[i]
Waking up a little after 1 p.m.
Iced Oatmeal Breakfast Bar. Orange Juice.
Scoping out the thrift stores near Newtown and VB Blvd.
Picking up some shelves from people I found on Craigslist.
Double Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Quaker
Cheese Rice Snacks. Pomegranate Ade.
Watching Wendy and Lucy (2008).
Replacing an old entertainment center in the corner of the
living room with a real bookshelf – organizing all the books in the house
(which mostly belong to Anthony) and creating a library – organizing all the
records/vinyl and setting up another functional shelf in the dining room.
Barbecue Mahi-Mahi with Onions, Broccoli, Mushrooms,
Carrots, and Rice.
Tim and Erica have a few friends over. Figuring out how to
replace one of the light switches with a fire alarm. Success.
Baking chocolate chip cookies. Kevin is exceptionally stoked
along with the rest of the fam. My phone rings. I check the screen and my heart
starts beating faster than normal. I knew this was coming. Just give it a week
or two I told myself. And here it is my predictions coming true. It’s Margot.
Darren’s standing in the kitchen with me. I look over to him...
Me: “Oh man. What should I do? I don’t know what to do.”
Darren: “Don’t answer.”
Me: “I’m not going to.”
But about five minutes later we hear the front door creak
open and there she is, obviously inebriated. She gives me a look of ultra
seriousness...
Her: “I need to talk to you...we need to talk.”
...
This is all feels like a dream. Like, this can’t even be
happening. She’s not here. But she is. And now we’re in my bedroom. She strips
off all her clothing except for her panties, the usual motions when she used to
come over. I just stand there in complete shock and reservation...but she
presses against my body trying to instigate something...
Me: “Hey. Hey. Let ‘s slow down here. Take it easy. Let’s
just lay down.”
We gather on the bed. She starts weeping uncontrollably.
Whenever her eyes well up I dab them with a tissue carefully.
Me: “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’m here.”
She’s a real mess.
Her: “No! No!”
Me: “Shhh. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
Her: “You think everything’s okay but it’s not.”
Me: “Have you not been okay?”
Her: “No. I haven’t. I haven’t.”
...
She whimpers out, “I loooove you...”
Me: “I know.
She keeps repeating “No,” off and on.
...
Her: “I love you. I love you so much.”
[Crying continues]
Softly I nurture and respond.
Her: “No you don’t even understand.”
Me: “Yes I do.”
Her: “No you don’t.”
[Disclaimer: I should say after this moment no part of the
conversation is real anymore. There’s a state of drunken psychosis that takes
over from here on out. She’s not aware of the words coming out of her mouth.]
Something switches at random amongst her constant no’s. She
corrects them all with a sinister, “Yes!” and then the dark side billows out of
her mouth...
Her: “Get off of me!”
Me: “What?”
Her: “Get off of me. Get. Off. You don’t know who are you.
You. Are. You bastard. You know who you are. You don’t think I know who you
are.”
I whisper, “It’s okay.”
Her: “No. Don’t fucking play that shit on me. Get off of
me.”
Me: “I’m off. I’m just laying here.”
Her: “You don’t think I know who you are.”
I giggle at this sudden imaginative realization she’s
having.
Her: “You laugh. But you don’t know. I know who you are.
Me: “Who am I?”
Her: “You don’t think I know who you are? Fucking Lucifer?”
Me: “What?”
Her: “I’m not—. No I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want
any of this.”
She’s obviously off her rocker and drowning in a land of
bewilderment. The alcohol has poisoned her mind and escorted her into a fake
bi-polar reality. Nothing she says makes any sense whatsoever. I quiet up and
just let her speak. This isn’t her talking. Someone (something) else is speaking
for her. It’s frightening.
Her: “I know what’s going on here. You’re the one who set
this shit up. You think I don’t know. Look at me and tell me what’s going on.
You can’t.”
...
Her: “You’re aware. Good. You want us to be together. It’s
not gonna work. You can’t keep me here. You don’t believe? You don’t believe in
this?”
[She laughs sarcastically]
Her: “There’s so many things you don’t think about us that
are true. The words. You don’t even understand. You can’t even think about it.
You wanna try again? You wanna try?”
[Laughing again]
Her: “You wanna try against us? You love me. I know you do.
That’s the problem isn’t it? You’re crazy.”
...
Her: “You are scared.”
Me: “No.”
Her: “Talk to us? It’s a problem. It’s a problem that you
have. I wish I could fix it. But I can’t. You wanna know the problem
that we have? It’s underestimating. I care about you. You know I do. There’s a
problem though on our hands. I don’t know what I should do for you. I can’t do
much. Our problem is something great.”
...
Her: “Robert, I love you. I love you. You know what’s
going on right now? You can’t stop.”
[Sadistic laugh]
Her: “It’s sad really. You want to stop it but you can’t.”
Me: “Yes I can.”
Her: “You can’t. You think you can.”
Me: “I can. I’m stopping.”
Her: “Oh how you want something, Robert, but you can’t get
it. It’s horrible isn’t it? The truth. Oh how you wish you could get it! Mm.
