Kolleeny Festival

Tag Lines

Lights up.  A Gazebo in Montclair NJ.  We are outside, the sun is shining and the Gazebo lies in a small square with grass and lamps and benches. There are three men in old-timey suspenders and button down shirts sitting in the Gazebo, which has three sides taken up by benches and one exit that leads downstage directly towards the audience.  Directly facing the audience, sitting on a bench with his head down and his arms on his leg, is Tom.  Tim sits up on the elevated fence on the right side of the Gazebo.  Thom lies across the left side bench in the Gazebo, his face pointing towards the audience.  All of the men look bored.  Long Pause. 

Tim:  Okay.  How about- “Women and Children First.”?

Thom:  What? 

Tim:  Women and Children First.

Thom:  Women and Children First?  That’s what people say on boats.

Tim: Yea, cause this movie is all about a young woman and these two kids having to do something heroic and independent.  On a boat it’s women and children first because women and children are so often perceived to be the weakest members of our society, the ones who are most in need of aid or protection, but in this movie a woman and some children kick some ass, so when the slogan is “Women and Children First” it evokes the implications of weakness but then subverts them because of the subject of the movie.  It’s sophisticated. 

Tom:  (without looking up) That’s a terrible tag line.  It doesn’t draw people in, it doesn’t pique their interest.  It’s gotta be something manipulative, like, “Sometimes all it takes is a little Imagination.”  Something extremely vague, but not that vague. 

Thom:  He’s right.  People don’t need to know what it’s about, they just need to know that they want to see it.

Tim:  So I should stop thinking along the lines of cleverness-

Tom:  Definitely, cleverness is your enemy right now.  Think dumb dumb dumb.  Boil humanity down to its basest instincts and desires, and then try to appeal to those with this tagline.  If there’s a way to imply to people that seeing this movie will somehow get them laid, then we need to find it.  Are you getting more of a feel for what this should sound like? 

Tim:  Yea, so something more like….okay- if the poster is the picture with the kids in the circle and the older girl is kind of looking at the camera all coy- the tag line can be:  “They Have a Secret…”  which is like extremely vague, and suggests that there’s something interesting, and men will look at the girl’s face and the tag line and they will automatically think dirty things, especially if we put some dot dot dots after the word secret.

Tom:  Exactly.

Thom:  Amazing.  That’s a beautiful tagline Tim.  The best thing about it is that it’s innuendo, which means it isn’t clear that it’s there on purpose, and men will think that we didn’t intend for it to be taken that way and they’ll feel guilty and the movie will stick in their minds even more.  You’ve found a way to turn a terrible kid’s movie into a complex psycho-sexual male trap. 

Tom:  Really Tim, bravo.  Okay, so now we have three good ones, and we need ten.  Long pause.

Thom:  Alright…”What once was can never again Return.”  Short pause.  Tim and Tom burst out laughing.

Tim:  Exaggerated British Accent  What once was can never again return!!! 

Tom:  Thom, we don’t need to get all complicated.  This is a movie in which, during a crucial scene, a young child hides a crystal ball in a talking Unicorn’s ass.  We’re not trying to win any Oscars here! 

Thom:  I don’t even know what’s so complicated about that line.

Tim:  It just sounds fancy!  Like the word “Eviscerate” It means the same thing as the word Disembowel, but it just sounds fancy.  Disembowel sounds scary, and gory.  Eviscerate sounds like it could somehow involve tea and jam. 

Tom:  Pointing at Tim This kid is smart. 

Tim:  Oh, thank you! 

Thom: I don’t understand why we don’t just use the tagline from the book-

Tom: Because a book is a book and a movie is a movie.  You wanna know why?  There’s no reason, it’s completely arbitrary.  Everything’s arbitrary Thom, the movie isn’t real, our jobs are empty, our lives are meaningless, and we’re all gonna die.  Is that what you want to hear?  Because we can wax philosophical all day but sitting here in this God-forsaken Gazebo farting about existence isn’t going help us to get this project finished.

Tim: Ha!  Farting about existence. 

Thom:  All I’m saying is that if we’re not trying to think of tag-lines that people will like or care about, if our goal is to write something that people can look at and it won’t make them think even a little bit, wouldn’t the easiest thing for people be to just have the same tag-line as the one on the book? 

Tim:  That does kind of make sense. 

Tom:  Thom, can you not try to fill his head with misconceptions right off the bat?  The tag-line isn’t really for the people, it isn’t an effective enough marketing tool to be.  We are about as important in the grand scheme of this movie as the graphic designers who make the packaging of DVDs when it goes to DVD three weeks after it fails in theaters.  The reason we do this is for the executives.  They have created a ritual, a cinema ritual, and the production of every movie must obey that ritual.  Tag-lines are a part of the ritual and regardless of their actual efficacy we must write them. 

