Goddesses Instinctively Resist Stagnation. Your conscious mind accepts stasis, which it interprets as “security”, but your subconscious rebels. It demands change! In the meanwhile, outside of your awareness, your unconscious IS changing, evolving fiercely along with the drama playing out in the entropical human race. Goddesses have the power to direct change. Tune in!
Consult Your Dreams – Dreams signal a desire for change. When was the last time you had a falling dream? Or a rushing water dream? A surprise dream or an accident dream?
Change Is Inevitable – Not just change, but revolution. Revolution is what we goddesses are all about. Cultivate flexible thinking. Don’t invest psychologically in rigid, one-way requirements.
Thought Exercise – What if everything in life were completely different? What if things turned upside down? This is the kind of planning and strategizing asked of goddesses. What’s the “Last Best Option?” Shape your change towards growth by asking, is this making me better and stronger person, or more fearful? More competent, less dependent, more unique, less compliant, more imaginative, less angry, more joyous, less envious? Evolve with me! Prepare to streamline!
Fundamental Attribution Error is thepsychological theory that we blame ourselves for world conditions over which we have no control. Check your guilt/anxiety levels. If they are raging, is there anything you can do to ameliorate the causative circumstances? Being without guilt or anxiety is NOT the goal – that would describe a sociopath! But being crippled by guilt OR anxiety when there’s nothing you can do about it is disabling. And we’re in the empowerment department here.
Goddesses Manage Their Evolution, that’s the point. Traveling ever upward along the spiral. What are the attributes you admire? Develop a picture of yourself as a wise being emitting light. Nurture calm, contentment, gratitude – in the midst of a thirst for new ideas and experiences to add to your expanding galaxy of knowledge.
Be Ready for Anything – Play out the scenarios in your Goddess Training Journal. Have a plan A, B, C. Learn chess to help with thinking of several moves ahead. Ask others, “What would you do?” As you read/watch a piece of fiction, imagine yourself inside this problem. You can also learn a lot from history. Start a “What IF? Club” in which members dream up survival scenarios. Play the game Worst Case Scenario.
Models & Mentors – “Progress is impossible without change”
– George Bernard Shaw
“Change is the law of life. Those who look only to past and present are certain to miss the future.” – John F. Kennedy
“Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability but comes after continuous struggle.” – Martin Luther King
“It is not the strongest of our species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the ones most responsive to change” – Charles Darwin
No One Becomes a Goddess Without Discipline – Many fatally confuse discipline with punishment and avoid it until they sadly discover they’re now too debilitated to do anything. Uh oh! Don’t let this happen to you!
Map-Making Means Map-Following – We adjust maps on the basis of experience. But we try them out first. Or we won’t know where they went wrong. Goddesses are logical, not impulsive. Because impulses are outer-directed. Being a Goddess means being in control. Don’t apply if you don’t like being in control. Goddesses dislike the feeling of being out of control.
You’re Out of Control When You Don’t Know Where Impulses Are Coming From – Lots of cues are subliminal and their directors want to keep it that way. They want you to think the desire is coming from INSIDE the house, not from their strategy room where bills are piling up.
You Become a Goddess by Getting to Know Yourself – YOUR ESSENTIAL SELF – that’s what makes you strong. Goddesses take the time to track the origin of their impulses down.
Do I want it because I’ve done it before?
Do I want it because other people are doing it?
Do I want it because SOMEBODY ELSE insists?
Do I want it because of advertisers & influencers?
Do I need it to Join the Club?
You’ve probably figured out Goddesses aren’t “Joiners.”
If you’re “used” to whatever it is, get “unused” to it. You’re in Goddess training, and it’s a whole new world. Relish the different feelings. If you sense you’re becoming unglued, contemplate substitutions. You don’t need to go Cold Turkey on Pleasure, the Past, or your own physiology. What you need to do is get your body and mind acquainted with Trying New Things because of respectable scientific research says it will build you into the new person you need to be.
