The Truth Channel

Two people sit, gazing forward. Lights on their faces reveal they’re watching TV.

NARRATOR

S and T are nearing the end of their viewing of S’s decision to commit adultery two years ago, which has caused the expected degree of turmoil in their relationship for the past nineteen months since T learned of the infidelity. They commissioned a Truth Channel reveal-all from China to the tune of $4,017 US Dollars because they are hoping to reconstruct the past accurately in order to reconcile their divergent memories of the events leading up to the offense, and thereby come to terms with each person’s actual contribution. But as it is with everything, each will remember today differently, highlighting some instances and erasing others to shape the memory in service of a particular goal. S will remember this as the day T refused to accept reality. T will remember it as the day began to justify instead of merely seeking excuse. Now, they will stow the footage in the back of the linen closet where it will remain for four months, until (checking watch) right now.

A Documentary

This week, I bring you live footage from my life, which can be described as follows:


1. I live alone. 


2. I don't wear shoes inside. 


3. I don't watch TV except for "The Bachelor(ette)." I wish this were a lie; it's not. 


4. I don't own a stereo or speakers, so any music I want to hear I must listen to through my Macbook. The laptop is so old, it's warped--literally. It does not sit flat. I can't hear the sound it makes unless it's in my lap, but when it's in my lap, it overheats. As a result, I don't listen to music. 


HOWEVER:


5. I am very clumsy. I drop things of all sorts constantly, all day long. This is an important note.


6. I sometimes talk to myself and/or sing made-up songs to myself. And I sometimes talk to other people (shocking, I know)--and not even just in person. I talk to other people on the phone, or even over my computer. It's not easy to admit... but it's the truth.


On Sunday, I awoke to an envelope slid neatly under my door. Inside was a three-page handwritten letter, reproduced verbatim (including punctuation) below.

...


October 1st 


Dear Miss, 


I live in the apartment below you. We met a couple of times. I'm writing to you about the noise level created by your activities. They produce an unacceptable and constant high-level of noise not permissible in a residential building: 


1. There are constant droppings of hard materials on the floor in both rooms. 


2. The activities can take place at any time of day or night. A couple of weeks ago, on a Friday night, you were producing noise at 3 AM. 


3. Since you are obviously involved in some sort of construction work, you constantly walk back and forth. Since your walking style is very energetic and loud, it is very disturbing. It is also often accompanied with loud voiced conversations at any time of day or night. 


Consequently: 


1. You wake me up in the bedroom area either because you drop objects, you walk, or have a loud conversation. 


2. You disturb my own work. Since I am a writer, I need a quiet atmosphere. 


3. I am starting to suffer from headaches and various problems because of the lack of sleep this situation has crated. My pet cat turns aggressive when you drop stuff on the floor. 


This situation is not consistent with standard housing noise regulations. I would like you to remedy this problem. Appropriate shoes and  carpeting might be a start. 


Thank you in advance for considering this egregious problem, 


[His name]

... 

There you have it, friends. My favorite part of this letter is how much more social and active it makes me sound than I really am. (Friday night 3 AM noises? Come on!)

In reality, my clumsiness (and perhaps a little bit of my hominid-ness with a dash of my quirkiness) has finally caught up with me. And as for the loud walking? Interestingly, a man in an airport also once told me I walk loudly. I'm not sure what's weirder--that anyone ever told me this, or that two people now have. I could work on it, I suppose. But I am also trying to do some other things at the moment, like maintain close relationships over long distances, launch a writing career, keep a healthy life financially, emotionally, and spiritually, and avoid oncoming cars. But I will try. 

Walking more quietly, Day 1, 


Mary

The Many Uses of a Belt!

We enter on some kind of class or workshop. A group of three (who don't know each other well) sits brainstorming the uses of a belt. We don’t realize of course that this is what they are doing. They take turns offering suggestions. One records. Doesn’t matter who says what.

Hang yourself.

Hang each other.

A leash.

Hold up your pants.

Fashion.

Foreplay.

Climbing.

Spanking.

Isn’t that like foreplay?

No, it could be punishment, too.

Oh, right.

Trip someone.

Split open coconuts.

Contain melons.

Calendar.

Count holes for weight loss.

Drag something.

Pull something.

Isn’t that the same.

Not really.

Sure, okay.

Tourniquet.

Whip.

Jump rope.

Climbing.

Did you say that already?

She said that, yeah.

