Him/Her

I don't know where this is going, or I kinda know where this is going. I guess what I don't know is what I'm trying to accomplish with it. It's not done. But here's the beginning of a dialogue I started writing yesterday.

Before we get to it, though, here's the thing: Almost everything I write starts out as a dialogue. I'm not especially skilled with the expository stuff, and I even feel bogged down by adding in the he said and the then she replied stuff. But I don't think of the things I write as plays, even though when you sit down and look at it -- like, when you finally get a chance to look at today's offering -- you'll say to yourself, "You know, Mike, this looks an awful lot like a play."

Maybe stories that are told completely in dialogue will instead be my thing. At least for now. Like, how Picasso went through his blue period, or John Ford and his westerns. Folks will one day see a piece of mine and be able to recognize it simply because it takes the following shape.

Or, it's early on a Sunday and I'm feeling a little too big for my britches.

Anyway, the piece:

Her: "Oh."

Him: "Hi."

"You're—-"

"Yes. I know. 'In the flesh'."

"Yeah."

"Surprised?"

"A little. Actually, a lot."

"I get that all the time."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"What?"

"It's just."

"Yeah?"

"I thought you'd be...”

"Thinner?"

"Um, yeah? I mean, is that terrible? I feel terrible."

"It’s not my favorite thing to hear."

"In the, you know—- in the paintings and in church. You look. Uh. Trim? –mer?"

"Well, I was a lot younger then. Metabolism. You can't keep eating the way you ate at 33, you know, with all the bread, and—-"

"Of course."

"So, yeah. I'm biking though. Now. Places. I bike places, and cutting down on the carbs is making a huge difference. Or it will."

"That's what I hear."

"I mean, I'm not religious about it or anything. I'm not going to skip out on pasta just to make some kind of dietary point, you know? What do you do?"

"Do? You mean, like, for fitness?"

"Well, you've got a –- I mean, I don't want this to get weird -– but you've got a great little body there. Really tight."

"Thanks."

"I mean it. You're what? 30? 31?"

"34."

"You'd never know it. I missed most of my 30s. By most, I mean 'the rest of' my 30s."

"Right."

"And when I see someone with a pretty nice body, fit, I like to ask, you know? You run? Cross-train? I hear cross-training's great."

"I guess I walk, mostly. There's a gym here, in my building, but I rarely go."

"It sounds so convenient."

"I know. But there’re a lot of old people, and they turn the TV up really loudly."

"I hate that."

"Right? I mean, God bless 'em for getting out there and moving—-"

"'But you're 95 years old, and there's no getting around that.'"

"And 'Good Morning America' really isn't news, you know? It's the General Foods International Coffee of news. It's that nasty Irish Cream creamer that doesn't need to be refrigerated."

"The hazelnut's not so bad."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I mean, not all the time of course. That stuff's gotta be bad for you. But if I want a hint of flavor, something to get rid of that coffee taste, the hazelnut's not so bad. Or the French vanilla. You drink it black?"

"Maybe a splash of milk, maybe. But yeah, for the most part, I just take it plain from the pot. And by the time I’ve had my morning coffee, I’d really just like to get down to the gym and get it done, only I can't because Dorothy, Rose, and Blanche have to watch Diane Sawyer talk about the dangers of hip replacement. At 200 decibels."

"And finally, you're just all 'Die already!'"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"That was awkward, right? You can tell me."

"It's not what I’d necessarily expect from you."

"I was just in the moment, you know. We seemed to have a rhythm going there, with the repartee, and—- yeah. That was mostly just--"

"Awkward."

"But a little funny. Right?"