I’m Sorry I Left You

I’m Sorry I Left You

by | Dec 22, 2024 | Writing

I’m Sorry I Left You

I see you down below. I’m smiling, I’m cringing, I’m crying, I’m yelling. I always had a big mouth on me, my Nana told me. But they can’t hear me now.

I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I couldn’t cuddle you or sing our cuddle song or tell you I love you one last time. I hope you’re okay.

I’m sorry I left you. Every bit of pain you feel, I feel, maybe even more because I couldn’t protect you. Every joy and win you have, I think I feel more because that’s all I ever wanted for you. I’m sorry for the pain and suffering I caused you because of my pain and suffering. I’m sorry I left you this way. If I could reach you, I would fight for you. I would tell people when they’re hurting you. That was always my role. I was your protector.

I’m sorry I left you. Will you always have sorrow? I never meant to cause it. How could a mother be so cruel to cause her children pain, sorrow, and loneliness? I never meant to be those things. I fought for you. I always wanted to punch people who upset you. I had anger issues. But you saw I was human and that I had faults, and you loved me still. Anyway, I’m sorry I left you. Please don’t walk down that alley, street, or hill. There’s danger there. I tried to tell you, but we can’t know everything. I wish I did. I wish I could always protect you.

I’m sorry I won’t be there to share your joy when you fall in love or to hold you tight if you ever ever need it. I’m sorry I don’t have an inkling of your future happiness. Will you have a family? Might I have been a grandma? I know I always said I didn’t want that, and people thought it was strange. But I guess they were right; maybe I should have wished for it. Maybe I’d still be there.

I’m sorry I left you. I never felt old. I never felt mature. Maybe I love the Peter Pan story so much that it became me, but I’m sorry. I was selfish. I’m sorry I left you.

Messages from the Cloud

Messages from the Cloud

by | Dec 22, 2024 | Writing

Messages from the Cloud

I realize I might not be on a cloud, but that’s as far as my imagination takes me. I’m not even sure if I can see or hear you, but that’s what I’m telling myself. That’s the only way I could accept my fate. I didn’t want it. I promise you. I really just felt tired. Is that so bad?

I wonder if in my previous lives I was a lounger. Someone who sat back eating grapes one day and olives on the other, or was I worked to death with never any rest?

I thought we were supposed to learn something in our next lives, but I can’t see past now. So, I don’t know if I was or if I’m supposed to be. And I can’t see before. Was my submission ticket smudged? Did they send me the wrong lifespan? Did the messenger misunderstand my need for a nap and a personal organizer?

Will I ever reach enlightenment? I don’t recall, but when I left, my enlightenment light bulb didn’t light up. So maybe I didn’t, but maybe I will.

If I get another ticket, will I stop watching and protecting you? It’s not my choice. They pretend to be kind. But how kind is it to steal a person from their loved ones? I wonder if I can be a detective here. Is there any autonomy? Do I have any say?

I think people like to tell stories, but these stories really skewed my view. It isn’t like that at all. Not at all. I wonder if I can speak to Cupid. Can I shoot a message down to you? “Eat your leafy green vegetables and get enough protein! Make sure you meditate, stretch. Keep your muscles and body strong—but don’t go to an extreme. Watch out for scammers and save your money, but also spend money on adventure. Just don’t waste it!”

I wish I knew if money could even translate up here. I guess not, but does anyone have any say about any of this? I feel like I’m in the industrial revolution working in a line. Really? I never wanted this. It’s boring as fuck.

Facebook Said You Were Dead

Facebook Said You Were Dead

by | Dec 22, 2024 | Writing

Facebook Said You Were Dead

I heard a rumor that you were dead. Is that true? Maybe you just moved on from Facebook? I went to your page, and there were all these posts that talked about how they “miss you,” “gone too soon,” and “I remember when.”

Maybe it was a prompt from Facebook: Fill this person’s news feed with dozens of posts with those sentence starters. Do you think it’s a Facebook automation? How do they do it? I really wish I were in one of those meetings with Mark Zuckerberg. He might be a thief, liar, and jerk, but he sure knows how to assemble a great meeting of the minds. I’m wary of his meeting with Trump, though.

So how did they figure it out? I bet they started with a notification ding—”You haven’t posted on so-and-so’s page in a while. Why don’t you start a post with ‘I miss you,'” for example.

So they bombarded Facebook abandoners’ feeds with messages from dozens of friends. So then Facebook sends an email for each message to the abandoner so they get back onto Facebook, even if it’s just to turn off notifications. They’ve got you. They’re back, and you’re engaged, and maybe you’ll click on one of the dozen or so sponsored posts, and Facebook is back to making money on you again. These are the types of things they discuss, plan, and implement in these meetings. I sure wish I lived in Palo Alto. Is that where their headquarters are? If not, I could always go to Stanford University. Even if I sit somewhere on campus near other people, I’m bound to learn something.

I wonder if I should write a post on your page. I would definitely say, “I remember when we put on matching outfits with tutus and rhinestone suspenders and we danced to ‘I Feel Good’ by James Brown. That was my favorite memory of you.” So I hope you aren’t dead and this is just another one of Facebook’s tactics.

