Creative Writing Archive

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Mr. Speedy, X-ray Orderly
The Candidate Responds
Poem: "Kelso"
Play: "Overheard"
Debris  

Mr. Speedy, X-ray Orderly

This is Mark's journal entry from his experience at Taipei Veterans' General Hospital the night before going in for surgery.

X-ray orderly shows up. Speaks no English. We agree that I am the guy on his sheet of paper. He mimes taking  a picture and motions for me to follow. He has candy-striped pink & white glasses.

He takes off down the hallway. A tall guy dressed in the same standard-issue outfit (blue for guys, pink for girls) seems to have been corralled as well. We follow Mr. Speedy down the hall to the elevators. Mr Speedy squeezes us into a crowd that's getting into that little lift. We go to down to the first floor and follow him left? No, right. Ok. Mr. Speedy squeezes between the wall and a moving gurney and takes off, leaving Tall Guy and me stuck in traffic.

We catch up with him at the counter. He says sit. We sit. A nice young lady with a quizzical expression is relieved when I say my Chinese name. Now her piece of paper makes sense!

A young guy in a lab coat helps me stand--no, not that way, the other way--for the X-ray. It's all done in a second.

Mr. Speedy says sit. I sit. Mr. Speedy says let's go. Tall Guy and I follow him right, no, left, to a different elevator.

The doors open. The elevator is a construction zone. We get in anyway. A lady who seemed to be waiting to get in doesn't get in. The doors close. The doors open. The waiting lady gingerly gets into the elevator. The doors close.

The lady pushes floor #7. Nothing.

Mr. Speedy pushes floor #7, wiggling his finger a little bit as he does so. Ah, now the number 7 is lit.

We go up. The lady gets off at the 7th floor. The doors close. We proceed to the 10th floor. Mr. Speedy breezes down the hallway. It looks familiar. Hey, this is General Surgery! We're back!

I guess...yeah, we're done.

Tall Guy and I find our way back to our rooms.

 

The Candidate Responds

Since 2012 is an election year, I thought I'd post a rambling I did after being on an airplane for 20+ hours and finding myself jet-lagged in a Nike conference room somewhere in Asia.  --Mark

(more art here)

I’m glad you asked that because I think it’s important that we talk about these things. Things like this need to be talked about and that’s what we’re here for. Issues of this nature are controversial because they inspire differing opinions on one or more sides, and it’s this very thing that I want to talk about today. We must define it clearly, completely, and in-depth.

And then we must take action. Now. I’m not talking tomorrow or next week. I’m talking now. My staff and I have put our heads together already and looked very seriously at the option of setting up a committee with the expressed purpose of quantifying our discussion readiness potential.

And right now I challenge all of you to prepare yourselves with an awareness and a realization. The things of which I speak today are not trivial minutia to be swept under the rug as my opponent is clearly capable of doing, but real, fundamentally basic, and essential to the very core of the periphery. I’m not just talking about the fringe here. I’m talking about the boundaries, the limits of the envelope, the ragged, tattered and bleeding edge of the furthest reaches of the extension options.

Ask yourselves whom you can count on to lead this kind of exploratory consideration. Ask yourselves to whom you would grant the power to generate clarity around the vagueness in which we find ourselves so deeply and inextricably mired. Would it be my opponent? Until now, he has not rescinded a single misstatement either for or against even the slightest hint of what we’re so boldly proposing.

And I would ask you frankly: what gives him the right to either overtly or covertly derail this steam engine of an agenda that we’re considering proposing not just to this community, but to this nation, and by virtue of that irrefutable fact, to the whole world?

My friends, fellow companions, colleagues, patriots and compatriots. I call you this not just because our addresses are adjacent in some clinically dispassionate series of sequential identifiers leading almost contiguously one to another. The home and hearth where we cradle our children, feed our souls and rest our weary bones does not even approximate the nearness and dearness of those who, though separated by vast geological distances, and even the yawning chasm of diverse and varied ideologies, can solemnly and thoughtfully ruminate on the paradoxes surrounding all discussions of individuality, unity, and the interconnectedness that binds us all, whether in the comfort of our own homes, on the mean streets of our inner cities, in the general milieu of the marketplace or in that still, small, quiet place where the tiniest action can cause a ripple that radiates and expands unceasingly to the ends of the earth.