Get loose from “the pack” right now. If you can’t, you’re not Goddess material. There’s two kinds of people, “swarmers” and “selves.” Swarmers don’t want to develop a self because it differentiates them from the pack. They want to do whatever the swarm is doing. It takes time – and can be ouchy – to develop a Self but the payoff is literally Eternal. Take the time. Or go down with the swarm if that sounds better.
You’re being pressured to Follow a Course that suits Somebody Else. Let’s take a long look at this person and ask ourselves why they don’t care about our betterment, or who the hell we really are, or even anything other than their own Ego. Why are we servicing this person’s ego? We need to get AWAY from this person. They want a hostage or a slave or both.
We’ve been seduced by the Virtual World! It felt so good at the time. For a moment there it felt like maybe we found Our People. And they seemed so welcoming! Of course there is a price of admission, and you keep paying it with your denigration, not just in the service of someone’s ego, but a lot of people’s bank accounts. Figure out a way to tell these False Friends goodbye.
From our Subconscious We Summon Rescue. In dreams sometimes it’s a hero, a fictional or historic figure or a spirit animal. Try reading folk or fairy tales right before bed. Fall asleep imagining strengthening muscles – physical, spiritual, emotional – growing inside you.
You are Jack AND the Beanstalk! No giant can stand against you. Even the laziest, cruelest corner of the self ultimately collapses to reveal a Tiny Child yearning for effective mothering. Turns out, that’s what you were looking for all along. Time to give birth to yourself, then mother yourself.
Discipline is the Only Path to Achieving What We Want. Nothing is achieved (or appreciated!) without discipline, which only means conforming your behavior to a previously conceived pattern. What ideas spring up when you think about this? Is “discipline” always cruel? Painful? Is it one of your fears? Or the map to the orderly life you long for?
You Are Your Best Friend and Best Parent – Nothing works in your life until you learn delayed gratification and stick-to-itiveness. But first you must experiment with other patterns – some of which –depending on your upbringing – can be hellish. So you have THAT to get past. You will definitely need to harness all your dream power to get yourself over the finish line.
Goddesses Adapt Discipline to Enhance Thriving. But who’s doing the adapting – the Cruel Taskmaster, the Disgusted Lover, the Generous Parent or the Permissive Saint? You contain all these (and they live in your dreams) so which will you listen to? Who will you empower? Who do you feed?
The Choice You Make Controls your Future. Consult appealing patterns that have worked for others and blend to taste. Realize it’s a process; a series of moments. You’re training like an athlete; every day you master new capabilities. Develop a sophisticated discernment you can trust to guide you.
Goddesses Set Marks and Hit Them – Forming habits is easier than breaking them apart, so goddess know that preventing bad habits is the core of discipline. But bad habits sneak up on us, they will form anyway, so part of your discipline will always be turning away from something that was formerly pleasurable. Enjoy the peace that comes with each small step.
Goddesses Know How to Keep Going – Discipline is the bridge that gets you from where you are to where you want to be. Always use a “spotter” – someone who wants the best for you – a professional who’s “been there” and who can keep you from going over the edge.
Goddesses Celebrate Their Discipline – Self-acceptance comes from experiencing our humanity to the fullest. We are “parenting” our much-loved and respected self, the one who starts out as a toddler with no self-control whom we’re trying to keep out of the fire. Forgive yourself. And keep going.
Make Discipline Visual – Charts, maps, graphs and lists that hearten & cheer are key to purposeful pathways. Figure out a way to picture your values. Checking off boxes and cherishing the “proof” of a successful day becomes your joy.
Models & Mentors – “Through self-discipline comes freedom” – Aristotle
“Motivation gets you going, but discipline keeps you going” – John C. Maxwell
“All success begins with self-discipline. It starts with you.” – Dwayne Johnson
‘Day by day – what you choose, what you think, what you do, is who you become” – Heraclitus
Time to check your consciousness levels – How comfortable are you with the very existence, not to mention the depth, of your conscious/subconscious/
unconscious/collective unconscious levels?
