A nightmare sequence from in progress script.

-->

Abe’s Nightmare

          INT. ABANDONED BEDROOM NIGHT

          Clothes, dirty newspapers, and the remains of a bed and a few dresser drawers litter the floor. "GREG + ABBY" is spray painted in 4 foot letters across the wall furthest from the door. The room looks empty until a whimper emanates from a bundle in the corner. A small woman huddles under a grey blanket. Her hair matches the dirty yellow paint of the walls behind her. She is a chameleon in the corner.

          The wind blows a gentle mist of snow through the windowless frame. The room is still and quiet.

          CLOSE UP OF:

The once decorative brass door handle. It doesn't move. Suddenly it turns to the left. It turns to the right. It jiggles furiously as the camera backs slowly. The below the knob, a turnkey shakes in the skeleton lock and the brass bolt is visible through the chewed up wood of the door frame.

A sudden crack of a boot coming through the lower door panel is deafening. Stuck, the boot yanks its way back through the door. Two more kicks and the splintered door is nearly limp in the frame.

          SWITCH TO:

The woman in the corner. The noise of the boot kicking the door sends a spasm through her body. Again the sound of the kick and she spasms, but this time the sound of a door swinging and a knob hitting the wall keeps her huddled closer.

The woman stays huddled as a pair of dirty jeans cut in front of the woman. A sob escapes, and then a small cry.

The hand next to the jeans holds a clear liter vodka bottle. The near empty bottle disappears up through the top of the screen and returns with just a swig left in the bottom.

          FULL SCREEN ON:

         
DIRTY GENE, 50's alcoholic fired from a factory up north a few years ago. Dickies and workboots as dirty as his hands.

DIRTY GENE
Well, I was wonderin' what was
behind door number one. Looks like
I gots meself a squatter.

 (Laughs)

The girl looks up and a toddler aged girl is revealed in her arms under the dirty blanket. Her face is dirty but still visible is a fading beauty. The child cries. Her face is stone.

WOMAN 
Get the fuck away from us.

DIRTY GENE
(halting Laugh)

ah he ah heh eh heh.

He reaches down and rips the blanket off of the woman. As the blanket is torn back the woman is revealed as SARAH, ABE'S wife. She is no longer dirty and the boy is not a toddler, he is 4 year old Connor, ABES son, wearing a new pair of Oshgosh overalls and holding a toy police car.

SARAH

Abe! Abe! Abe!

DIRTY GENE

(laughs over SARAH's screams)

Ah heh heh heh.

ABE sits fitfully up in his own bed with his cell phone vibrating on his dresser. "errrr... errrr....errrr"

In The Morning, We're Ready

The first warm Wednesday.
It's early still.
The Sun reaches arms in through closed windows.
Wide bands of antique air.
Stand in the beam, you can see.
Everyone is out there.
In the world of fuzz, of fade, of flowing warmth.
Everyone is ready.

The Tree is wearing his aura.
He's stretched it carefully over each limb, so as not to tear.
He is resting, recharging.
Ready to dance again when The Wind starts up her music.

He is The Dog's keeper by day.
The Dog stands at attention at the top of his worn brown circle
Ready to ask.
He asks everyone, every passerby,
If they, too, are really, really, really, really excited.
It is Wednesday, after all.

The Apartment bows her head and arches her spine.
See how carefully she cradles her children.
Somalian, black, white, Mexican, all her own.
She absorbs the direct blow of The Sun
On her charred back
So she can make sure each of her children inside gets their share.

The Cars line both sides of the black river of Civilized Man.
They feel the trickle of melt under their fat rubber toes
And try not to squirm.
They are busy watching, ever diligent.
They lock arms and keep The Children back
Safely out of the rush of The River
While they wait to carry their own downstream.

The Dog asks another passer below.
They don't answer.
They never do.
I finally open the window and lean out.
The warm air covers my face and arms.
The Tree, The Apartment, The Cars, The Dog.
They all look up at the sound.
 "I am!"

Four Square

-->

1

I can feel my ring where it isn’t

I lay my eyes where I shouldn’t

I scoff as they do what I couldn’t

I dream and go where I can’t

2

And the snow wakes me

Squeezes me

Mocking all the notions of death as darkness

Death is the blinding white of endless snow

3

I will spoon out the heart of the air

Clawing wide the moment

I will bruise the second hand

Till it bends and bursts

4

Let me taste

Like a man who can not remember

One more time let me feel

The spike of citrus, her tongue, his laughs, a cold tear on a warm check.

Braunschweiger

Apparently homeless man,
sits in space between
the in and out door
at the place we all buy our food.

he is eating Braunschweiger with a spoon
beside him is a gallon of chocolate milk
somewhere between full and empty

"It's all down hill from there"
he says in a voice just loud enough,
he may not have meant me to hear it,
and he waves me on

Limerick #1

A blank page stares up

You don't have a clue, do you?
How can I respond?

Be careful, or not.

There are certain phrases that cross my lips so often, as

to make me pause and ask myself

is this my job?

Be careful.  Be quiet.  Be polite.  Be nice.  

Where is it written?  Tell me please.  Who has decreed that

this be my constant belligerent mantra?

Is it not just as much my imperative

to encourage risk

to teach the noisy shout

to cut with the sword that which needs cutting

Be careful, or not.  Take the risk if it is the right risk.