I’m not suggesting that you ignore my opponent, nor am I suggesting that the things we have spoken of today are the only issues of deep consequence to be explored. Far from it. There are many others too numerous to count.

All I am asking is that you consider the implications of making a foolish commitment to one whose most striking feature is the absence of a repeated denial versus investing in a future filled with limitless possibilities, boundless growth potential, and the opportunity to start at the beginning of the beginning, at the inception of the creation, and be present at the termination of the final completion.

Thank you and good night.

 Poem: Kelso

by Mark Ivan Cole

The mist of dawn,
The rippling river,
Warm sun on leaves of gold,
Music,
Laughter, hope,
New wine
And long-awaited dreams—

The day is my fortune,
Vast beyond measure,
Treasured and guarded
Close to my heart.

And in the evening,
First kisses still warm,
You sail with me
Far into the blue.

In your eyes, my reflection
Gleams as never before.

The stars recall.
The sun remembers.
The river runs ceaselessly round the bend,
Still whispering thoughts of you, of me,
Of us.

 

Overheard 竊聽

A Play in One Act

by Mark Ivan Cole

SCENE ONE

The scene opens to stage that is completely empty except for a park bench sitting in the very center facing the audience.

RHONDA approaches from Stage Right, sits down quickly on the right end of the bench and agitatedly digs into her purse for her cell phone. After viciously punching the numbers, she holds the phone to her ear.

RHONDA: Hi, Minnie, it’s Rhonda.

Yes! I did!

No, it did not go well.

Of course it didn’t go well! He’s such a jerk. He did exactly as you said he would.

Yes!

So we ate at the Bistro again, like I told you.

A salad. I always have a salad.

Well, they’ve got good salads, but I didn’t eat much this time.

No, but he’s just wolfing it down like his steak is the most important thing in the world and he can’t wait to eat it and get out of there.

So I finally told him I’d had enough, that it’s either her or me, and he—

I WISH! No, he didn’t choke, he just gave me this pained puppy-dog look and told me he couldn’t live without me.

Exactly, so I said: “Then don’t!” And he says “You want me to kill myself?” and I said, “No, I just want you to live with ME and not with HER.” And he goes into this whole thing about how if I really understood him and if I really cared, I wouldn’t put him in this position and things are really difficult right now and—

[During this section, PAUL enters slowly from Stage Left, holding the phone with an earpiece in his ear. He has a look a bemused concern on his face.]

PAUL: Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad!

RHONDA: YES, it WAS! It was the same damn thing all over again!

PAUL: He makes messes all the time. We have to put up with this behavior every time he gets stressed out over anything.
RHONDA: Yeah, but this time it was, like, to the Nth degree! I think he knew I meant it this time.

PAUL: No. I don’t think so. It wasn’t so bad a few years ago, no. Come on…

RHONDA: And I was just finally too tired of it to care anymore.

PAUL sits slowly on the left end of the bench, not so bemused now.

PAUL: So what are you saying?

RHONDA: I told him right there that he had to make up his mind, and if he didn’t, I would make it up for him.

PAUL: Come on, he’s just not himself these days. I think it’s the diet. We could put him back on that more expensive stuff for awhile. He seemed to like it before.

RHONDA: No, he didn’t like that at all.

PAUL: Ok, so we could try something else. More exercise maybe. He doesn’t get out much since we’ve been so busy.

RHONDA: Yeah, well I don’t care what his problem is anymore. So I said, “I want to hear once and for all what you’re going to do and when you’re going to do it.”

PAUL: Well, we HAVE been busy and it’s not like YOU take him out very much. I—

RHONDA: Exactly, he turned it right back around to me. He’s so passive-aggressive.

PAUL: Look, I know he’s mine, but I can’t be responsible for everything. Besides, you’re there every day—

RHONDA: So he wants a schedule. I don’t know. A timetable of what I expect, like I’m his boss or something. Not like he’s ever going to do anything about it, though.

