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| A balloon bumps up against the ceiling one late afternoon |
...or to say it another way...here's another meditation on fear...
“Okay. I hear you.”
“You go first, please.”
“Just jump.”
“You go.”
“I can’t let go.”
“Fine.”
“I don’t have enough information.”
“I heard you the first time.”
(Pause.)
“I’ll be gone soon.”
(Pause.)
“That’s so morbid.”
(Pause.)
“Well…yeah.”
(Pause.)
“Can it be joyful?”
“What?”
“This living until we die?”
“Okay. Fine.”
“You go.”
“Show me.”
“I can’t.”
“I don’t have time.”
“I am too far.”
“I am too old.”
“Dammit.”
(Pause.)
“I see.”
(Pause.)
“You look uncomfortable.”
“I can tell you’re not breathing.”
“I’ll be alright.”
(Pause.)
“Let’s take hands.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I’m serious.”
“Gross.”
“Peace. I only mean peace.”
“I don’t touch anyone anymore.”
“Okay, nevermind.”
“That was your chance.”
“Dammit.”
(Sigh.)
(Thought bubble. Blank slate.)
“Let’s strip it down.”
(Starts undressing.)
“Oh.”
(Pause.)
“Is this the part where we shed all the layers and stand here naked and you think we all have an epiphany?”
“No. Oh I see what you mean.”
“Should we go back to the hand-holding?”
“Nevermind.”
“Okay.”
“You know, we should do this more often.”
“I’ve lost my touch.”
“You’ve got it.”
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