Tim:  So we’re trying to write these to appeal to the most wide ranging demographics of people, to make them as palatable to mass consumption as possible, and we’re doing so with full knowledge that we’re not actually doing it to entice consumers, we’re doing it to satisfy a ritual?

Thom:  Yes.  In an hour what’s going to happen is I’m going to call Mellman and tell him I’m sorry but our car broke down, and we won’t be able to make it to the meeting, but we have spent the last 3 hours frantically coming up with some sentences that will by no means be the deciding factor in whether or not anyone sees this movie but they do sound good right?  And he’ll say yes, they do sound good, thank you.  In exchange for doing what you have, I’m going to write down some numbers on a piece of paper and mail it to you and the three of you will be allowed to continue living.

Tom:  Yea, pretty much.  Let’s get back to work.  Long pause.  All go back to staring.  Okay.  How about: “Some journeys were never meant to end.” 

Tim:  Ooooo, I like that! 

Thom:  Yea, it’s good.

Tom:  Okay good, that’s four. 

Tim: I’m unclear as to why we need ten.  Don’t we really only need one? 

Tom:  Well the way this works is ideally we would have one that we just love, one that strikes us all as THE one right off the bat, so we throw out ideas hoping we’re going to strike gold but in case we don’t we compile our ten favorites and then whittle that list down. 

Tim:  Okay-

Thom:  You know I grew up here? Pause.

Tom:  No?  Why?

Thom:  I grew up here.  Montclair New Jersey.

Tom:  Why are you bringing it up? 

Thom: I mean it’s funny.  That we’re here.  And not somewhere else.  Our car didn’t just break down in the center of “some town,” it broke down in the center of my hometown, Montclair NJ.  It’s significant. 

Tom:  How about:  “A Child’s Laughter?” 

Thom:  What?  It is!  It could have broken down somewhere else, but it broke down here-

Tim:  I don’t think so.  How about:  “Cat’s out of the bag!”

Thom:  So what’s interesting is that for you guys this place is just some place that we need to get out of, but I have complete orientation to my surroundings, I have memories attached to everything-

Tom:  No, it’s too goofy.  How about:  “A Battle For Time Itself.”

Thom:  Guys!  Listen to me!  Do you realize, that I know this Gazebo?

Tom:  You know this Gazebo?

Tim:  Are you and the Gazebo close? 

Tom:  Does the Gazebo have a friend you could introduce me to? 

Thom:  Stop trying to drown me in arbitrariness!

Tom:  Are you having some sort of nervous breakdown? 

Thom:  No, I was just thinking that when I was a child I had a lot more confidence in people.  Now I have confidence in a person, but I used to have confidence in people.  I think I hate people.  I think this job trained me to hate people.  We have to kind of lump everyone into this great awful mass and then try to manipulate the mass, so we have to boil all of human existence down to its basest elements, the most widely shared traits, and those are always the most degenerate, negative traits.  We treat people like hideous perverted monsters.  Even the idea of manipulating people elevates us to this sort of supra-human status. 

Tom:  False.  The first rule of advertising is that you’re not better than anyone just because you know how to manipulate, because with the power to manipulate comes the knowledge of how easily and how often you yourself are manipulated.  The one thing I know is that I don’t know anything. 

Thom:  Well what I’m saying is that we don’t give anyone any credit, and that’s the way it’s always been.  But what if we took it the other direction.  Gave people more credit.  Instead of blurring our definitions of people until all of them are the same, let’s focus our vision until the images get so sharp it seems like none of us are even the same species.  Let’s make the tagline so idiosyncratic and specialized that it could have been written to appeal to one person rather than everyone. 

Tim:  Why would we do that?

Thom:  Because it would be respectful.  It would be genuine, we wouldn’t need to trick people, we would say here’s what we got and here’s the best way we could present it and we hope you like it and people will see that we’re treating them like people and not demographics and they’ll make the journey with us, you know? 

Tom:  That is of course not going to work.

Thom:  Why not? 

Tom:  It sounds pretty.  It’s very idealistic.  It’s an adorable sentiment, and it is, of course, not going to work.    

Thom:  Opens his mouth to speak but the abrupt entrance of a man in a suit holding a paper bag and coffee cup causes him to cut himself off.  The man walks briskly towards the Gazebo and steps inside.  The gazebo is small enough that this is awkward. He sits down right in their midst and begins eating.  The three advertisers look at each other angrily.  This man has invaded their space and made them uncomfortable, and they do not quite know how to handle it.

Man:  Afternoon boys!   Havin a good old POWWOW are we?  Well don’t mind me, I’m just grabbing a seat and have my afternoon coffee and donut.  Long Pause

Man:  Oh, don’t mind me, you can just go on ahead doing whatever you were doing, don’t be shy. 