PAUL: I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean that. I just meant that if we can—

RHONDA: Forget it.

PAUL: If we can give him a little extra attention right now, this will probably improve over time. And I’m not exactly in position to—

RHONDA: Right, I said forget it. I’ve been through this long enough. I know the pattern now and I’m making my move.

PAUL stands up and starts to pace slowly, back and forth behind the bench

PAUL: I think we can do better than that.

RHONDA: Yeah, it was the end of the line. That’s it. So I—[she stops and catches herself before she cries].

PAUL: No, I don’t think we can blame it all on him. He’s just a dog.

RHONDA [sniffling]: I know. I’m OK. Really.

PAUL: Look, I think you’re more angry at me than at him and I—

RHONDA: Well it’s just that—

PAUL: Let’s not jump to conclusions.

RHONDA: I guess I thought that once I said good bye I’d feel better.

PAUL: If there’s something you want to say to me, then say it.

RHONDA: And I don’t.

PAUL [lets out a long, slow breath]: Ok.

RHONDA: It’s just that I’ve been hoping for better all this time and it’s just never showed up.

PAUL: So should I come home? I might—

RHONDA [pulls out a tissue and wipes her eyes]: And it’s over and I just realized I can’t hope anymore.

PAUL: You DON’T want me to come home?

RHONDA [sniffles]: Well, it’s just hard to see that go.

PAUL: I don’t think there’s any need for that.

RHONDA: Yeah, I know but I HAD to.

PAUL: So what do you want to do with him?

RHONDA: I don’t know. It just hurts.

PAUL: I don’t think he’s the problem. I think we should have looked at things more closely before we made some of the decisions we’ve made recently.

RHONDA: I’m just too tired, I guess.

PAUL [stops with his back to RHONDA]: Let’s not make any more decisions just now.

RHONDA: Ok, I’ll let you know. I’m just going home now. Bye. [She hangs up her cell phone and puts it in her purse. Slowly, she gets up, walks past PAUL and exits Stage Left.]

PAUL [turning just as RHONDA passes, so he never sees her]: Ok, I’ve got a few more things to do. Let me finish up here and I’ll come home. Ok?

[Adjusts the earpiece]

Beth?

[Checks the phone display]

Damn.

[Yanks off the earpiece, stuffs it in his pocket, turns sharply and exits the way he entered, Stage Left.]

SCENE TWO

[STEPHEN enters from Stage Right, pulling his cell phone from his pocket.]

STEPHEN: Hello.

This is Stephen.

Oh, hi, Jonathan! Thanks for calling me back.

[STEPHEN sits on the Right end of the bench.]

Yes, we’re still interested.

Definitely.

Oh, yes, it’s just the kind of house we’ve been looking for.

No, not right away.

[TARA enters from Stage Right, already on the phone.]

TARA: How about 5:00?

STEPHEN: Well, we’re not in a great hurry. Sooner is always better than later, it’s just that—

TARA: What do you mean, that’s too late? It’s hardly any time at all.

STEPEN: No, the layout’s fine. In fact that’s what we like most about it. It’s the location, really.

TARA: Too close to what?

STEPHEN: A very nice neighborhood, I agree, at least on the surface. But we have concerns.

TARA [sarcastically]: Oh, like that matters!

STEPHEN: Well, to be honest, it’s the people in the neighborhood more than the neighborhood itself.

TARA: It doesn’t matter to ME! I don’t know why you care. It’s not like anything special happens.

STEPHEN: But it’s still something we have to take into consideration.

TARA: This is so arbitrary!

STEPHEN: [Sighs] No, I know, it shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.

TARA: So I can’t get on with my life because you have some agenda that makes no sense to me at all?

STEPHEN: Look, you may be fine with us, and I appreciate that, but if David and I move into that neighborhood, I’m afraid we’ll stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.

TARA: So it’s all about you then?

STEPHEN: Essentially, yes.

TARA: What about MY life?

STEPHEN: It’s all about getting the right combination. Again, this place is perfect otherwise.

TARA: One little thing and everything I want goes out the window.