Consciousness is your awareness of the Now.
Subconscious are all the memories and ideas pushed out of the Now into “Later”. With effort, you can become aware of these.
The Unconscious you are completely unaware of. It takes considerable mining effort to get down there, but it can be done. This is where you store everything you’ve heard, everything you’ve seen, even peripherally, even without bringing into awareness at the time. The Collective Unconscious is the most controversial. Do you believe you are a historical repository of other people’s memories, including those of whose existence you are entirely unaware? I do.
You Have Multiple People Blending Their Lives With Yours – Do you ruminate about past events? Are you haunted by what was done & left undone? Do you feel nostalgia for a past that never was? Do you have a favorite period in history or a fantasy universe that you wish you lived in, instead of this one?
You are the Heroine of Your Goddess Saga – Accept your centrality in your own myth. It doesn’t matter what other people think – they are the bit players. Think of your past as a Quest Saga. What did you want? How did it change? What blocked you? What tools have you got at your command? Where do you go from here?
Rewrite the Past – You absolutely CAN, but first you first must face its full horror and the effect on you. Generally, because we were immature, we didn’t understand what was going on, were co-opted by our persecutors and prevented from fighting back. Things are different now! The hardest thing to accept is that beloved caregivers didn’t want the “best” for us – they only wanted us to be just like them. Let’s begin bringing those levels of consciousness into symmetry.
“I Don’t Believe in Ghosts but I Never Met a Person who Wasn’t Haunted” is a very wise saying. What haunts you exactly? Or who? Ghosts are malignant – if they weren’t they would be power spirits, fairy godmothers or guardian angels. What malignancies from your past are out to get you and how do they make themselves known? One of Freud’s contributions was to point out that people prefer their neurosis – ie imprisonment – to liberation. Why? What’s in it for them – or you?
You Define YOU. Yes, Goddesses have scars – those are bragging rights! You have been through the wars! ‘Rewriting” the past means understanding what really happened, the limitations of those who surrounded you, and exploring your chances and choices today. Just because parents, teachers or “society” sentenced you to play a role, you can step out of it at any time. Buddhist thought is very helpful here. Buddha teaches that life itself is an illusion – a dream. It changes depending on how we think about it. In the present, inside your mind, you hold all the keys to your own liberation. Re-visit Pema Chodron’s Noble Heart and Eckhart Tolle’s Power of Now to explore how you can assume immediate control of your life and your mind and turn your past into fuel to power your growth.
Goddesses Know Who They Are – Remember,you’ve got a purpose. You’ve got a future. You’ve thought about your past and worked out conflicts with a mentor and in your Goddess Journal.
Goddesses Develop A Sense of History – You understand that history is a spiral, not a circle – the same things do keep coming around but in a different form. You see all around you the operation of karma.
Choosing Evil is Choosing Chaos – and condemning yourself to death. It can’t ever work out except temporarily. You understand the battle between darkness and light and you have committed yourself firmly to The Light.
Goddesses Are Storytellers – You emblemize the message with your life, with your words, with your body, with your very presence. You have become one link in the unbreakable chain of Eternal Perfection and you will gain eternal reward.
Models & Mentors – “You never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory” – Dr Seuss
“Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things” – Cicero
“In the end, we’ll all become stories.” – Margaret Atwood
“Your brain forms the same neural connections and muscle memory whether you are imagining a task or actually doing it”- Yo Yo Ma
Some People Prefer Risk. They don’t feel alive unless the situation is dangerous. What kind of goddess are you? The dangerous kind? Can you rush eternity? A hastened Immortality might not happen. More typical is ambivalence. We both want and don’t want – at the same time.
How Many Different Goddesses Are You? Sometimes we dream disturbingly about things we don’t want and people we aren’t. Feminists dream of rape, vegetarians dream of meat, pacifists dream of fighting. It’s confusing. What gives?