Thom: blankly We weren’t really talking about anything.

Man:  Well nothing’s as good a thing as any to talk about am I right!  Hahaha!  What a beautiful day we got here eh? 

Tim:  Yea. 

Man:  I tell ya!  Not a cloud in the sky!  This is the life eh boys?  Sun in the sky, donut in my hand, what more could you ask for am I right?

Tom:  Yea.

Man:  I can’t even tell you how much running around I have done today and how good it is to get off my feet, you know that feeling where all you do all day is run from place to place and you can feel your feet saying hey help us!  And there’s nothing you can do, and then finally that first time you sit down-Ahhhhhh. 

Thom:  Yea.

Man:  Say, what line of work you fellas in that you can just be hanging round a Gazebo in the middle of the day? 

Tom:  We’re ad men.  We make commercials, billboards, stuff like that. 

Man:  What a profession!  Bet you must know tons of tricks for getting money out of guys like me huh!  He laughs hard and the others laugh politely So what are you advertising right now? 

Thom:  We’re trying to come up with a slogan for a movie called “The Lock,”

Man:  “The Lock?”  Now what’s that about? 

Tim: It’s about a young woman who is hired as a nanny for these two aristocratic  children, a boy and a girl, who live out in a mansion in some foggy town somewhere, in like the late 1800’s, and it turns out that there is a box in the house with the power to make people immortal.  And an evil Baron tries to steal and use the box but he can’t open it because it’s got this giant magical lock on it that requires a special key.  And basically at the end of the movie it turns out that the little boy conjures the key with his mind because he’s part of some lineage of great warriors.  It’s kind of hard to explain. 

Man:  Wow.  Well- it certainly sounds like Imagination is Key in your movie eh?  He breaks out in another fit of laughter as the ad men look at each other wide eyed.  Lights down.  

Rejection

Lights up.  A booth in a Diner.  On one side sits a Girl, on the other side a Boy.  Both are just old enough to realize that soon they will be actual adults.  On the table are two glasses of water and two plates with the remnants of their meals.

Girl:  Yea, so I’m really failing this class.

Boy:  I don’t think you’re failing the class.

Girl:  Why’s that. 

Boy:  Well, I dunno, you’re smart and I’m sure you’re not actually dropping the ball as hard as you think you are, you aren’t really the type to completely fall apart.   

Girl:  Okay, maybe I’m not completely failing the class.  I am at best doing very poorly in this class.

Boy:  Sure, fine.  Hey Kris-I need to talk to you about something.

Girl: trying to pretend she doesn’t know what it is Yes?

Boy:  I…like you, or I have a crush on you-or whatever you want to call it.  I have feelings for you.  And…I dunno, yea.  I’ve been getting to know you a lot better recently and I really like you and I would like to…date you.  And I needed to tell you that. 

Girl:…Chris, I’m really sorry, but, I just don’t have those kinds of feelings for you, I really like you a lot- 

Boy:  Wait-Nevermind.  I’m sorry, nevermind.

Girl:  What? 

Boy:  I’m sorry, I realized that I accidentally thought I liked you and asked you out.  That’s totally my bad, forget I ever said anything.

Girl:  You realized that you “accidentally thought” you liked me? 

Boy:  Yea. 

Girl:  When?

Boy:  Right when you said you didn’t like me. 

Girl:  So right after I rejected you you decided you didn’t like me. 

Boy:  Well I realized that I didn’t ever really like you, I like the person that I imagined you to be -who, though no doubt almost exactly like you, would of course have reciprocal feelings for me.  So when you said you didn’t have a crush on me I realized that you weren’t actually the person I had a crush on, you were an extremely similar but crucially different person, and that the person I have a crush on actually does not exist.  I mean, no offense, I still think you’re cool, I’m not mad at you for not being the person I have a crush on.  But with regards to you rejecting me, no you of course did not reject me because I didn’t actually ask you out, I asked out the person that I had a crush on who does not exist, and so you rejected a proposal that was not actually intended for you.  Which is why I apologize for this awkward misunderstanding.  Extremely long pause.

Girl: calling him out.  That’s bullshit.

Boy:  What? 

Girl: That’s fucking bullshit dude, you know I rejected you. 

Boy:  Yea, but what I’m saying is: it doesn’t count. 

Girl: Of course it does.  You are engaging in the craziest ego-defense I have ever seen, and I refuse to allow it.

Boy:  Listen all I’m saying is that I wouldn’t have asked you out if I knew you didn’t like me, so really this is just a misunderstanding. 

Girl:  Chris, clearly you are trying to escape having to acknowledge the imbalance of power that occurs when someone admits to having feelings for someone else and those feelings aren’t mutual.  You admitted to me that I have a power over you that you don’t have over me, and I know it feels weird but come on now. 