STEPHEN: Yeah, it’s just not insignificant. To us it’s a go/no-go decision.

TARA: So that’s it?

STEPHEN: Yes, I’m afraid it’s a no-go this time.

TARA: What if I just don’t come home.

STEPHEN: Well, you have to live somewhere, but it’s got to be comfortable. Thanks, Jonathan. Would you keep looking, though? You’ve found some wonderful places so far.

TARA: I don’t think I HAVE another option.

STEPHEN: Thanks, Jonathan. Good bye. Take care. Bye

[STEPHEN hangs up and dials another number.]

TARA: I can take care of myself.

STEPHEN: Hi, it’s me.

TARA: So what?

STEPHEN: I just told Jonathan no on that place in Glenview.

TARA: You’d say no anyway.

STEPHEN: Well, I just didn’t think it was a good choice.

TARA: See what I mean?

STEPHEN: After considering everything, I just didn’t think it was a good choice.

TARA: See? It’s all about what YOU think is best for me. How do you know what’s best for me? Did you ASK me?

STEPHEN: We talked about this, David.

TARA: Yeah, but you never listen!

STEPHEN: I thought we agreed that the opportunity was a little iffy.

TARA: No, you didn’t listen. If you had, you would have understood how important this is to me.

STEPHEN: I know you had your heart set on it, but I really think we’d be biting off more than we could chew.

TARA: That’s what YOU say.

STEPHEN: I know I’m more conservative than you, but I think my instincts are good on this one.

TARA: Fine, whatever.

STEPHEN: There’s a difference between cautiousness and paranoia.

TARA: Yeah, but this is way over the line.

STEPHEN: I’m just trying to do what’s best for us.

TARA: I’m not a kid anymore, so stop treating me like one.

STEPHEN: I just don’t want to see you getting hurt again.

TARA: I’m not.

STEPHEN: After our last experience I’m just not willing to risk it again.

TARA: You’re not protecting me from anything. You just can’t come to grips with the fact that I’m my own person.

STEPHEN: But as long as we’re together, this is going to be an issue.

TARA: So bag it.

STEPHEN: No, I don’t think that’s the point, David—

TARA: No. Do what you want. I don’t have to do the same thing.

STEPHEN: All right, even if I am doing this for myself, I think that’s a legitimate consideration.

TARA: Not if it affects me.

STEPHEN: We’re both involved here.

TARA: Not if I don’t want to. I’m not like you. I don’t want to be like you and it’s not up to you who I am.

STEPHEN: I’m NOT ashamed of myself, David, and I’m not ashamed of US.

TARA: So give it up.

STEPHEN: It’s not that simple and you know it.

TARA: You know what? I’m done.

STEPHEN: No, I haven’t given up. There are lots more out there.

TARA: No, I mean it: I’m done. I’m outta here.

STEPHEN: Ok, not this place but somewhere, you know?

TARA: I’m hanging up, OK? And when I do, I’m going to disappear and you won’t find me.

STEPHEN: We’ll keep looking. Stick with me on this one, all right? I’ll try to be a bit more flexible.

TARA: Nope. I’m serious. I’m done.

STEPHEN: I’ll be brave. Just don’t ask me to be foolhardy.

TARA: I don’t need anything from you.

STEPHEN: Fair enough.

TARA: Too late. Sorry.

[TARA hangs up and starts to walk away. She pauses.]

STEPHEN: Ok, David. We’ll do what we can, huh?

One thing at a time.

[TARA sets the phone down on the park bench and exits Stage Left.]

STEPHEN: Let’s just look forward and see what we can do.

Uh-huh.

Ok.

I love you, too.

[STEPHEN stands up and starts to exit Stage Left.]

See you when I get home.

Bye now.

[Tara’s cell phone rings four times. No one answers.]

SCENE THREE

[BARRY enters from Stage Left dressed in basketball gear. He moves around the whole time—sometimes sitting, sometimes mimicking movements as he speaks.]

BARRY: So it’s me an’ JJ an’ LeVar.

Yeah, the Dream Team. We got speed, we got quickness, we got leap an’ we got STYLE, man, I’m tellin’ ya.