Language Isn’t Subtle Enough to Explain You – Your personality manifests all feelings, all thoughts, all ideas, rippling through you in a vast subconscious river. Everyone’s does; not only those who choose to be Immortal. Your unconscious connects with the “collective unconscious” of all other humans – dead, alive, even fictional. They ripple through you regularly. That’s where all your ‘strange thoughts” and “other personalities” come from.
Why isn’t “hate-love” a word? You experience that regularly. How about “fear-attraction”? Common! What I’m suggesting is that we need to accept the fact that a “personality” is a dynamism, not a label.
Goddess Challenge – Facing your own fluid multiplicity might seem the toughest part, but it isn’t for artists, who routinely “play” along their edge, peeking over it and imagining life on the other side. Art is the best way to express this, an enormous relief since it’s non-committal. You can stop experimenting any time you choose. It’s a goddess power also. Of course, you’ll have to face the surprise of your relatives when your work becomes public: “Where did THAT come from?” But if truth be told, we’ve always been surprised we’re related to those people.
Goddess Danger – Society seeks to label, limit and stigmatize. Everyone is afraid of becoming what they fear but Goddesses need to explore and ultimately manage our fear. A simple safe word won’t work when people – bankers, politicians, therapists, employers – are so fundamentally untrustworthy. That is why our identification of ourselves as Brave Goddess is so vital. The vastness of our potential can never be controlled by language. We will never be butterflies pinned down in a museum box for the instruction/curiosity of others.
Goddess Opportunity – Appreciate your Multiplicitous Self. Don’t slam the door on any of your potentialities too soon. Sometimes the worst labeler, the most determined jailor, is our own punitive psyche. We are deeply afraid of wandering in the forest and losing the way to get home safe. But Goddesses carry Home within them. As Nelson Mandela used to quote from his prison cell, if we are the captains of our souls we can be the masters of our fates. (Henley.) We can learn to tolerate a little ambiguity/uncertainty/ambivalence.
Goddess Tolerate Uncertainty – Being a goddess is all about balance. The experience of balance-seeking is indescribable linguistically – it must be felt experientially. Goddesses learn to live in a world beyond language where we can savor uncertainty and foretaste eternity.
Goddess Relish Paradox – Two contraries not only exist together but empower each other – that creative tension is the lifeblood of emotion, imagination and personality.
Goddess Coast on the Knife-Edge of Ambivalence – The desired is undesirable, the only possibility is impossible and the act of wanting forbids getting. In the Multiverse (Eternity) all your impossibles are actually happening. Goddesses must become comfortable with the pleasures of this dance: “My future dissolves in beads of sweat, my present is my mirror, my past’s a shape-shifting whirligig.” (Aallyn)
Even Leaders Must Contemplate the Power of Surrender – We contemplate Everything. Physics is magic and dreams embody history. This quantum world of “spooky entanglements” is one in which we goddesses become expert. We accept not only that the cave we fear holds the treasure we desire, but that we are both cave and treasure, indeed, fear itself.
Models & Mentors – “It seems we are capable of immense love and loyalty and as capable of deceit and atrocity. It is this shocking ambivalence that makes us unique.” – John Scott
“Ambivalence is a wonderful tune to dance to. It has a rhythm all its own.”
– Erica Jong
“The Simpsons is about alienation and the ambivalence of living with a family who you love but drives you crazy”
– Matt Groening
“Poetry is the home of ambiguity, ambivalence and uncertainty.” – Billy Collins
Those who sleep alone risk scarifying dreams. I dreamed I’d had the baby, and it was some kind of hideous ordeal. Call it a “trauma trigger”. I came back into myself hospitalized, bandaged head to toe and in traction. At first I was so disoriented I thought I was upside down, floating on the ceiling, but the ceiling was stainless steel and it was my reflection that I saw. The nurse approached from a long way off, carrying something in stiffly held out arms. That nurse’s face was so familiar, but who was she? I had only seen my uncle’s housekeeper once so why should it be her and not merely one of those recycled faces that haunt our dreams? The bundle offered was a fish.
