Something Real and Good Page #5

---

I mean if I pick something,

I'll have to finally

really define myself.

That scares me,

'cause there's nothing

I really wanna be.

When I ask you what's the world,

you're gonna raise your spoon

and say, "my f***ing oyster,"

and then I'm gonna ask you,

"and whatcha you looking for?"

and you're gonna say,

"my f***ing pearl."

You ready?

Ready.

What's the world?

My f***ing oyster.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

My f***ing oyster!

Come on, get excited about it.

Make it an exclamation.

Okay?

What's the world?

My f***ing oyster!

Whatcha looking for?

My f***ing pearl!

There you f***ing go!

I like to brush my teeth

in the shower.

Me too.

I like travel sized

accouterments.

I know.

You do?

Yeah, you told me already

when we first met.

I tend to repeat stories.

Occupational hazard.

What occupation is that?

Being forgetful.

Ah, yes.

I've got something.

Yeah?

You know that feeling you get

when you stretch your arm out the car window

and the wind catches under your fingers

and your hand just seems to float there

with all the air rushing around it?

That makes me feel free.

I wish I could live up inside

that feeling.

Just right up inside it.

Takes a lot to impress you.

What?

It's probably 'cause

you're jaded.

Just because I'm not easily impressed

doesn't mean I'm jaded.

You know I think it does actually.

You've got me all wrong.

You think so?

I do.

Tell me,

what impresses you?

I'm impressed...

by someone who holds my attention.

Ha!

So, you admit you're easily

distracted.

Sh*t.

No,

that's not what I meant.

I mean,

someone who can make me laugh

or...

who I don't have to pretend to be

completely interested in.

Or, holy sh*t.

I'm completely self-absorbed.

But we all are, aren't we?

I mean,

don't we all just really care about ourselves?

Not necessarily.

I mean there's people

who go to third world countries

and help poverty stricken children

learn to read,

or help build homes after earthquakes,

sh*t like that.

I hate when people spew

that altruistic bullshit.

They don't go there

to build a house,

they go there so when they

get back

they can tell everyone about

how they built a house.

It's like they're better than

everyone else or some sh*t.

My God you're cynical.

And you aren't?

Well, I prefer disenchanted.

Disenchanted?

Yes.

By what?

Everything.

You're mocking me.

I am,

but in good fun.

And was it?

What?

Fun?

Well, I thought it would be,

but now I'm sensing it might

not end so well.

It might not.

Look, I was only kidding.

Whatever.

It's fine.

I guess it's just one of those things

where you can insult yourself,

but you never really believe it

until you hear it from someone else.

I can't seem to stop hiding behind

sarcasm and irony

and mock sincerity.

I hide from real emotions

or I hide from talking about them,

because I'm afraid of the embarrassment

or self-loathing it could cause.

It's as if I'm afraid to take

myself seriously.

And sometimes I hate myself

for that.

People are cheesy every day

and they don't care.

They gush about puppies and

rainbows and they like it.

I mean maybe they don't know

they're being cheesy,

and...

they think of it as being deep.

But maybe they do realize it and they do it

anyway because they wanna feel.

And they don't care what

people will think about that.

There are days when I wish

I could just be one of them,

smiling at a rainbow.

I've been uncomfortably numb to emotion

for quite some time now.

Doesn't that make you sick?

Sometimes

when I really think about it.

And how often do you do that?

I think you know.

I do.

Say it anyway.

Constantly.

All day, every day, my friend.

What if we start now?

You and me.

We'll be emotional

and honest all the time.

What are you saying?

I'm saying maybe we decide to make some sort of

true effort to be cliched,

filled with honesty and emotion.

And we agree, you and me,

to smile and to sing and to believe.

And we ditch our cynicism and

we're happy all the time.

And we throw away our need to be tragic

because...

tragedy doesn't go well with

the colors of our new self.

And every morning we smile

because we're alive.

I mean, we're young

and we're open,

and there's no one

that's gonna stop us.

Except maybe ourselves.

Valid concern.

I think I hate us.

Let's kill us off.

Should we?

We'll put an end to our

self-inflicted misery.

I like that.

And in our place we'll live our

new self.

But how do we get rid of us?

Going to need a chariot.

Get on.

Ready?

Ginger ale for the lady.

I'd adore a ginger ale.

Why does our thought process

have to be so random?

What do you mean?

Well, I'm drinking this

ginger ale,

but you can't just

drink a ginger ale.

Suddenly, I'm thinking about

how this ginger ale affects me.

Tell me.

It's nothing really.

Look at the cart.

We agreed.

Ginger ale makes me

think of my grandma.

She used to pour a little into

her water.

It was about one quarter ginger ale

and three quarters Water.

That's how she drank it.

And then it gets really random.

Do you believe in reincarnation?

Can't really say that I do.

Yeah, me neither.

'cept for when I think of

my grandma.

Yeah?

Yeah.

I always felt like she knew me

before there was a me to know,

you know?

Like when I was little,

I would catch her

looking at me in this way,

and I would just smile at her,

just happy without thought.

And maybe I thought it was just love,

but...

when I remember that look,

she was not looking through me,

but inside of me,

to another part of me.

I like to believe she was

thinking of the me I would become.

Like she knew who that was,

because she'd seen it before.

She was just waiting for me.

I guess I just felt like

we knew each other from more than the time

we've had together.

We were connected without effort

for longer than I can remember.

So, maybe there really are

these other lives that we live

and we see people again.

Or maybe it's just me leaning on mysticism

because I can't stand the idea

that I might never see her again.

Maybe it's just me being weak.

Oh, don't say that.

You know,

I can't remember a single instance

of her yelling at me

or getting angry at me ever.

She would just look at me and

I would...

feel disappointment pouring

from her eyes because...

'cause she knew there was better in me.

And this is me crying.

How is it?

Well, I mean I'm crying.

I don't really cry

in front of people.

That was a nugget for me.

Can I tell you that was a

nugget of you that I wanna keep?

You wrap it up,

save it in a little box.

one that's small enough

to fit in my pocket.

Is that okay with you?

If you want.

I do.

Made me believe that we should

believe in mysticism.

Believing mysticism doesn't

have to be a bad thing.

It doesn't.

I desperately wanna believe

that there's a secret to world,

just so that I know it exists.

And I will love it without

really knowing what it is I'm loving,

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes