that girl something to remember. that she is heard and does exist. that it won’t always be like this. that people who want to give her all the warmth and love she needs will be there if she can just hold on and not believe this pain to be the world.

i have a feeling i know what the middle of the night is like for her.

i have a feeling that past or future, we have shared the same dream.

in the echoes, i can still hear her cries.

Occupational Hazard

round 2 results of the writing contest came in last night. 1st place finish. which was surprising because i didn’t like that second story as much (i felt it was too similar to the first. a waiter working the graveyard shift at a diner waits on Death). i should have gotten 1st place for the first script, so i guess this balances out. round 3 assignment will be announced tonight. i’m going up against the top scorers of the first two rounds. will have 48 hours to write this script…on top of having to drive down and back from la to pack up my stuff and talk with brian about moving out.

challenging weekend. i look at it as a test.

dear reader. where would you like me to come from?

personally, i would like to come through the early morning window, slip under your covers to touch you in the realm between waking and sleep, all moonlight and skin and something much darker and richer.

i need a motivation.

you are hiding again.

is it more important that people dont know where you are?

or should they know, but despite that, respect it?

it’s like this. think about a wolf pack. you’re either an alpha female or beta, the equivalent of a 2nd wife. some women are aware of their position and accept it. others are aware and do not, so they challenge the alphas. two alphas can not exist in the same pack, though two alphas can forge a balance and kinship, joining two packs. once a young woman emerges as an alpha, she either has to challenge the pack’s alpha, submit as a beta, or leave the pack. in a way, this initiation makes the alpha, and depending on how she leaves (if this was a moralizing experience giving her optimism, or a demoralizing experience giving her cynism), she’ll either stay aloof, or start her own pack. but her only match is another strong, male alpha.

the lone operator
the ultimate team player
but totally self-sufficient

this description is your mark. you both bear this mark. it’s these matching marks that bring you together.

a little bit of bitch inside the nice
a little bit of nice inside the bitch

that’s the perfect balance.

i’m a rear-wheel drive. no need to flaunt the power. smoother ride. but i’m starting to think it’s time to frontload. walk into the room balls first.

discourage cowards before they start.

it’s the only way to keep it real.