I knew she expected me to reject it – call the maitre d’ it and demand a replacement, but I don’t do what people expect. Besides, it had very human eyes, big and sad, with tears woefully a-boiling in its depths. With great effort I wrenched out of my bandages and out of my traction, grabbed my baby and ran away. Obviously this was a terrible hospital, where people give birth in traction and your baby is a fish. A carp, from the look of him, and
not the lucky kind.
He said, “Mummy, mummy,” but whether he recognized me or commented on my bandages I couldn’t say. Hard work running through sand, because that’s where I bogged down. A bunch of golfers grabbed my baby, tossing him into the air with jeers and screams. The baby looked at me imploringly with its chocolate brown eyes, but what could I do? They had cleats and
clubs and all I had bandages. And I was losing strength, keeping only just enough to wonder, why golfers at the seaside? They tossed my baby in the ocean but I wasn’t having it. Waded right in after him but to my shock I soon was drowning. Can’t swim in bandages. You’d think the fish would return the rescue favor, but no. He was nowhere to be seen. It seems you can’t rely on anyone.
When a dream becomes this disgusting you know it’s past time to wake up. I was fighting my way out when I encountered Arnold’s eyes. Looking at me as if I were loathsome.
right.
help me.”
“You’re all over blood,” he said. And he was I said, “That blood was our child. Help me, But it had been too late from the first. The
hospital had a stainless steel ceiling; how could I have guessed? Time seemed to loop; there was a panic-driven moment as they wheeled me conscious right to the operating table. Is “awake till the end” the punishment for being a bad wife, bad hostess, or bad mother? Behind the anesthesiologist’s mask I thought I saw my uncle’s eyes. I was out before I could ask what “D & C” stands for. Diddled, then cauterized?
SEVEN – HAUNTED
Arnold was enormously relieved that I was no longer pregnant. I was enormously relieved that Stan and Willette went home. Arnold was further relieved that the satellite guy installed the dish the day of my return; I was relieved that without a special dish it seemed we could get no local stations. Bait and switch, said Arnold.
But it meant I could pretend I was no longer here. Didn’t matter that this was my own ice floe; freely chosen. Somehow, even dead and stupid, my uncle had won and I had lost. Money meant nothing. The stupid dead had scored again.
“We played strip poker because you went to bed so early,” Arnold defended himself. Thus the guilty flee where none pursue. “Jealousy does not become you.”
But had I become jealousy? The better to consider this possibility I turned down the sound on the plasma TV, then finally the picture. It was more fun to watch the raindrops slide together. Raindrop sex. Boy drops and girl drops, maybe even gay drops. Meeting and joining. Becoming one.
“You know it takes a village to maintain a marriage,” huffed Arnold. “Bartenders, bankers and stand- up comedians.”
And pretty, pretty grad students? He didn’t say. I ignored him till he said the magic word. The magic word was “drink.”
He said, “No reason you can’t drink now.”
Over a baloney sandwich and a glass of Chianti I began to feel forgiving. Someday I would have to go on a diet, find out if my body was still there, but not today and not tomorrow. Percocet enhances Chianti wonderfully. Without that dualism, if you scrape away the op layer of pain, deeper pain just bubbles up from underneath.
“I’ve seen your ghost,” said Arnold. “It’s a guy in a lumberjack shirt.”
But he had never seen my uncle. Not even a picture. “Describe him.”
“Hair the color of driftwood with a widow’s peak, and olive drab pants.”
“Did he look at you? Speak to you?”
“Looked through me. Came right into the study when I was working. I think he was looking for
you.”
That was just mean. Utterly uncalled for. He was punishing me for my jealousy by making all this up. Why would my uncle’s ghost appear to him? I bet Arnold read my diary while I was in the hospital, helpless. It was just the kind of thing that he would do. People without gifts batten on the bounty of others.
“That diary is private,” I warned him. “You’re the one saying married people don’t share everything.”
“Bet he thinks that this is his house,” mused Arnold, relentless. “Since you bought it with his money.” He rose, whistling cheerfully at freedom from the sickroom. “I’d better get back to work if I want to have something to show my agent.”