Robert! Don’t you want it? Don’t you want it? I thought you knew what
you wanted. The tall...dark...cringe. You know what this is. All of it. You
have nothing.”
...
Her: “What do you want? You take what I have. The
opportunity. Or. You have the opportunity. And what is that to you besides...”
...
Her: “I feel very liberated. How about you? I see endless
opportunity. And do you? See what? Death? The death of your loved ones. Do you
have that...opportunity? It’s very opportune. You can act on it now. Or you can
act on it later. I have it...what you want. It’s fun what I have. It’s most
enjoyable. Hm. You can enjoy it if you want. Oh Robert. Is this too much for
you...what I have right now?
Me: “Not like this.”
Her: “Oh temptation is it too much? It’s too much for you. I
don’t need what you say you are. The truth of what you are is all I need. A
confession...is all I need. But if you aren’t gonna give it to me then all I
need is a confession from someone else. Nobody special. Nobody particular. But.
All’s I need is a confession. And I’ve got exactly that. But you wouldn’t
know...about that.”
She gets up to put on her dress and stumbles over drunkenly.
I help her up and she takes a bathroom break.
...
She returns...
Her: “You need to recognize what you’re up against, Robert.
Not that it’s my place to say...but...you need to realize the trouble you’re up
against. I love you to death. I really do. You know that, right? You are much
more to me than anything I can ever imagine. I love you. You know that right?
Me: “Mhm.”
Her: “You are the love of my life. The Love Of My Life.
Without question...you are...what I want.”
Her voice breaks down to a haunting whisper.
Her: “I love you and I want to be with you. If this is
what it takes then I will do it.”
Me: “What does it take?”
Her: “The death of me.”
Me: “The death of you? What do you mean?”
Her: “The death of me is what it takes.”
Me: “No that’s not true.”
Her: “Yes it is. [deep breath] I love you.
I-I-I...love you. That’s what it takes – the death of me. I love you,
baby.”
Something overwhelms her. Her words zipper in between heavy
whimpers...
Her: “You don’t know what I mean when I say this.”
Me: “Yes I do. I know what you mean.”
Her: “I love you so much.”
I stroke her arm and head in attempt to comfort.
Her: “I love you so much.”
Me: “Yeah.”
Her: “You won’t let me go will you? If you want to it’s okay.
I understand...if you want to. I will love you forever. I will love you
forever. It’s okay.”
...
Me: “Let’s lie down.”
Her: “Lying down is a dangerous thing.”
Me: “No it’s not.”
Her: “Yes it is because I—. I’m dangerous. I’m dangerous. I
can’t.”
Me: “It’s okay.”
Her: “No I’m not okay. I’m dangerous right now is what I
am.”
Me: “It’s okay. I’m gonna lie down with you.”
We flop down on the bed. But the endless tragic rant
continues...
Her: “He...wants me to hate you...for no reason. He wants me
to not want to be with you. He wants it. I don’t want it. I don’t want it. No.
I don’t want it. I don’t want it...”
...
Her: “It’s not fair what you’re doing to me. It’s not fair.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Her: “You know what you’re doing. You know it.”
Me: “You’re doing it too.”
Her: “I’m not doing it. I’m not. I’m not. I know what I have
to do and I’m not doing it. You need to get off of me and you need to get
away.”
Me: “What do you want?”
Her: “I don’t want this.”
Me: “What’s this?”
Her: “...What your psychopathic brain is making up. You’re
deranged.”
...
Her: “This is not my place. This is not my place. This is
not my place. This is not my place.”
Me: “Shh. Look at me. It’s okay.”
Her: “No. No. No. No.”
She sounds like a little toddler after waking up from a
nightmare...afraid...repeating herself. She calms down and recollects
herself...sort of.
Her: “You think. You think. Robert, you think. You think?
What is it all to you?”
Me: “Want some water?”
Her: “I don’t need water.”
Me: “Why?”
Her: “Cause I have you. I need you to think what I think not
what I am but it’s all up to you...my little boy.”
I snicker out loud.
Her: “You laugh but you know what’s happening...”
...
Her: “Someone will come get me and someone shall die. How tragic
that must be for you. What are you thinking of, my son? You need a thing. You
think it necessary that I don’t? Oh my love. Sorry that it must come to this.”
...
Her: “You know what I’m talking about. You know what I’m
talking about? Youuu knoooow.”
...
Her: “What’s the problem? The tragicness of it all? Is that
what it is? You wish you could love me the way you want to but you can’t.”
...
Her: “Oh the poor boy who thinks he knows.”
[Maniacal laughter continues]
It sounds like she’s just reciting lines from some seductive
vampire movie and acting out the most elaborate monologue.
...
Her: “You liked to think that you’re something. You’re not.
But if you are it’d be something special wouldn’t it?”
[yawns]
Her: “But people think you’re a piece of shit. And they’re
right. You are.”
[yawns]
...
Finally she’s worn herself out and the monologue is
finished. The curtains fall and the audience applauds.
Sleep at 4:30 a.m.
[i] Blossom of
Evil. Chaichan Artwichai.
[i] 