INSTRUCTOR

TIME! How many did you get?

GROUP SPOKESPERSON

Forty-one.

INSTRUCTOR

Fantastic! Are they all different?

GROUP SPOKESPERSON

Some are kind of similar. Like pulling and dragging.

INSTRUCTOR

Are they though?

GROUP SPOKESPERSON

I guess you face different ways.

INSTRUCTOR

YOU FACE DIFFERENT WAYS. (Beat.) If a belt has forty-one possible lives, and it’s only a belt, what does that mean for you? Are you pulling or dragging?

GUY

I’m spanking.

INSTRUCTOR

What life will you choose for yourself?

True, True Love

Piccsy.com

WOMAN 1

WOMAN 2

WOMAN 1

(to Woman 2)

To separate one’s love for another from the need to be loved in return. That’s real. That’s true.

When you truly love, being loved back doesn’t feel necessary or urgent, or even all that important. It just feels like a wonderful gift. Like… a hot bath, or a majestic view. A warm beverage walking through a quaint European town packed with tiny lights at the bottom of winter. Crisp white wine on a spring day after a brisk run. Yoga in the fall, a soft breeze lifting the pale yellow curtain across the slick hardwood floor. The curtain drags the sunlight in patches so alive, you gasp. A bite of cold chocolate. A nice mattress.

(Woman 2 exits.)

WOMAN 1

(after her)

The smooth ink of a fine point pen on a creamy page. A well-worn pair of leather boots, freshly shined. A lone trombone echoing through the subway on a Tuesday night. A prayer on guitar—

(Woman 2 returns with a guitar, which she uses to smash Woman 1 in the face.)

The Deacon and Ms. D

HERMAN

PATRICE

MS. DAVIS

Herman sits quietly on a bench outdoors. He is wearing a black suit and tie. He has a red flower pinned to his left lapel. On the other, he wears a plastic tag that reads “DEACON.” His hands are folded in his lap. He is enormous. A van pulls up. The side of the van reads, GOD IS SAVIOR BAPTIST CHURCH. Herman stands to greet it. Patrice sticks her head out the driver’s window as the van flies by.

PATRICE

Herman! The van won’t stop!

(The van disappears. Herman looks around, not sure what to do. Eventually he sits. The van appears again, and Herman leaps to his feet.)

PATRICE

(out the window again)

The brakes aren’t working!

(The van disappears again. This time when it arrives, he’s ready for it.)

HERMAN

(yells, his whole body shaking)

Pull the emergency brake!

(The van screeches to a halt.)

PATRICE

(from the driver’s window)

Ms. Davis is going to have a heart attack if you don’t get her out of this van A-S-A-P.

(Inside the van, a sprout of white hair barely peeks over the window frame. This passenger is a tiny old woman, we can tell. Herman slides the van door open.)

HERMAN

How’re you doing Ms. D?

MS. DAVIS

(with shocking volume and vitriol)

GET ME OUTTA THIS DEATH MACHINE!

HERMAN

Yes ma’am, I’m going to right now.

MS. DAVIS

The church can’t send a car that works to get me!

HERMAN

I’m sure we had no idea of course. We’ll have to get those fixed, Ms. D.

MS. DAVIS

I TITHE!

HERMAN

I know you do. And God is grateful.

MS. DAVIS

I HAVE FOR 89 YEARS!

HERMAN

(placing his arms on Ms. Davis)

Yes ma’am. Ready? One, two, three, up!

(He heaves Ms. Davis onto her feet. She is hardly any taller than she was before.)

HERMAN

My way!

(Ms. Davis shifts her weight one direction.)

HERMAN

Your way!

(Ms. Davis shifts her weight the other direction—she is turning so that her back is facing Herman, and she’s facing away from the van door.)

HERMAN

My way!

(Ms. Davis shifts her weight the other direction, turning.)

HERMAN

Your way!

(Ms. Davis shifts her weight the other direction, turning.)

HERMAN

(slides his arms under her armpits)

Foot!

MS. DAVIS

Is the footstool there?

HERMAN

It’s there! Foot!

MS. DAVIS

I’M NOT READY YET! (Beat.) Ready.

HERMAN

FOOT!

(Ms. Davis lifts one foot.)

HERMAN

Lean!

(Ms. Davis falls back and yells as Herman catches her and gently swings her around and onto the ground. She composes herself.)