“Leaving me, are you?”
“Just a day trip to town on Friday. That is, if you’re feeling better.”
He didn’t bother to invite me. Me, who had done so much for him!
“You be careful,” I threatened, “You’ve got “Not me,” he sneered. “I’m a modernist.” Could it possibly be that easy? If
“modernists” were truly ghost-blind, maybe you need a conscience to see ghosts. He should at least be haunted by his fishbaby. Find the meaning, the challenge was always the same. Without meaning everything’s just another trauma trigger. What do refrigerators and meatsafes have in common? They slow down time. If Time truly has no meaning, don’t you see? It means we are free. We always have been free.
I climbed out of bed, awkward because my limbs still belonged to someone else, and checked my underpants. No blood. Maybe all my blood was gone. If I was a ghost that explained everything. Arnold couldn’t see me because he was a modernist. So it was up to me to tell him what we all had suffered. Being ghostly gave me such a rush of power I finally understood how hard it is for them to leave.
I took time to gather flies’ wings as I walked. Little boys tear the wings off flies; ask anybody. I thought they’d stir to life beneath my hands, but they stayed dead, so perhaps they’re only unshed tears. I’m a beginner at this. What do I know?
I pushed open the door to Arnold’s study. There was a bad smell in there and it was Arnold. He hummed Wagner as he worked; a classic song of triumph. On the wall were blow-ups of my diary, in my private, loopy handwriting, my private, private words. Tabloid articles he’d pasted to the wallpaper; “Mom Kills Twelve”; “Satan in Miami”, “BatBoy takes a Bride”.
The wallpaper was so beautiful in this room; it was the best in the house; a Morris pattern of leaves and mulberries and I hadn’t grudged it. It was priceless, probably irreplaceable; and this what I get. Anger postponed becomes rage and rage is truly liberating. I picked up the scissors from a pile of newspapers. Stupidly he’d placed his desk in the window embrasure, allowing me to walk up behind him. “Modernists” are ignorant of fear.
“So what’s it called?” Peeking over his shoulder.
He jumped a mile, scampering to close and save, frantic, busy, ineffective. But the printout lay right next to him. MOODY BITCH SEEKS KIND, CONSIDERATE MAN. I laughed because it was funny.
“It’s a comedy,” he said defensively.
“Aren’t I laughing?” I agreed. The cold fire that doesn’t burn consumed me. I opened my fist to shower unshed tears along his keyboard and he saw the scissors. He went so white. I loved that finally he saw me as someone to fear. Now I knew what turned my uncle on. I opened my mouth to speak but my uncle’s dust boiled out of me and I can’t remember what I tried to say.
That I had bled and now it was his turn? That it only hurts for the first five seconds? That the living are as deserving as the dead? I should have told him it’s the little things…the glasses of wine, the band-aids, the unshed tears – still breaths of life that spark the dying air; these are agents of the dead rescinding time and looping it backwards. Back towards them. Because time’s the thing they’re so jealous of, the only precious thing that we have left.
The phone man said the best that we could get was a party line. No real privacy – ever. I was dumbfounded. “There’s no real privacy on them other lines neither,” said Mr. Sterling, the phone man. “You just think there is.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Arnold told me, right in the phone man’s presence. “We’ll get our phone through the Internet like all sane people. The land line is only for emergencies.”
Sometimes when the phone rang we weren’t supposed to answer it because it wasn’t our “ring”. Maybe Arnold can ignore a ringing phone: I can’t. Especially if it goes off in the middle of the night. No counting a “ring pattern” there – not with the echoes of sleep rattling through your head.
“Who could be calling at this hour?” I demanded of my husband. Rhetorically.
But he said, “Cows. Bears.” In his dream or on the phone?
As usual it was up to me to answer it. “Hello?” I quavered. A sharp intake of breath but no one spoke. I
had played this game before. Could we have brought our own ghosts with us?