Boy:  Well I just don’t think that I did relinquish power over myself because this was a case of mistaken identity.  If someone called your house, and it turned out they had a wrong number, you wouldn’t force them to have a conversation with you. 

Girl:  Okay, whether or not any of your ridiculous power-acrobatics have any legitimacy, here’s what it boils down to: Whether or not you “thought I was somebody else,” you asked me personally, and I said I don’t have feelings for you.  That’s a technical rejection, plain and simple, and whether or not you want to appeal is inconsequential. 

Boy:  Wait just a second.  Why are you so adamant about me recognizing that I’ve been rejected?  I put it to you that even though you accuse me of taking great measures to preserve my power over the situation, you are taking equally great measures to secure the feeling of power that comes with rejecting someone. 

Girl:  You’re saying that even though I have no malicious intent, the reason I’m still engaging in this argument is that I can’t pass up an opportunity to feel powerful?

Boy:  I doubt that anyone could. 

Girl:  Well I think you have a point. 

Boy:  So what are we going to do?  We can’t both have the power.

Girl:  I still think it’s pretty clear that I have the power. 

Boy: I refuse to accept this as fact. 

Girl:  And I refuse to accept your position as fact. 

Boy:  Then are we just going to sit in this booth arguing until the end of time? 

Girl:  Wow.  So you really have enough conviction, enough commitment to your beliefs, that you would be willing to sit here arguing your case indefinitely?  

Boy:  Absolutely.

Girl:  Wow….thinking…I never knew how strongly you cared about your ideas….you know…I didn’t think you really believed in anything, but now that I see you acting so passionately…..I don’t know…

Boy:  What are you saying? 

Girl:  I’m saying that maybe I made a mistake in rejecting you.  Silence.  The significance of this sentence hangs in the air.  I’m saying that maybe this whole argument means that you do have power over me.  I’m saying that…Chris, I do have a crush on you!  I do want to date you!  I’m sorry I thought I didn’t, I was blind! 

Boy:  You don’t need to apologize. 

Girl:  Chris, I want you to be my boyfriend! 

Boy:  Kris, I want you to be my girlfriend!  They are holding hands across the table.  She breathes excitedly.

Girl:  Wow…I can’t believe all that’s happened today.  She looks at Chris lovingly.  We’re Dating.   We’re finally dating.

Boy:  Enraptured. Yes.

Girl:  Chris?

Boy:  Yes?

Girl:  I think we should break up.

Boy: OH SHIT!!!

Girl: Throwing her arms in the air.   I WIN!!!

Lights Down.

The Joint Birthday Party

I have encountered a surprisingly large number of people in my lifetime whose dates of birth are within one or two days of mine.  This is not a big deal, nor does it imply any sort of deep spiritual connection, but when you learn that someone’s birthday is really close to yours you always kind of make a big show of how exciting it is.  It’s like how girls who have the same name always pretend to like each other a lot even though secretly they hate each other.  Maybe not exactly like that. 

At college, every time someone learns that we have consecutive or near-consecutive birthdays they always say the same thing:  

“We should have a joint birthday party!!”

No. 

We absolutely should not have a joint birthday party.  I’ll tell you why. 

I’m not being unfriendly, it is in your best interest that we not have a joint birthday party.  This is because I am a highly socially anxious person.  Generally at parties I stick close by the three or four people who I already know and try to place myself in a less crowded area.  You can often find me in the backyard.  Quite apart from that, I don’t actually have very many friends, in terms of numbers. If you and I were to have a joint birthday party really it would be you and your friends throwing the two of us a party.  You think that by celebrating both of our birthdays you will double the size of your party but in actuality I will be nothing more than an albatross hanging around your party’s neck.  This has happened once before. 

In my freshman year of college I had a joint birthday party with a girl named Jess, who lived in the same dorm and on the same floor as I did.  Her birthday was the 25^th, a Thursday, and mine was the 26^th, a Friday.  It was the fourth week of college and still the interval of time during which we were spending a lot of time around the kids in our dorm, and so this party occurred almost entirely because of the physical proximity of our living spaces.  In reality Jess and I didn’t like each other at all. 

She had already gone out into the great big social world of college and made some friends who lived in a different dorm, but I had not.  Instead, I had started dating a girl who lived two rooms down the hall from me during the very first week of classes and had made one friend, a guy who lived one room down the hall from me.

So when the party started ten or fifteen people showed up because they had met Jess and been invited, and my girlfriend and one friend both came out of their rooms and sat in the common room as usual.  Jess’s friends loved loud electronic music and I didn’t like being around them.  After half an hour of sitting on a couch alone while electro blasted I actually left my own party because I had no one to talk to.  My friend had already decided he hated it there and gone back to his room and my girlfriend was off dancing or something. 

