Monday, September 10, 2007

Going to a funeral (interlude, andante)

"Harry. There's someone on the phone for you", Mark said -- Before you read on, you might want to read the first part of this triptych, I mean... if you haven't already. -- Mark stepped back out on the terrace while Harry went inside to talk to whoever had called.
---[script]---
John [still sitting in his deckchair]: "You just saved my life, man, kind of."
Mark: "You're welcome." [walks over to old leather armchair, picks up bottle of beer, hesitates seemingly with no reason. His eyes wander around for some time, the silence between the men suits the scenery -- sunset, remember? and eventually sits down. The whole process might take up to a minute, suggested effect: jump cuts.]
Harry [returns to the terrace; his drug-induced cheerfulness has apparently vanished. He squints repeatedly, leans againgst a wall and begins to speak] "My sister." [pause] "My dad. He is dead."
---cut---
Too bad a few pages are missing here. That would've made some heart-wrenching scene. Imagine Harry finding the right words to express his family problems, which like in 99.9% of everybody's case, are closely entangled with his emotional problems. After hardly more than two or three sentences the guys decide to go to the wake and funeral together. The distant noise of traffic begins to mix some soft strings... the music accelerates to said adante and then there could've been a cut to ...maybe a montage of the guys packing their bags, going down to Mark's car, placing backpacks in the spacious trunk (Remember? You can possibly fit a body in there... actually you can, easily...) --- and bam! Next thing you know, we're on the road. That is... Harry, Mark, and John are.

To be continued.

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Going to a funeral (prelude, adagio)

Harry's dad died. The guys went to the funeral together. Weird? Indeed. After all, in the past few months they hadn't really been close, you know. Actually you might say they never really were that close. Okay, back in 19-- when they moved in together they might have been, or they thought they were -- which is the same most of the time, right? Anyhow, when Harry's old man passed away someone, a brother? his mother? ...well, some family person called. At that time Harry hadn't been too involved family-wise anymore, for a few years already. When you become more or less financially independent, visits boil down to once a year -- and before you know it, you don't even make Christmas. "Sorry, Ma, can't make it this year -- really I'm sorry." That kind of thing. And usually it's not very helpful when, as soon as you show up on the doorstep, your folks moan about how you waste your life away, not working in a decent job and all. "Your younger brother, so successful... he'll be made partner in no time. They love him up there. And he comes over to visit us every other---" Fuck it. Let's just start this story at the beginning.

"Yup..?" -- it was Mark who answered the phone. In his usual monosyllabic fashion. The guys were just smoking some weed on the back terrace, watching the sun set on their lovely industrial district, which offered affordable housing with a very bohemian chic to it. In a few years they'd probably have to move, because of all the posh Sex-and-the-City-style bars and restaurants that would open and flood this nice part of the city with, well, women who think they look like Sarah Jessica Parker while it's actually even worse. And what's more, they all behave in a way that silently screams: "Yeah, I'm miserable, but that doesn't mean I can't get wasted and feel free!" or something. Damn! I always get sidetracked by stuff like that... So. The sun was setting, drenching the red brick landscape in some kind of orange (color wise, not as in fruit). Distant traffic provided an atmospheric soundtrack. Sitting in his deckchair, John was rolling a second joint on his copy of the 10th anniversary edition of Stephen Hawking's Short History of Time, in his lap. Harry finished the first one and as he threw it off the roof with the flick of a wrist he said something like, "You know what? You're probably not the first one to roll a joint on that book." John continued his work, without even looking up. Harry rambled on (that's his usual stoned behavior). "And you know what else? I was probably not even the first person to witness somebody rolling a joint on that book and commenting on the fact." Having finished his job, John lit up. He tilted his head only very slightly, turning in Harry's direction. Obviously, he disapproved of Harry's obnoxious dope talk.
"Actually, I wonder if..." Harry paused, breathing audibly. "I wonder if the first person to witness somebody doing what you just did, commented on the act just like I did. I mean, saying-- saying it was not the first time, though actually--" Again, he paused, but this time, apparently, for effect: "...it was!" Mark answered the phone which had been ringing. "Gentlemen", Harry concluded, when Mark returned from the living room, "We have a chicken-or-egg situation."

As the title suggests, this will be continued.