Thursday, May 24, 2012

After Sunset/Sunrise, an attempt at something Linklater-ish

Him      Hey, tell me something. If you died tonight, what would be the last thing you wish you’d said to me,but didn’t?

Her:      Something I wish I had said, but didn’t? So you’re saying that I am dead, gone to  heaven, or hell or whatever, and I am thinking about what I’d wish I’d said.

Him:     Yea, what would you have said to me, right before a dinosaur comes storming out of that bush over that and bites your head off, or before the Rapture begins and Jesus takes all the good people to heaven.

Her:      Or maybe you kill me?

Him:     Yea, or maybe I’ll kill you.

Her:      Why would I care? I’d be in heaven.

Him:     Or hell

Her:      Or hell. They’re both not really places where you worry about last words. Or hypothetical last words. Plus I do not think that I would end up in hell. When St Peter meets me at the Pearly Gates I’ll just blame the dinosaur attack on you. I’d say ‘Hey, Petey, the dinosaur bit our…

Him      Heads.

Her:      Bit our heads off, cos this jackass I was hanging out with said he didn’t like it’s haircut.

Him:     Then I’d say, “Hey Pete, I know what this looks like, but have you EVER seen a triceratops pull of a green Mohawk? It looked ridiculous. I was doing it a favour.” I know Pete would have my back, cos he’s a rational guy.

Her:      So you’re saying that I’d end up in Hell because I’m an irrational, emotional woman?

Him:     I’m not saying that you would, but it doesn’t matter. Say you went to Heaven.
And just for fun, imagine that your reward in heaven was to relive this night, this perfect night, forever. And you had all the time in the universe to work up the courage to say what you wanted to. What would it be?

Her:      And what if I was in hell?

Him:     Then it would be your punishment to repeat this night for ever, et cetera, et cetera. But you’re mute, unable to speak. You’d have an eternity of thinking about what you would have said, without being able to say it.

Her:      So either way I’m cursed to an eternity of living in a boyish fantasy where you’re the centre of my world?

Him:     Hey, I don’t make the rules; I’m just asking a question.

Her:      And that question is?

Him:     What would you say to me, if you knew that we were both about to die?

Her:      I’d say that I need a bit more wine, before I start reciting hypothetical last words.

Him:     Ok, fine, you can have the last of the wine.

*He tips the bottle of red wine over her empty glass, shakes it a few times to get every last drop out. She takes a sip.

Her:      So, before I do this, why does it have to be something I didn’t say? Why couldn’t it be something I did say?

Him:     Well, you choose not to say something because it’s hard to say. And what’s harder to say than a truth, especially an uncomfortable truth. The kind where the words get lodged in your throat every time you start to speak, so instead you end up making an inane comment about the weather or politics.  Or the nature of heaven and hell.

Her:      Ah, that kind of truth.

Him:     Yea, that kind of truth.

Her:      Well…

Him:     Well?

*she takes a sip of wine

Her:      Maybe I’d say that I wish I’d kissed you that time we we’re sitting on that couch, watching those (giggle) random people practice their dance moves for prom. They were so boring and uncoordinated that I wanted to kiss you just to make them stop and watch us. And maybe I would say that I wish you shaved more often, because kissing a man with stubble irritates my skin.

Him:     Noted on the beard. (laughs)

Her:      Maybe I would say that I have never had been happy, till tonight. That I wasn’t happy when I got married, or when my kid was born. Maybe I’d say that, just to satiate your ego.

Him:     And why would you do something like that? I thought I was childish, and egomaniacal. Among my myriad of apparent flaws.

Her:      I’d say it because tonight is, was, perfect. And a perfect night earns a recitation of uncomfortable truths.

Him:     It does?

Her:      It does.

Him:     So after saying that, just before the dinosaur bites your head off, what would you do?

Her:      Simple, I’d kiss you. So the dinosaur would have to bite BOTH our heads off.

Him:     You little minx, you’d use your feminine wiles, and those thin, pink lips to lure me to my death.

Her:      Yes I would, but you’d kiss me anyway.

Him:     (laughs)Yes, I would.

*He moves closer to her, he closes his eyes. They kiss.

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