I went back to my room and smoked pot and hung out listening to The Detachment Kit.  After a few minutes my girlfriend knocked on my door and came in and scolded me for being antisocial.  Then I went back to the common room and sat on the couch alone for another hour.  Then Jess’s friends sang the two of us Happy Birthday. 

What I’m trying to say is that it’s getting to be that time of year again and recently more people have been suggesting we have joint birthday parties.  Let me make clear that though I appreciate the sentiment, I swear to you that we will both have more fun if you just throw your own party and let me be nothing more than a guest.  There is no reason why my name should also be written on the cake.  Seriously guys, it’s not you; it’s me.

Love Ale.

Jet-Setter

When I was a young child I was something of a Jet-Setter. 

Ha ha, that is of course not true, what I mean to say is that between the ages of 0-12 my mother dragged me all over the globe to an array of exotic and culturally rich places, and I say dragged because you don’t TAKE your nine year old son to Venice, you DRAG him. 

I’m not exactly sure why she did this.  Not only is a young child totally unprepared for and unwilling to understand or appreciate the value of the natural wonders, museums, and landmarks to which he is exposed on his world travels, but-well, to put it gently, my parents and I sometimes found ourselves at odds with each other.

I remember when I was growing up that I rebelled against a whole lot of stupid and arbitrary shit just because I felt like my parents were trying to force it upon me.  So although my mother did me an enormous service by taking me to all these places my young self battled her the whole way, just because he sensed that something was expected of him. 

Most of my memories from these trips are of me bored in museums or unhappy at restaurants because I was a little kid and I didn’t care.  Or worse, me and my mother screaming at each other in an ironically picturesque location like the Parthenon or Macchu Pichu or some ridiculous place.  I didn’t understand how the world worked, I didn’t even know enough to be impressed by air travel, I had no concept of the value of intercontinental experiences, I was a little piece of shit basically, and I resisted and dragged my feet through the streets of Madrid, the halls of the Louvre, The Badlands, and so on.

I fought in the Coliseum.

GET IT? (hangs self)

Also, the first ten years of your life don’t exactly stick with you. In the years before my 12^th birthday I visited upwards of 6 different countries and even participated in a hiking trip of Greece when I was a fucking baby, and I of course barely remember any of it.

(I’m dead serious too, my mother and father carried my infant ass up and down mountains in Greece in one of those baby backpacks for two weeks.) 

It’s a little sad.  My mother expended all this money and effort, ostensibly to educate and enrich her son and his life, and I don’t feel myself any more culturally equipped or worldly, in fact I’m almost embarrassingly America-centric, which is ironic because my name is Alejandro (ugh).

But I was thinking about it, if there was any way in which I consider my extensive travels as a youngster to have influenced my life, and really there’s only one.  The only time I am reminded of my travels or make use of the knowledge I accrued from them in any way shape or form is when a conversation between my peers at college results in the revelation that several members of the group have never left the country.  Then, when it is revealed that I have been to many different countries and indeed three different continents, I am granted some sort of superficial vague elevation in status for a brief period of time.  It makes me seem cooler for no reason is what I’m saying. 

Then I was thinking that really the most valuable trait with which you can imbue a person my age is an arbitrary illusion of being “cool.” 

So thanks Mom.

Drunk Romantic

“Ugh.  I feel like shit.  Rockrockrockrockrock.  Don’t get sick.  Too crowded, too cramped.  What stop is this?  Oh god I’m spinning oh god I’m spinning oh god I’m spinning okay okay okay okay.  Where am I.  Chambers.  Okay.  Chambers, Park, Fulton, Wall, Clark, Borough Hall, Hoyt……uh….Nevins, Atlantic, Bergen, Grand Army.  Ten more.  I have a book, I could read it, no I couldn’t that’s ridiculous.  I can’t even look up at the lights. 

Michelle. 

Michellemichellemichellemichellemichellemichellemichelle-DON’T THINK ABOUT MICHELLE, DON’T THINK ABOUT MICHELLE.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.  I hate myself, I’m such an idiot.  Don’t think about Michelle.  God I’m so miserable.  Don’t get sick.  Don’t think that, that’s how people get sick.  Ha ha, don’t think about anything, don’t think about getting sick, don’t think about Michelle, ha ha.  What should I think about?  I can never place, the name with the, face- da nuh nah nuh, duh nah nahnah  nuh nuh….God Michelle looked so gorgeous tonight.  I can’t believe I lost her….Fuck, don’t think about Michelle.  I should have been talking to other girls tonight instead of just following her around, fuck I must have looked like such a bitch tonight.  I’m so humiliated.  I’m so drunk, Jesus Christ.  Okay, just make it outside, then you can throw up everywhere, just make it outside….”

