Rescue
L. Kaye
Sunny, come on, open the door. I mean, listen, I didn’t mean those things I said. You know
that. Everybody fights. Especially if they love each other, right? And Sunny, you know I
never want to hurt your feelings. Sometimes I just forget what I’m not supposed to say.
Because you have to admit, there are a lot of things you don’t like...
If you come out, though, I won’t say anything, I promise. I’ll touch your hair, if you want. I’ll
comb it out, and then we’ll go to a restaurant, one of those fancy ones you like with the cloth
napkins and purple candles. We’ll sit by a window, Sunny, and look at the tugboats flopping
up and down on the river. And you’ll say how the water’s so cold, it can just sweep you up,
and I’ll ask if there isn’t something warm that might take you instead and then you’ll kiss
me...
Of course, you don't have to. It’s always your choice, Sunny, even though I miss kissing you.
I’ll wait, you know I will, until you feel better and the nightmares stop and... Damn it, Sunny,
I can hear the water running. What you doing in here? You’re not hurting yourself again, are
you? Sunny! Come out here and yell at me, I don’t care. Hit me if you want or something. I
can’t take this...
Fuck you, Sunny. I should just leave you in there to die, that’s what I should do. Poor little
screwed up girl. I’m sick of trying, you hear me? You try for once. You open that door and
show me you can be strong, you can want something... you can want me... Die then. Just
fucking die. I don’t care if you do, you hear me. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about
you. Oh, shit, I’m sorry I said that. But... I can’t do this. Sunny! I’m not waiting any more.
I’m counting to ten, and if you don’t open the door I’m going to break it the fuck down.
One, two, three... please, don’t make me do this, I don’t want to do this, I love you, you’re
my only girl, Sunny, I never loved anyone like this, please... six, seven... I can’t let you, I just
can’t... (long pause.) Please. Sunny. Just. Please.
Cool Guy
James Martin
Naw man, that just don't cut it. You were seventeen or eighteen when that happened. Things started happinin'
ta' me when I was just a kid... I mean when I was a little kid. I mean, when I was like... I don't know, three or
four years old. Man, when I was just a little snot I went ta' my counsin's. Now my cousin was cool... He was
twelve and he had this little mini-bike motorcycle. When I saw 'em, I was like "cool bro." 'Cept I didn't say it
that way. I mean it was 1976. So it was probably more like, "groovy man." So my cuz, he goes, "ya' wanna'
hop on with me and give her a spin." I was like, "yeah let's kick this mother." 'Cept I didn't say it that way,
1976 ya' know. It was more like, "yeah let's howdy this doody."
Now I was tryin ta' be cool. I was tryin' ta' be grown up, but my cousin had ta' ruin it. "Can't let ya' ride
without a helment kid." It was a subtle reminder that I was four and he was twelve. "Alright," I said. So my
cousin jumps off the bike ta' get a helment and I jump on. So I'm sittin' there on the backseat of this thing
thinkin' about how cool I looked on it. I'm thinkin' about Happy Days and the Fonz and how cool the Fonz is
sittin' on his motorcycle. And I'm thinkin' about how the Fonz revs his bike by turning the handle grips. So I
reach down and turn the handle grips... Next thing I know, I'm flyin' across this field screaming at the top of
my lungs.
I mean, I didn't even know how ta' ride a bike... But what do ya' know, I could ride a motorcycle. That didn't
stop me from screamin'. I looked over my shoulder and my cousin was runnin' after me screaming, "Turn!
Turn!" The last thing I wanted ta' do was turn... I mean, the thing might fall on me. I might crash. Maybe it'll
run outta' gas. Yeah, it's gotta' run out of gas soon... I mean, I've been on this thing forever. I'd been riding
for about six seconds at that point. "Turn! Turn!" My cousin was still yelling at me. I thought he wanted me
to turn so he could catch me... Pull me off the bike as it went by.
You're laughing... My cousin was strong for a twelve year old -- and he was afraid my Mom would kill 'em. He
coulda' pulled me off that thing, 'cause if he didn't my Mom woulda' killed him. So finally I decide ta' turn. As
soon as the handlebars move the slightest bit the motorcycle wipes it hard core. Spinning and sliding, tumbling
and turning... Then I stopped, dead. I sat up and saw that only a few feet away was a barbed wire fence. My
cousin ran up and said, "woah man, you coulda' died..." I looked at him and said, "cool bro." 'Cept it was
1976, so it was probably more like, "I think I wet my pants."
Who Will Carry the Word?
Charlotte Delbo
I’m afraid to sleep because I’m afraid to dream. Night is more frightening than day. At
night, when I fall asleep, I’m all alone. During the day, I can talk. Gina or Francoise or
someone answers. At night, in my dreams, no one answers. I’m always alone and I’m always
afraid.
If I’ve carried bricks during the day, I carry bricks in my dream. but, they are colder against
my chest and heavier to my hands than during the day. They are frozen bricks. Mother used
to give us a warm brick in the winter to heat our bed. I burnt my sheet once. There was a
smell of burning in the bed and mother scolded me.
The bricks are covered with ice and I carry bricks on an endless road, and the bricks are
heavier and heavier and colder and colder.
During the day, while we carrying light and warm bricks, we chat. Gina tells us about the
restaurants she used to eat at with her husband. She would put on a dinner dress. Francoise
tells us about her trips. She went to Acupulco and Paris and Tokyo. At night, though, there
are just bricks.
The bricks are so cold and so heavy they awaken me and then I understand that there are no
bricks. I tell myself I have to go back to sleep or I won’t make it through the next day. But
I’m afraid. I’m afraid that this time the bricks will turn into mud. Black mud, sticky and icy
and when the ice melts I’ll be in a swamp and the swamp will turn into nothingness.
It’s the dream that frightens me the most. At night, you’re afraid, but in the morning, you
want to die.
Death of a Salesman
Arthur Miller
I don't say he's a great man. Willy Loman never made a lot of money. His name was never in
the paper. He's not the finest character that ever lived. But he's a human being, and a terrible
thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He's not to be allowed to fall into his
grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must finally be paid to such a person.
You called him crazy... no, a lot of people think he's lost his... balance. But you don't have to
be very smart to know what his trouble is. The man is exhausted. A small man can be just as
exhausted as a great man. He works for a company thirty-six years this March, opens up
unheard-of territories to their trademark, and now in his old age they take his salary
away.
Are they any worse than his sons?
When he brought them business, when he was young, they were glad to see him. But now
his old friends, the old buyers that loved him so and always found some order to hand him
in a pinch--they're all dead, retired. He used to be able to make six, seven calls a day in
Boston. Now he takes his valises out of the car and puts them back and takes them out again
and he's exhausted.
Instead of walking he talks now. He drives seven hundred miles, and when he gets there no
one knows him anymore, no one welcomes him. And what goes through a man's mind,
driving seven hundred miles home without having earned a cent? Why shouldn't he talk to
himself? Why? When he has to go to Charley and borrow fifty dollars a week and pretend to
me that it's his pay? How long can that go on? How long?
You see what I'm sitting here and waiting for? And you tell me he has no character? The
man who never worked a day but for your benefit? When does he get the medal for that?