‘That you, Gayle?” I boldly inquired. “Just checking up on us? We’re fine. The baby’s fine. Arnold says hi.”
155 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn
It was only afterwards that I wondered if the caller was my uncle’s “housekeeper”. The unpaid one he swore would be compensated in his will. Who else would be angry enough to hound us? And there was always the possibility that it was my uncle himself, wanting to complain about the way I’d spent his money. It would be just like the stupid dead to initiate calls they can’t complete.
FIVE – MEATSAFE
Our first visitors came when before we were ready (as visitors will). Before the cable was connected. Willette had streaked her hair with an unbecoming dissipated rock star red which, considering her coal black eyebrows and pointed chin made her resemble Sarah Bernhardt in her coffin. She had two legs, however. Willette had always been High Maintenance. Compared with her, Stan, a little plumper, somewhat balder now, seemed refreshingly cooperative and easily amused. In honor of our upstate move he wore a sweaters with a vaguely Chistmassy theme.
“Snowflakes! Moose!” he genially exclaimed. “What’s not to like?”
“You’re not missing anything in the city,” said Willette. “We’ve been burgled.”
take?” Stan. “Better glasses don’t help.”
“Omigod,” I sympathized, “What did they “A Cuisinart and my reading glasses,” said “Those instructions are rough,” I agreed.
“We told the cops to be on the lookout for a bandit with severe left eye astigmatism,” Stan joked.
“Not that they’ll look,” said Willette gloomily. “They never do.”
“Until the guy kills somebody,” agreed Arnold.
“They don’t even care about that now,” asserted Willette. “They bargain murders down to “accidents” just to skew their crime statistics. Fighting crime from a desk chair.”
“Nice work if you can get it,” echoed Arnold, a sociable host refilling wineglasses.
They had been stuck in traffic so we were dining at nine-thirty, a distinct hardship for anyone with my raging metabolism. I had eaten the cheese and crackers all by myself and was forced to smack together some distinctly unappetizing crudités. Zucchini slices with sour cream, anyone? Fortunately it didn’t matter. They wanted dinner and dinner itself hardly mattered because the dining room was so dark. Without windows, but six doors, there were constant and mysteriously unaccountable drafts; the candles slanting first one way and then the other. Over Martel and coffee conversation languished. No Martel for me. No wine. I was trying to be good. Trying to be good does not a dinner party make.
“I know,” I roused myself. “Let’s play
Icicle.”
“Icicle?” they all wanted to know. “How do you play that?”
“One person hides and everyone goes looking for him. When you find him you have to squeeze in as close as you can get. Last person left is the icicle.”
“That’s sardines!” scoffed Arnold. “I’ve played that.”
But Willette was intrigued. “Good game for this house,” she said. “We’ll find cubbyholes and corners even you haven’t seen.”
“I’m warning you, I’m the world-class champion sardines player,” said Stan. “I once won hanging for an hour in a garment bag.”
With a challenge like that, he had to go first.
“Basement off limits!” shouted Arnold. “It’s dangerous down there.” Was that an implied waiver of danger elsewhere? We listened to his footfalls clatter up the stairs and wander overhead.
“Sounds like there are three of him,” said Willette. Of course we weren’t bothering to count.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I teased. “Real estate agent says this house is haunted.”
Willette seemed unintimidated. Stan I could have impressed.
“Our refrigerator tried to eat the delivery man,” said Arnold, getting into the spirit. “Both recovered and doing fine.”
“And there’s kind of a bad smell coming from Arnold’s study.” I suggested.
Arnold gave me A Look. Ooo, snap! Talk about burning with a cold fire! I pulled out the Big Guns. “Oswald Pewlett saw a fireball.”
“I feel a fireball coming on myself,” said Arnold, shaking the empty Martel bottle.
“Maybe it’s an animus.” said Willette. “You know, like a malignant spirit that attaches itself to unfinished business.”
I didn’t know. Upstairs a door slammed. Hard. We took that as a starter’s pistol. I let the others rush straight upstairs, elbowing each other like a middle- school recess, pretended at first to follow, then ducking behind a door.