I wouldn’t put it past them, but I went through my phone, and I don’t have your contact saved. I’m bummed about that because I really do like you. I just lost track of time, and so I guess your contact didn’t get saved. So if you see this, please respond to me by phone or text at 555-369-2545. Hope to hear from you soon.

Your dancing partner,

Alex

Trouble at the A&P

Trouble at the A&P

by | Dec 16, 2024 | Playwriting

Trouble at the A&P

AT RISE: Two women, Woman One and Woman Two, sit on a bench with a stark white wall behind them.

Woman One: I keep forgetting to forget. Do you ever forget things?

Woman Two: All the time.

Woman One: I get fixated. My therapist told me when I get fixated to take three deep breaths, then count from 10 to 1 in my head. Then turn my body to change my focus. Honestly though, it was so embarrassing when I was in the checkout line at the A&P and the cashier was haphazardly putting the produce on the scale—these fruits and vegetables are delicate! Then the bagger was putting my bananas in the same bag with my milk! I don’t think this was so much one of my obsessions, except for I’m obsessed with having my produce unbruised. I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. But the manager told me I can’t grab the aprons of the employees and admonish them. I tried to tell him that I have rights, too. And if I’m paying $2.99 per pound for bananas…

Woman Two: (Nodding in agreement)

Woman One: …I’m sure as heck not going to stand for them to be damaged at the hands of the employees. Don’t they teach respect for the groceries in their store training? Well anyway, the manager said I couldn’t shop there if I was going to behave like this. So I talked about it with my therapist, and this is what she told me to do, but it was humiliating. The cashier and the bagger were just staring at me. They couldn’t have been older than 20 years old. How could they possibly understand the nuances of personality? Honestly, I don’t know what they teach kids these days.

Woman Two: Well, good for you for trying to control yourself. I don’t like that manager of the A&P with his red apron,wire-rim glasses, and red hair. Does he think he’s better than us just because he towers over us in height?

Woman One: I’m with you on that. And anyway, who calls the police when someone is having a potential breakdown?The police don’t know how to handle it.

Woman Two: I hear you. So, are they charging you?

Woman One: No, of course not. I didn’t break the law.

Woman Two: Yeah, me neither. I only started crying when the bagger dropped the eggs, and they made such a mess, and then a little kid slipped on the gooey eggs and started crying. So I cried. When is it a crime to cry?

A police officer walks over to the two women.

Officer: Please, ladies. I want to apologize on behalf of the Pleasant Valley police station. We have detained the manager of the A&P. Apparently, he’s been pressing charges all week. And it’s against company policy to press fraudulent charges just for a $100 bonus. Apparently, he’s racked up $10,000 this month alone! You ladies are free to go.

What’s My Name?

What’s My Name?

by | Dec 16, 2024 | Playwriting

What’s My Name?

CHARACTERS:

Man: A 62-year-old man, dressed in a slightly rumpled suit, carrying a briefcase.

Agent: A clerk at a government office, efficient and friendly.

SETTING: A sterile, brightly lit office with a counter and a few chairs.

AT RISE: Man approaches the counter nervously. Agent looks up with a smile.

Man: Hi.

Agent: Hi, what’s your name?

Man: I’m Werjhbfkudvnjd

Man attempts to pronounce the name, but it’s a jumbled mess. Agent raises an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face.

Agent: That’s quite a name.

Man: That’s why I’m here. I need a revision.

Agent: No, you don’t. You just need a name change.

Man: I can do that?

Agent: Of course, as long as you’re over 18, and I’m sure you are.

Man: Yes, I’m 62. I thought I needed to revise my entire life, and I thought that might take too long. It is quite a relief that I can just change my name.

Agent: That would definitely take a long time.

Man: This is such a relief. I can’t tell you how much trouble my name has given me.

Agent: I can imagine—it’s lacking vowels.

Man: Yes, people didn’t know what to call me growing up. I got teased a lot.

Agent: I can imagine. But how did you get a name like that?

Man: I was told that the clerk had narcolepsy and they fell asleep while typing my birth certificate.

Agent: Surely your parents could have amended it.

Man: Surely they could have, but they didn’t. They thought it was quirky. But I’m a patent inspector. I’m not quirky. It’s made it hard for me to get jobs. But I finally figured out that I could use a cover letter so that I could explain my name. That’s how I got my job.

Agent: But what did people call you?

Man: Werjhbfkudvnjd

Agent: Didn’t you have a nickname?

Man: I never thought about it. What could be a nickname for Werj—

Agent: (Interrupting) I get it, I get it. Okay. So what do you have in mind?

Man: I can pick any name?

Agent: Sure, it’s your name.

Man: Wow. Okay. I’d like to name myself… Oh, this is so exciting… Normal.

Agent looks confused.

Agent: Do you mean Norman?

Man: No! Normal. That’s my name. I love it. Thanks for your help!

Man beams and exits, leaving Agent shaking their head in amusement.

BLACKOUT