At 3:18 AM the 2 train sped into the Park Place Subway station and after a series of jerks, clicks, and whooshes the doors opened and the automated recording started playing. 

“This is, a Brooklyn-Bound 2 train.  The next stop is, Fulton Street….”

George and Lisa stepped in and sat down on an empty bench at the end of the car, across from a young man who looked about George’s age and was hunched over with his head in his hands.  The two had been dating for so long that they were frowning in the exact same way, even though each was frowning out of anger at the other.  Having just left a party in the Silver Towers and walked downtown fighting for the last half hour they were now going home to their apartment to fight some more.  However, they refused to fight in such a public space as a subway car, so they were giving each other the silent treatment and angrily reading the ads lining the ceiling.  Though technically over a shrimp-based misunderstanding, the argument was really rooted in a previously existing issue of respect, specifically Lisa’s belief that George did not respect her as he should.  After some more clicks and whooshes the doors had closed and the train was moving again.

 “Nothing happened.  Nothing FUCKING happened, I didn’t do anything, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING.  I don’t know, I don’t wanna think about this, why am I thinking about this.  How do you just change the way you feel about someone?  Am I that worthless, that someone could date me for six months and get sick of me?  What was going on with her and Jerry tonight?  They were flirting like right in front of my face.  Oh god.  Oh god.  I can’t think about that, I can’t even deal with that.  Fuck, why did I do this to myself.  I’m so fucked up.  Don’t get sick.  Shit.  Jerry and Michelle.  FUCK.  Stop, stop it, stop thinking about it.  Spinspinspinspinspinspin.  Ugh, I can’t take this rocking.  I don’t know if I’m going to make it.  I have to make it.  I probably already look really stupid all curled up like this.  I look like every too-drunk asshole I’ve ever seen throw up on the subway, it can’t go down like this.  I lost track, that’s what happened.  I lost track of how much I drank and started paying too much attention to Jerry and Michelle.  I can’t believe this happened.  I didn’t do anything wrong.  Did I?”

The train rounded a particularly abrupt turn, throwing every passenger to the right, but Lisa tensed up her body and held stiff as a board to avoid being pushed against George.  It wasn’t about the shrimp.  At this point it wasn’t even about the fact that George hadn’t understood that it wasn’t about the shrimp.  It was that George wouldn’t afford her the right to be angry with him unless he understood exactly why and acknowledged the given reason as valid.  On many occasions, Lisa vividly recalled having no idea why her behavior had angered George, but nevertheless had sincerely apologized for offending him and promised to stop.  In her eyes, you shouldn’t have to “understand” any more about why the one you love is angry than that it is a result of your behavior to want to change your behavior.  If George didn’t also feel this way, well, that was a serious problem.

She looked at the man sitting across from her.  His arms covered his face but she could see that he had short brown hair and was about as big as George.  Why was he hunched over like that?  Was he sick?  Drunk?  Lisa looked towards some nearby passengers, hoping to either be reinforced in or assuaged of her concern, but she received no return glances.  People are getting better and better at pretending they aren’t in public.  Some slept; others read.  At the opposite end of the car a more harmonious couple expressed themselves physically.  Maybe having an argument on the subway wasn’t such a faux pas. Lisa briefly considered turning back to George and commencing to berate him.  No, she couldn’t do that because it had been her suggestion that they pause the argument while on the train in the first place.  It was all just so frustrating.  She glared angrily up at the smiling face of Ray Romano.

“IdonknowIdonknowIdonknow maybe I did, maybe it was me maybe I didn’t see what it was until it was too late, maybe I could have done something.  Oh God.  What if I could have done something.  What if other people saw it and I didn’t.  Jerry.  What if Jerry saw it and I didn’t.  What am I talking about, do I even know that anything is going on with them?  Fuck, ahhhh I hate my brain, I hate what it’s doing.  I need to see what stop this is.  I need to sit up.  Okayokayokayokayokayokay.  Okay.  We’re going to sit up comeocomeoncomeoncomeonOKAY!….Oh jesus it’s bright and I’m spinning, I don’t know about this, this is too much, no come on, come on just lean back just prop yourself up.  Okay just stare straight forward.  Don’t spin.  Don’t spin.  Stop spinning.  Fuck.  A young couple.  Fuck you too.  Wait.  I’ve seen that look before.  Oh shit, they’re FURIOUS at each other!  Look at them!  They’re just stewing in themselves!  Ha ha ha, this is excellent, fuck you assholes, I’m glad.  I’m glad someone else’s life is falling apart too.  Wait.  Where have I seen that look before?  Why do I feel like I know that look?  OH MY GOD I USED TO SEE THAT LOOK ON MICHELLE’S FACE ALL THE TIME.  Look at the dude.  Does this guy look like me?  No, I must be projecting.  He does kind of look like me, especially when he’s making that face.  That’s the same face I’ve made hundreds of times.  How did I not recognize the-oh no I feel so sick, I shouldn’t have sat up, this is terrible, oh god my stomachohgod…..okay.  Okay.  Everyone around me could probably see that Michelle and I were in trouble before I could.  These two are sitting here with murder in their faces and they don’t even know the danger they’re in-

Oh shit.

