Friday, April 3, 2009

When the wind blows.
Part four.

A blank screen.
A blank screen that reflects.
A blank boxed screen that sees all,

And I have seen; I've seen them laughing, sharing and revealing. But have they seen? Have they ever stopped to look; to really look at their reflection in a blank screen? What do you suppose they'll see? Would they see that this tension is eating them both up? Would they see that they both want to remedy this malady?

But even if they did look, they would see a reflection of lies. I lie to them. I show them things; idealistic and fake things. I show them stories of other people's lives; carefully constructed stories that always seem to work out in the end. They think I have it all together, but I don't. I form something that looks cohesive, but my picture comes from separate parts; pixels that come together to form a whole. Why can't they come together?

They watch me. But do they know that I watch them too? Do they know that I'm watching them now? In my corner of the living room, my blank screen comes to life with their stories. And I realize that these two people are just like me. They are just like the pixels that come together when I'm turned on. These two people are separate, disconnected but when they're on they come together perfectly to form one friendship; one whole. Why are they turned off now?

Out of the left corner of my blank screen, I see Amy emerge from her room in her blue t-shirt and yellow and pink poke-a-dot shorts. She seems bothered and exhausted; and she should be. I understand. I've seen her come home and just sit. She just sits and stares out the window. She sits and stares at my blank screen. What is she looking at? She needs to see herself in my blank screen. I desperately want her to see what I see. I want her to see that just like my pixels, she and her roommate need to be cohesive then she can be happy; then they both can be happy. Maybe it will happen today; hopefully it will happen today. I haven't' seen them both together for so long. But I've seen them both. Alone. Sitting and staring. LOOK AT ME! Look at me; look at your reflection and see, see yourselves and see each other. Turn your friendship back on.

Amy goes to the opposite corner to use the phone. Just then the right corner of my blank screen spies Mercedes coming out of her room. Freeze Frame. What we have here is a reflection: two different people expressing the same kind of frustration. Amy tenses at the sound of the door opening; she angles her back to Mercedes. Mercedes is surprised at seeing Amy, she glares at her back, then looks hopeful. Action. Amy rushes to dial someone's number while Mercedes goes to the kitchen. And in separate instances I see the reflection of both Amy and Mercedes getting their hopes up at reconnecting their friendship. But instead of someone making the first move, they both slam their stubbornness trump card on the table. WHAM!

The TV stand that props me up shakes as a gust of wind blows through the house. I silently pray that it blows me over and shatters the blank screen - then maybe they'll both come out and put the pixels back together.


mia said...

i thought this sounded familiar...

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