MS. DAVIS

Herman, you may pass the plate by me today and tell the preacher Ms. D is not tithing for the first Sunday in 89 years. I know that’s about 70 years before he was born. And I won’t start back until the church learns to respect its elders again.

HERMAN

Alright ma’am, I’ll pass that on. Ready?

(Ms. Herman nods. He slides his arms back under hers, lifts her and carries her offstage. Patrice follows.)

Vanity Plate

Sandboxworld.com

DMV EMPLOYEE.

MAN.

The DMV. The Present.

DMV EMPLOYEE

Custom plates are an additional $25 depending on availability. You are not guaranteed your first choice and must submit up to three choices.

MAN

I have to submit three? Or no more than three?

DMV EMPLOYEE

Up to three.

MAN

So I can submit one?

DMV EMPLOYEE

No. Three. You will fill out form MV-96 at the requisite time. Do you have any questions?

MAN

Is the requisite time now?

DMV EMPLOYEE

No.

MAN

Okay, when—

DMV EMPLOYEE

Now is when you tell me your choices and I see if they’re available and then you’ll fill out the form. Normally we don’t do it like this but there’s no line this morning so I’m going to help you out.

MAN

Thank you.

DMV EMPLOYEE

You may choose up to eight characters for your personalized plate. What is your first choice, which may I remind you, you are not guaranteed to receive?

MAN

Forgive me.

DMV EMPLOYEE

(after waiting several seconds)

What?

MAN

That’s what I would like on my plate. Forgive me.

DMV EMPLOYEE

Sir, the limit is eight characters. Please pay attention.

MAN

What if the “for” is the number four. The number four, give, space, me. That’s eight.

DMV EMPLOYEE

(typing into the computer)

Taken. So is 4giveMe with no space. You can still get 4giveYou, 4giveUs, or 4giveme with a three as the “e.” So it’s backwards but it still looks like 4giveme.

(She writes it on a piece of paper for him. He reads it.)

MAN

That just looks like Forgive “em three” to me.

DMV EMPLOYEE

Raymond! We’ll see what Raymond thinks.

MAN

How about just 4giveDP?

DMV EMPLOYEE

Who’s DP? Oh, your initials? (She types into the computer.) Available. Sure?

MAN

That’s fine.

DMV EMPLOYEE

We will need check or cash for $25, and here is form MV-96…

On the Commute

MAN

BOY

SCENE 1: A subway station.

A man stands before the metro card machine. A boy waits behind him impatiently. The man opens a birthday card and removes a crisp twenty-dollar bill from it. He holds it in one hand while punching a few buttons on the metro card machine with the other. Just as he starts to slip it into the machine, the boy stops him.

BOY

Wait…

(The boy pulls a crumpled twenty from his wallet and holds it out to the man. The man stares at him.)

You can’t buy a metro card with… birthday money.

MAN

(holding up the greeting card)

Father’s Day.

BOY

That’s got to be bad luck or something. Just… please.

(The man takes the twenty, buys a metro card, and slips the crisp bill back into the card. He proceeds to the turnstile without saying thank you. The train arrives and he boards it before the boy has purchased his own metro card.)

BOY

(yelling after the train has left the station)

You’re welcome!

SCENE 2: The next day. Same station.

The man again stands in front of the card machine, punching in numbers. The boy enters. The man retrieves the same birthday card and removes the crisp twenty-dollar bill from it.

BOY

What are you doing?

MAN

What does it look like I’m doing?

BOY

I bought you a card yesterday.

MAN

I lost it.

(They stand there looking at each other.)

MAN

Do you want to buy me another one?

BOY

No I don’t want to buy you another one!

(The man shrugs, slips the twenty into the machine, and proceeds through the turnstile. The boy follows him. They stand in silence for several beats. The boy takes out a fresh looking copy of The Road and opens it to an earmarked page somewhere in the middle.)

BOY

You could say thank you.

MAN

Thank you. (Beat.) Like that book?

BOY

It’s amazing. (Beat.) You read Kerouac?

MAN

Nah.

BOY

You should read this. It’s good.

MAN

Read it already.

BOY

You said you didn’t know Kerouac.

MAN

He didn’t write that.

(The boy looks at the cover sheepishly. The train arrives.)

SCENE 3: The next day. The station.

The boy arrives on the subway platform. He stands reading his book. The man arrives, pulls a used copy of On the Road from his pocket and hands it to the boy.

BOY

Thanks.