I HAVE TO SAVE THIS RELATIONSHIP.”

George and Lisa could barely conceal their surprise at the fact that the man whose face had been hidden bore an uncanny resemblance to George. In their desire to acknowledge this likeness the couple turned towards one another but upon making eye contact both felt angry with themselves for deserting their principles and hastily looked forward again. The man leaned heavily against the wall, gripping the metal pole at end of his bench tightly, as if he was afraid he might fall bodily out of his seat.  His eyes were rolling around in his head and he was visibly soaked in sweat.

“This is, a Brooklyn-Bound 2 Train.  The next stop is, Hoyt St.  Stand clear of the closing doors please.” 

As the two realized their ride was about half over they began to wonder how the argument would be resumed once out in the open air.  Would they simply step out of the train car and immediately begin shouting again?  Did the truce remain in effect until they were back in their apartment?  Is it even possible to continue an argument with its original intensity after a 30 minute cooling off period?  Of course not.  They would go home and neither of them would have enough fight left in them to do anything but make up, even though the issue wouldn’t be resolved and they would still be angry with each other.  Thinking over this unpleasant truth made them even angrier at themselves for once again lacking the courage to confront the real issues of their relationship.  George and Lisa did think very similarly and, having separately come to the same conclusion, they now separately chose to take the same course of action, namely frowning even more and allowing themselves to absolutely seethe with rage at one another, each hoping to become angry enough to do what neither would end up doing. 

“Okay I have no idea when these two are gonna get off I’ve gotta do something quick.  Shit, I’m so sick.  Come on, use this to distract yourself, we’re gonna save these two.  Can I just get up and talk to them?  What would I say?  I’m way too drunk, they’d probably be grossed out.  I wish I knew what they were fighting about.  What can I do without talking?  I could hit on the girl.  What would that do?  Well, the guy would be like, hey, that’s my girlfriend.  No, that wouldn’t make them less angry at each other.  Spinspinspinspinspinspinspin.  Could I give them something meaningful?  Do I have anything on me?  What would Michelle want me to do for her?  What is it, Atlantic already?  I’ve got to do something quick.  Shit, I’m way too sick, my body can tell we’re getting closer to the time when I’ll allow it to throw up and it’s letting down its guard.  This is really bad.  Wait a second. 

Oh my god. 

I’m going to throw up on her. 

That’s it!  I’m going to get up and point myself right at her and throw up as hard as I can, and this guy is going to dive in front of her like a fucking secret service agent taking a bullet for the President and allow himself get covered in puke, and the two of them will realize how much they love each other.  It’s the exact thing they need right now, is a spontaneous act of devotion.  No matter what they were arguing about it all comes down to real love, and that’s real love right there.  I’m going to override the shit out of this argument.  I’m so excited.  I wish someone had done this for me and Michelle.  Okay, you don’t have to hold back anymore.  Here we go…”

Suddenly, the man sitting across from Lisa and George (whose name was Frank) shot up like a puppet being lifted too fast, swinging his limbs around and bouncing up and down on his strings.  He looked wildly about the train car as if he didn’t know where he was, then took two great staggers straight for their bench, simultaneously beginning to heave.

Okay, it’s important to keep in mind that everything I’m about to describe happened in less than five seconds, and much of it simultaneously.  I’m going to try to get all of it. 

First of all, George, displaying an unprecedented reaction time, managed to completely remove himself from the area almost instantly, and not a moment too soon, as Frank had just barely missed him.  Lisa was only a little bit slower to react than George but because there was a wall to her left she stood up directly into the path of Frank’s vomit, actually increasing the extent to which it managed to cover her.  She was struck directly on the center of the chest, the splash hit her bare shoulders and neck and the bulk of it ran all the way down her golden yellow dress to fall onto her airy sandals and feet. 

Unfortunately, Frank hadn’t considered the possibility that Lisa was the type of squeamish person who was made so uncomfortable by the sight of vomit that she couldn’t help but vomit herself.  Immediately upon realizing what was happening she uttered a cry of horror and threw up all over Frank, who was still throwing up.  As the two of them threw up on each other it turned out that another of George and Lisa’s many similarities was their aversion to the sight of vomit.  So George, although he was several feet removed from that action by this time, also threw up, on himself.    