Oh, yeah, tons, man. We had ‘tude to spare. Trashed ‘em bad even before the game.

[JOAN enters from Stage Left and sets on the left end of the bench.]

JOAN: You shouldn’t let him do that to you.

BARRY: Yeah, why not?

JOAN: Because it’s demeaning. No one has the right to be disrespectful.

BARRY: They was pullin’ that intimidation thing, standin’ real close, like, “Ooo! We’re so tall. Ooo!” Stupid shit like that. So we was talkin’ trash right back.

JOAN: Well, that probably didn’t help.

BARRY: Oh they riled up by the time we hit the court. First possession, I get stiff-armed.

JOAN: I don’t care what you did! He doesn’t have the right to push you around.

BARRY: Oh, yeah! Stiff-armed! But I flopped real good. ‘Bout landed in these two chick’s laps. I’m starin’ up at two serious sets, man, right there courtside. Very sweet!

JOAN [sarcastically]: Right!

BARRY: No, even better! I get the bucket AN’ the foul AN’ the extra point!

JOAN: So he gets whatever he wants and you just…what…accept that?

BARRY: Yeah, man, I’m up three nothing plus two chicks on the side! I scorin’ ON the court an’ OFF today, man.

JOAN: Janie, I’m sorry, that’s pathetic. Listen to yourself.

BARRY: Ok, so now they really pissed, right?

JOAN: I suppose.

BARRY: So we keep tradin’ shots. We scorin’ from the outside, they scorin’ from the inside, but JJ an’ me is hittin’ the treys now, so we jam down eighteen points to their twelve an’ it’s one trey away from takin’ it all.

JOAN: Well, good for you, but he’s not likely to just give up at this point, is he? I mean, with everything at stake?

BARRY: No shit, man. So JJ sets th’ screen an’ LeVar drives the inside like he do an’ dish it back to me, right? So I line up outside the line an’ Davis come smashin’ into JJ like a Mac truck…

JOAN: Sorry, Janie. I don’t trust that guy farther than I can throw him.

BARRY: Oh, yeah, JJ goes down like a brick, man, an’ I’m up with th’ shot an’ I did like I told you—[interrupted]

JOAN: You what?

BARRY: Oh yeah, baby! I did it! My signature. I launch that muthah an’ I givin’ Davis the bird the same time!

JOAN: And he just took that from you?

BARRY: Truth! All truth! I ain’t shittin’ you, man! I told you I’s gonna do it. An’ the shot’s good, man—it’s GOOD! Game over!

JOAN: So what did he do after that? I shudder to think.

BARRY: He’s, like, purple, man! Like—

JOAN: Oh, Janie, you two don’t need a counselor, you need a referee!

BARRY: Like anyone’s gonna get between me an’ Davis just then!

JOAN: You okay?

BARRY: You would not b’lieve this. Get this: Charlayne—

JOAN: Who called?

BARRY: Charlayne, y’ know: Davis’ chick. She’s like standing up in the stands and screamin’ [imitating Charlayne] “DON’T YOU GO FIGHTIN’ ON ME! DON’T YOU GO FIGHTIN’ ON ME!!” Like that!

JOAN: I suppose anything would help. Just break the tension, I suppose.

BARRY: Like she’s his momma! Stops him cold, just like that.

JOAN: At least you avoided another physical altercation.

BARRY: Yeah, his face gets all funny and he jus’ turn an’ walk off. Jones an’ Reuben jus’ follow, y’ know, like whip puppies. We’s laughin’ so bad—

JOAN: So what are you going to do now?

BARRY: Oh, we celebratin’ right there ‘cause those two on the sidelines been givin’ me the eye the whole game, man. But I’s laughin’ so hard I can’t stand up. We’s all laughin’. JJ lyin’ on the court, he laughin’.

JOAN: You going to call Marian Johnson finally?

BARRY: No, they all comin’ to ME, man.

JOAN: Well, I think you should call. You have to take the initiative, Janie.

BARRY: Damn straight.

JOAN: Well, that’s up to you, but I don’t want you to find yourself out on the street and not have any recourse.