Learn what quiet is.  Let your shout come from the place of quiet, 

and let it be a mighty shout.

Politeness is often nothing but a disguise, and being nice is almost never enough.

Choose kindness and authenticity instead.  

These are the wise words I wish crossed my lips more often,

but I get so tired,

and the moment has passed.

A Letter in Transparency

One of the most amazing things about writing, I think, is how honest it allows us to be. Even when it’s fiction some elements of truth and transparency weave themselves into what we write. I think we are unable to remain completely divorced from our creations. With that thought I felt like the most important thing I could write/share with you wordsmiths is a letter I am sending to my Grandparents. Enjoy and keep that pencil moving.

To my Grandfather and Grandmother,

Hi guys! It’s been too long since I’ve wrote, and far too long since I’ve seen you. I miss you both dearly. Regretfully the last time I was in Minnesota I was too sick to be allowed in to visit, but such is life. Are you still buried under feet of snow? I’ve longed to see what a winter like that looks like as Dad tells me he hasn’t seen one like this since the ‘70s. On the other side of the coin though, it’s been warm here. The days reach the 50’s, yet it always seems to get far too cold at night still. I guess that’s March for you though. People are starting to get very antsy for the summer days, and are begging for a weather change. I can only imagine in your neck of the woods that sentiment is stronger. Soon enough the seasons will change and we’ll be dreading how hot it is outside.

Due to the warm weather I have been able to get the motorcycle out, and man has that been awesome. I’ve been able to go for some terrific rides already; nowhere special yet, but just getting out is sometimes all you need. To feel the sun warming you as the air simultaneously tries to cool you is almost indescribable at times. There is such a feeling of freedom riding a motorcycle, I wish everyone could experience it. Take comfort knowing I ride as safe as I can and always wear a helmet. I look forward to some trips on the bike and for the nights to warm as well, so I can take the insurance off the car and just be bound to the motorcycle again.

Work is steady. I’ve been promoted to Assistant Manager (I tell people I’m an ass man when asked!). All that really means is more responsibility and stress with a small increase in pay, but at least it’s honest and steady. I see a lot of friends trying to find steady work or just a job in general here in Denver and I know I am blessed. I don’t think anyone would have believed you if you would have said 10 years ago the job market would be this poor. So it leaves us with very little options, either we put up or shut up, and the family I grew up in would only allow me one option.

I hear you are presented with great amounts of people watching at your new place, and that you are making friends as well. That’s great. I’m glad you are finding joy in the midst of this hardship. I am praying for you both. If I could be there tomorrow I would. I’d love to see you and visit you in your new place. I’m sorry that you two are no longer on the farm. I know it’s for the best, and the treatment you are both receiving at the hospital is far better than what could be provided for you in home, but it’s a strange thought to think that the farm is empty.  As it is certainly for you, it is filled with many fond memories for me. I remember walks through the fields with the family, picking cranberries in the bog with Grandma, walking to the old stead with the cousins, picking vegetables in the garden, spending days on end out there - and ending the night watching a Western with Grandpa, Grandma, and Erica while eating apples and cookies and sipping koolaid. It was there that my love of the Western began and has fervently increased.

I dream on memories of wrangling loose cattle with Grandpa on the four wheeler while Sheba and I ran on either sides to corner them and lead them through the fence gate. I recall feeding the cats and dogs in the barn with Grandma while Grandpa milked the cows, and getting to feed some of the calves as well. That barn was a magical place for me. The other grand-kids and I would play in there for hours. I remember Erica and I going into the chicken coop to gather the eggs and feed the chickens with Grandma, or how we used to play with the chicks, kittens, and dogs. I wonder how many family meals we had at that big table and a kids table in a kitchen? We used to see how much of Grandma’s strawberry jam we could pile on a piece of homemade bread. Through the years we always feasted like royalty, and I am convinced there will never be a better fried chicken than the ones that were prepared for us. The amount of presents that were opened under the Christmas tree over the years are immeasurable, but the true treasure will be those memories. I can’t pinpoint a favorite memory but one that certainly is on the top of that list took place when I was fourteen.

We were splitting wood for the winter, it must of been one of the last winters you heated your home with wood. I remember Grandpa, Dad, Dave, Mom, and Mike all there working on splitting wood. Tossing. Splitting. Stacking. When we were done, Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder and told me to open the cooler. I did. I then proceeded to hand him a Grainbelt Premium as he set himself on the tailgate of the pickup. He told me to grab another saying, “Today you worked like a man, now you drink like one.” And with that I sat down on the tailgate and had a Grainbelt too. I also remember Erica teased me afterwards when she asked why I was spacey - as I think I caught my first buzz then. It was then, for me, that I knew not only was I growing up but that I somehow belonged to something greater than myself. The family. But all things pass with time, and I know I will cherish those memories the rest of my life. It will be something that no one will ever be able to take from me.

Thank you for letting us run wild through your fields, sloughs, woods, barns, garage, and house. It was here, under your watch, that we your children and grandchildren grew. I’m sure we caused our fair share of trouble, but I believe that to be buried by the joy present. If there is anything I could do for you now, you only need to tell Dad and he will let me know. If you’d like me to come visit you only have to ask and I will get on a plane as soon as I can. I love you both. I cherish you both. I think of you often. I would not be the man I am today without either of you. God bless and keep you, and hopefully I’ll see you before the summer.