The 20 or so other passengers in the train car were horrified.  Everyone hurriedly got up and made for the opposite door, uttering cries of disbelief or terror.  The event that had occurred was treated as if it was some unholy magical phenomenon, the reaction one would expect if a demon had suddenly materialized in one end of the car.

The three young people were frozen by their surprise in the immediately ensuing moment of silence.  One assumes that George and Lisa would have had at the very least some harsh words for Frank had he not suddenly pointed at the gound and screamed,

“Look!”

Almost miraculously, all of the vomit on the floor of the train was slowly moving, as if guided by some unseen force, and collecting in a growing puddle at a spot on the floor that was equidistant from our three heroes, marking the center of a triangle that they happened to be standing at the points of.  It seemed like somehow the vomit on the floor was trying to relay a message to them, trying to get their attention.  Really there was a dip in the floor at that particular spot, and pretty much anything you spilled that was capable of movement would have moved towards it.

And then something wonderful happened.  The three points of the triangle gazed down at their creation and each managed to conjure and project an image of great personal significance into the shapeless blob.

Frank decided that the vomit looked exactly like a heart with a great fault running through the middle, one that was only just beginning to pull apart.  This was a clear representation of the relationship he was trying to save, how it had been allowed to deteriorate to the point of actually losing structural integrity.  Before they knew it, Lisa and George would be two halves, still dating and pretending nothing was wrong, but with no joy, no future.  Nothing to do but wait for the big one.  Frank knew that once the couple saw this broken heart they would realize the path they were on and commit to working though their difficulties.

Lisa saw the vomit take the shape of a vague rectangle, and upon closer inspection she realized that she was looking at the façade of an old Brownstone, probably from somewhere in Brooklyn.  Suddenly it became clear to her that the Brownstone belonged to her Aunt Carol, who had recently died.  Aunt Carol had never gotten married, and had always been very vocal about how no man had ever treated her as well as she deserved and she respected herself too much to settle.  Eventually, after waiting her whole life for the right man, she died alone.  Rather than being remembered as she had hoped, as a strong, principled woman, Carol was regarded in Lisa’s family as an example of someone’s pride getting in the way of her happiness, an idealistic but ultimately misguided human being.  Lisa, though she also insisted on certain standards of treatment from others and considered this a virtue, sometimes worried that her high sense of self-worth bordered on stubbornness, and in her refusal to allow a resolution of the conflict unless it was on her terms she saw flashes of her lonely Aunt.  Normally she would have shrugged this off as mere insecurity and held firm that she was in the right, but the given circumstances seemed more than coincidental.  She was convinced that some force, spiritual or otherwise, was trying to tell her to overcome her anger at George.  It just wasn’t worth it. 

As George looked into the puddle he saw the face of his most recent ex.  She had complained of similar problems in their relationship, problems which George had afforded no legitimacy.  Suddenly faced with Gretta’s likeness (her name was Gretta), he was surprised that he could have neglected to realize that his current relationship was travelling along an arc parallel to the one travelled by his previous relationship.  It was time to take a long, hard look at his behavior, and maybe make some changes based on what he found.  If both Gretta and Lisa felt the same way about the way he was treating them, they could have a point.  Upon reflection, George found himself squarely in the wrong with regard to the shrimp incident.  He looked up to Lisa with the clear intention of apologizing profusely and begging her forgiveness, but she was giving him the same imploring expression.  The two flew to each other and leapt into each other’s arms as if they had just been reunited after a separation, the vomit on their clothes rubbing against itself and mixing together in a fashion analogous to their love. 

Frank, the architect of this harmonious occurrence, watched enraptured, happy to have performed his function.  When the two lovers finally became aware of his presence once more, they inducted him joyously into their embrace.  They were a heartwarming sight, each thanking the others profusely for this enlightening experience, overcome by happiness, completely unfazed by the fact of being covered in filth.

“This is, a Brooklyn Bound 2 Train.  The Next stop is Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn Museum.”

Grand Army Plaza turned out to be both Frank’s and the couple’s stop.  With linked arms the three stepped onto the platform and glided serenely up the stairs.  They walked in blissful silence halfway around the circle to Grand Army Plaza, where they paused, having realized they were pulling in different directions.  It turned out that Frank lived on a different side of Prospect Park from the couple.  With copious thank-yous and vague spiritual allusions George and Lisa bid Frank a sincere and heartfelt goodbye that ended up reducing all of them to tears.  They parted ways, each confident that this night would be remembered as a turning point in their lives.

But of course it wasn’t.  Frank awoke the next morning still alone and tormented by the memories of his lost love.  George and Lisa found that none of their relationship problems had been fixed, they still couldn’t communicate well, and they broke up before the month was up. 

And they all felt pretty stupid about the whole thing.