BARRY: An’ there’s more where that came from, I’m tellin’ ya. Oh, yeah!

JOAN: Ok, but I’m glad you called me anyway. Do you want me to call her for you?

BARRY: You get your own, dude!

JOAN: Well, I’ve got to get back. I’ll call you tomorrow. Sounds like you’ve got a little breathing space for the moment.

BARRY: I goin’ home, crash and then hittin’ the spots later.

JOAN: Where will you go?

BARRY: Maybe Rico’s or The Crystal. Depends.

JOAN: Well, you know how to reach me.

BARRY: I see you there, bro.

JOAN: You take care, Janie.

BARRY: Right on. I’m gone.

BARRY hangs up and exits Stage Right, flipping his phone in his hand.

JOAN: You can always call, you know.

I mean that. I don’t care where I am.

Okay.

Okay.

Bye, Janie.

You too.

Bye.

[Hangs up, sets the phone in her lap and lets out a long sigh.]

[Stage goes dark with JOAN still sitting on the bench.]

_____

Notes:

We used to be concerned when we saw people talking to themselves on the street, but with the advent of cellphones, people seem to be talking to themselves a lot. They're not actually talking to themselves, but they certainly seem to be. Or maybe they are. We also seem to spend less time listening to each other, at least in person. With this play I tried to take that to the extreme while I wondered just how much our crosstalk might intersect. I'd love to see this acted out.  --Mark

 

Debris 殘骸

by Mark Ivan Cole

Fifteen steps further and it would have hit me. As it was, I just got dusted.

I was walking away, this time for good. It was better than standing in the kitchen where Joe and I had our last fight. Dirty breakfast dishes lay in the sink, jam stuck to the floor where Nina dropped her toast, and coffee dried on the washing machine where Joe splattered it in his rush to get the hell out of there. He took Nina to his sister’s and left me with the mess. In my head, I could still hear our daughter crying.

I’ve always been fascinated by this big, empty field behind the house. Once you get past the gate, it’s just miles of dusty nothing. I’ve been opening that back gate for months. Go a few steps past the high tension lines and there’s nobody, no phones, no bills, no laundry, no dirty dishes. No fights. I’ve stepped out a few times and just wandered around a bit. Today I walked past the power lines and kept going. It was just the sun, the sky, the dirt and me now.

Thin threads of white streaked across the clear blue Texas sky, coming in from the west like contrails from a ragged fighter squadron. Joey would have pointed out that real fighters wouldn’t fly like that. I stopped and squinted up at them. Bits of stuff were falling here and there like tiny stars.

What was this? Probably nothing. I kept walking.

A shiny, round thing whistled over my head and smashed into the dirt with an explosion of dust fifteen steps ahead of me. I froze. It bounced several times before stopping some distance away. I looked up to see if anything more was coming. That was all. Dust drifted over me like smoke. I brushed it off and wiped my face.

The air smelled of electricity, burnt plastic and something else. I could see the round thing lying in the dirt and dry grass. Another quick glance at the sky and I headed over. Didn’t choose to go; just went. As I came closer, I got a better look. I had seen pictures of these things before on TV, in the encyclopedia, science books from school, National Geographics at my parents’ house, never in person. A space helmet didn’t belong in the East Texas dirt on a sunny day.

The shuttle was still up there, right? Couldn’t remember which one. Wasn’t it due back?

I was shaking but I kept going. The helmet had come to rest slightly face down, ashamed to look me in the eye. The dark bubble of safety glass was gone and the insides had burned away. It was as white and empty as the eggshells I’d rammed down the garbage disposal this morning.

I looked back. The white streaks in the sky were fading. Somehow, I knew.

Moments ago, this helmet had held someone precious. Up there where even small mistakes cannot be forgiven, all the hopes, plans and designs had somehow failed. Maybe one failure led to another, and another, until all that stood between life and death was this helmet. Then it, too, failed.

It ended here; missed me by fifteen steps. If I had not stopped to look around I would have gone too far. I couldn’t have turned back if I’d wanted to.

I’d gone far enough. It was time I went home to clean up my own mess.