Friday, December 12, 2003
Last night, I attended a lecture. John Guare, renowned playwright (House of Blue Leaves, 6 Degrees of Separation) gave a highly entertaining and unpretenious speech about being a writer and the adventures of his life.
"This is who I want to be, at 80," I thought to myelf as he spoke.
After his speech, I got a phone call from my friend in New York (Jay). He's leaving for Budapest in a few weeks, which means I won't see him again for at least a year and a half, likely more. I agreed to meet up with him, and scrambled to find a ride. When I finally got it together and showed up for my 8 PM train, they announced that it had been delayed for an hour. I sat and waited in this empty train station, bored and annoyed. Then, to my surprise, in walks John Guare himself.
"Excuse me," he asked me. "Do you know where I can get a cup of coffee?"
I didn't, but the employee behind the desk did, China Rose. He started to leave.
"Can I go with you?" I asked him as I followed him out the door.
"Oh yeah, sure."
We talked about this and that. I was pretty calm, but couldn't really figure out what I wanted to ask him or what he had done. It wasn't awkward, simply forced. I wished I had read his plays.
"Are you married?" I asked him.
"Sure, 30 years now."
"And how's that?"
"Life's biggest adventure."
He talked to everyone: asking the bartender's recomendation, commenting loudly on how much he liked the soup of the guy sitting next to us, flirting with the owner in her mid-50s.
"So you've known that you've wanted to be a playwright since you were 11?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Was there ever a day you doubted it?"
"No. Why, do you doubt your own desire?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I don't know... I'm not sure its for me. I'm really not the kind of person who likes to network. And I'm not sure... if all of theater is just performed for a bunch of rich white people, then what's the point, you know?"
When we got to the train station, I said, "I hope i'm not bothering you, following you around."
"No, not at all," he responded. "But now, I think I'm going to write. So, it was nice meeting you, Adam, and I'm glad we had dinner."
I shook his hand and walked off the train platform, and down the median strip dividing the tracks. After I got far enough away that I thought he wouldn't see, I crossed the tracks and walked down to the water. The wind was blowing and it was raining slightly. I enjoyed my sit, until I heard in the distance: "Adam!"
It was him. I turned back around and came back to the platform.
"Hello, John."
"Look here, Adam. I had a real good time with you and I'm glad you joined me for tea and supper. But now, I just have to write some. So it was nice to meet you."
"It was nice to meet you too, John." I said, and shook his hand.
"Listen," he said, "don't be so hard on yourself. Take it easy."
"Don't worry," I responded casually. "I will."
We got on the train, into different cars. Next to me was a black woman in her mid-twenties, with a screaming but cute 3 year old.
"Excuse me," I asked her. "Do you have any paper?"
She looked baffled. "No... sorry."
I searched my pockets, but could only come up with a belly dancing program, nothing suitable for substantial writing. After a moment, she turned back to me.
"You know," she said. "I'm reading this book, and there are these blank pages, in the back. I could tear them out."
I smiled. "You don't have to do that," I said as she did.
She gave me the paper, and I started writing. This is what I wrote:
***
Dear John,
I didn't want to tell you,
but I met a girl yesterday.
I met a girl yesterday
and decided she would be
my life's biggest adventure
(In 10 days, she's gone forever).
I can't write her name, it
feels too exposed, even as I move away.
So I write "J".
J, J, J.
I want to play with her,
like the candle wax in China Rose.
If I could, I'd scribble her
out of imagery
and my pencil marks would move her,
sharp metaphors beat honesty.
Thanks for China Rose, John.
You loved our hosts?
That moved me.
I wanted to play with candle wax,
but settled still, on tea.
I'm glad to see you fascinated,
I hope I give you this.
Love,
Adam
***
I finished up, and got to Penn Station. It was nearly 11, and I was exhausted from not sleeping the night before. I looked left, I looked right, then deciding I would never find him, headed up the stairs and met my friend.
"This is who I want to be, at 80," I thought to myelf as he spoke.
After his speech, I got a phone call from my friend in New York (Jay). He's leaving for Budapest in a few weeks, which means I won't see him again for at least a year and a half, likely more. I agreed to meet up with him, and scrambled to find a ride. When I finally got it together and showed up for my 8 PM train, they announced that it had been delayed for an hour. I sat and waited in this empty train station, bored and annoyed. Then, to my surprise, in walks John Guare himself.
"Excuse me," he asked me. "Do you know where I can get a cup of coffee?"
I didn't, but the employee behind the desk did, China Rose. He started to leave.
"Can I go with you?" I asked him as I followed him out the door.
"Oh yeah, sure."
We talked about this and that. I was pretty calm, but couldn't really figure out what I wanted to ask him or what he had done. It wasn't awkward, simply forced. I wished I had read his plays.
"Are you married?" I asked him.
"Sure, 30 years now."
"And how's that?"
"Life's biggest adventure."
He talked to everyone: asking the bartender's recomendation, commenting loudly on how much he liked the soup of the guy sitting next to us, flirting with the owner in her mid-50s.
"So you've known that you've wanted to be a playwright since you were 11?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Was there ever a day you doubted it?"
"No. Why, do you doubt your own desire?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I don't know... I'm not sure its for me. I'm really not the kind of person who likes to network. And I'm not sure... if all of theater is just performed for a bunch of rich white people, then what's the point, you know?"
When we got to the train station, I said, "I hope i'm not bothering you, following you around."
"No, not at all," he responded. "But now, I think I'm going to write. So, it was nice meeting you, Adam, and I'm glad we had dinner."
I shook his hand and walked off the train platform, and down the median strip dividing the tracks. After I got far enough away that I thought he wouldn't see, I crossed the tracks and walked down to the water. The wind was blowing and it was raining slightly. I enjoyed my sit, until I heard in the distance: "Adam!"
It was him. I turned back around and came back to the platform.
"Hello, John."
"Look here, Adam. I had a real good time with you and I'm glad you joined me for tea and supper. But now, I just have to write some. So it was nice to meet you."
"It was nice to meet you too, John." I said, and shook his hand.
"Listen," he said, "don't be so hard on yourself. Take it easy."
"Don't worry," I responded casually. "I will."
We got on the train, into different cars. Next to me was a black woman in her mid-twenties, with a screaming but cute 3 year old.
"Excuse me," I asked her. "Do you have any paper?"
She looked baffled. "No... sorry."
I searched my pockets, but could only come up with a belly dancing program, nothing suitable for substantial writing. After a moment, she turned back to me.
"You know," she said. "I'm reading this book, and there are these blank pages, in the back. I could tear them out."
I smiled. "You don't have to do that," I said as she did.
She gave me the paper, and I started writing. This is what I wrote:
***
Dear John,
I didn't want to tell you,
but I met a girl yesterday.
I met a girl yesterday
and decided she would be
my life's biggest adventure
(In 10 days, she's gone forever).
I can't write her name, it
feels too exposed, even as I move away.
So I write "J".
J, J, J.
I want to play with her,
like the candle wax in China Rose.
If I could, I'd scribble her
out of imagery
and my pencil marks would move her,
sharp metaphors beat honesty.
Thanks for China Rose, John.
You loved our hosts?
That moved me.
I wanted to play with candle wax,
but settled still, on tea.
I'm glad to see you fascinated,
I hope I give you this.
Love,
Adam
***
I finished up, and got to Penn Station. It was nearly 11, and I was exhausted from not sleeping the night before. I looked left, I looked right, then deciding I would never find him, headed up the stairs and met my friend.
