How many times have we gotten a letter of endearment, even love, and we get to the last line and it is really a Dear John?
Ah, the powerfully felt emotions, the brain kicking out and the adrenaline kicking in.
Why, you can raise an army, you could phone the Prime Minister, you can declare war. Swords and Sorcery!
You can't take this rejection, you must win!
You do not heed Burton Cummings' advice; you don't "Stand Tall". You fall.
If there is one thing I've learned in this life, rejection may just be a tactic.
Hank Williams: "A false goodbye, a life is shattered.."
If we could only learn to shut the f*ck up after a letter of rejection, get through that Full Moon feeling and wake up on a Monday with the solution already at hand.
But we don't. The shock of rejection changes your physiology. You want to get on the phone, get on the computer, "Why that ***ing asshole!
It is with such rococo sentiments, addled by a full moon that is sucking up not only the tides, but my brains, that I produce this ACT IV, Scene 4 of my ongoing tragicomedy, THE FIRE IN BRADFORD
ACT IV Scene 4
Interior scene. Beautiful woman on a computer, writing, writing, writing. It is Celia. She is inside an apartment that looks for all the world like a House of the Rising Sun, the high, multi-tiered bunk beds along a wall, wisps of smoke around the sparsely furnished room.
Dinner last Monday night and the subsequent musical entertainment was truly a joy! Seeing you, sitting there in that modest little room, in the stifling heat, sweating and caught up in you music was one of those moments I shall not easily forget. It was one of those occasions one should preserve in amber, freeze in time. The Franco-Ukrainian plays and sings very well indeed.
There certainly seem to be about fifteen different Daniels (at least that I have met so far, I am not sure if I want to meet any others!) I haven't forgotten that I said I would try to obtain the sheet music for "Like a Rock" for you.
I told you that I have started to think about fall courses at school. It is hard to imagine that it is nearly a year ago since I first walked into your classroom, on my birthday. And a rather peculiar year it has been. We've had some good times together, Dan. I remember cold, wintry nights at the Granada, coffee shops in Oak Ridges on Sunday mornings in Richmond Hill in the dead of night. I remember a rainy afternoon in Holland Landing and a crazy night with an obstinate old Mustang.
I will not lose sight of those times. Like two brawny he-men, we struggle in a tug-of-war, jockeying for position and planting our feet firmly, but never quite letting go of the rope. It's a crazy relaionship, but we never quite lose sight of the value that it has and never quite walk away and say "fuck this". At least so far, at least I haven't.
You seem to be content to be back in Newmarket. I wonder if you are having any trouble maintaining your privacy, as you feared you might. I remember the conversation we had about being "loners with gregarious tendencies".
True indeed. I personally like to pat myself on the back that it is a sign of maturity, though, of course, it could be a simple ocial deficiency, I suppose.
Are you still immersing yourself in Jung? I am almost finished a Balzac, after which I should read something by your beloved Mr. Borges. I also think I should read something by Doctorow.. I haven't the foggiest notion about him, do you know anything? There was a silly little article in the weekend paper about Toronto cabbies being closet writers--you did take out a cab licence when you feared you were going to lose your job. It made me chuckle.
Daniel, you must not think that I have been using you, or that I have been on some sort of ego trip, collecting hearts like notches on a gun. Surely you know me better than that. I have never meant to cause you pain or hurt you. Sometimes you seem so relaxed and content and other times it feels as the "asbestos suit through hell" that you are always talking about has completely slipped. It all leaves me terribly confused. I am never quite sure if you will be pleased to hear from me or not. I thought at one time that you were indulging in what amounted to emotional blackmail. I realize this is not the case. If you will give this some time, it will sort itself out. Please believe that my affection for you is genuine.
(Here, Celia pauses. She turns to her right, where an invisible hand has proffered here a glass pipe. She takes a deep draught, motions for the mysterious pipe-server to go away for a bit, and adds, on her keyboard:
Reading this letter, it appears a bit disjointed and not terribly sparkling or witty. I shall send it nevertheless, as I wanted you to know that I have been thinking of you and hope that things go well with you. Take care of yourself, Daniel.
The mysterious man with the glass pipe re-emerges.He is dark, Italian looking. Definitely not husband Lief.
Music: (from It's all Right Ma, I'm Only Crying) Darkness at the break of noon, the morning sun, the child's balloon...
Celia (to the Italian man) Hewwooo!
There is a strong hissing sound from the super Bic as Celia takes another lungful.
Music: Up. To fade as curtain drops to end Act IV, Scene 4
-------end Act IV, Scene 4