second act

I’m alone in bed watching a black and white video of the Bee Gee’s, back when they were all bad teeth and hopeful hair. ‘Massachusetts.’ I don’t know if it’s comforting or just de-scabbing the wounds.

Everyone knows what an out of control life feels like. I don’t need to add my description to the pile. If I could live like a bird in a country field – without money – I could, really. But there is a long list of the bills that need paying, the proverbial mouths to feed – I know, it just isn’t interesting. Or sexy.

Tonight I drove as far as I could, to find the most remote field possible. There was a flock of little black birds swooping down at once and then scattering. I stopped my car by the side of the road and leaned my head on the steering wheel. If my life were a movie, I thought, it would end now. It would be one of those depressing movies that you leave the theater after watching feeling slightly wrong, like you’re equilibrium’s off, like

Like a mediation on the futility of life, which you already knew, which you didn’t have to go to a theater to see some girl with windswept blonde hair walk down railroad tracks until she’s off camera, and your heart leaps, hoping the screen doesn’t go black, hoping that there’s a second act, but of course there isn’t. The lights come up and you’re holding an empty popcorn bag and chewing on a soda straw, with a look of mild shock.

And there is no second act.

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One thought on “second act

  1. Remember that a good story has 3 acts. Maybe this isn’t the last shot before the end credit. Maybe this is the opening scene of a movie I actually do want to see about a character I will be rooting for.

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