World Champion Stan could not make it this easy for us, not even in an unfamiliar house. If it was me I would make a lot of noise going up the front stairs and then sneak quietly down the back. How he slammed that door I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound difficult with our drafts. If you balanced something on it and opened a window…
Outside had to be off-limits. I heard an unpleasant rustling in the rhododendrons. Think far enough outside the box, fall off the edge. I allowed myself to be seduced by the kitchen broom closet. It’s as narrow as an ironing board but runs the depth of the room, thus making an ideal crawlspace. And there was someone inthere. I could hear him breathing. “Is that you, Stan?”
The shadow rippled towards me. “I’ve missed you, Sharl.” That could have been my sigh, me just talking to myself. But then the voice spoke unmistakably and said the most surprising thing: “Time has no meaning.”
That’s not a message I would ever give myself, and it was my uncle’s voice, I swear it. I backed out in a panic, slammed the door so hard the doorknob fell off. The ghost was locked in, ha ha. Serves him right for refusing to play dead.
Willette and Arnold were upstairs together, looking equal parts smug and guilty. Like I couldn’t figure out what was going on. And they couldn’t say exactly where they’d searched. “Please yourselves,” I yawned. Maybe if I found Stan, he would show a sudden yen for pregnant women. Unlike everybody else.
“He’s not downstairs,” I declared, so it was time to inspect the attic. My flashlight revealed footprints in the dust along the steps. I pursued a faint tapping sound. In the dark, Stan had locked himself in the old meatsafe. Dumb place to hide! And he wasn’t happy about it. Like it was our fault. Willette, feeling a bit one down after the exposure of her skirmishes with Arnold, seized advantage like a wolverine protecting its mate.
“What if he had an asthma attack!”
Then you’d be a merry widow, I thought. But honest Stan said, “I don’t have asthma.”
“But an experience like that could give it to you,” said Willette. “Trauma triggers, they call it. “Traumatic inception”. Someone needs to take that door
off at the hinges.”
mandarin .”
“Don’t look at me,” said Arnold. “I’m a
The game was over. “Maybe in the morning,” I told Willette. “I’m gravid and I need my sleep.”
When Arnold finally came to bed – could Stan possibly have agreed to a threesome? I refused to let him in. “You’re the icicle,” I told him.
When I discovered one house on the list was haunted I gave the real estate agent no rest until he took me there. Honestly I had to do that man’s job for him. It was raining so heavily that morning that his car was like a bathysphere.
“I want to at least look at it. Cheer up; if there are leaks we’re sure to see them.”
“That’s it.” The agent still seemed very depressed as he reached for his golf umbrella. “It’s been empty fourteen years. No modernization whatever.”
Better and better. The bathrooms and kitchens I’d been seeing were like lip-sticked hogs in toe- shoes. There might even be original paneling. Peering out of the window I could see nothing through the darkening rain. “What’s it haunted by?”
I saw his wattles quiver in battle with his chin. Was I interfering with the real estate agent’s code?
“Various things.” Unadroitly he tried changing the subject and actually selling. “It has a view of the river. And it’s a real bargain.”
“Like what things?” Not reaching for my own umbrella or putting up my hood might tempt disclosure. I saw him wondering he could talk me out of going further.
(Sigh) “Oswald Pewlett saw a fireball.”
I was entranced! Had he searched his memory for the spectre least likely to queer a deal? “There
was a fire?”
He hastened to reassure. “A green fire.cold fire that doesn’t burn.”
A Delicious! I had to see it now! I pulled
galoshes over my ivory heels. “Let’s go!”
Perched above the road, the house was reached by a corkscrew of steps. The porch was an addition, so it was full of leaks, but the house was solid as a rock. Silent. High ceilinged. Original paneling. One bathroom for seven bedrooms, a marvelous thirties kitchen with no appliances, and a single light bulb in the exact center of every ceiling. This could be fun.
The real estate agent ensconced himself by the library window with its view of the river and refused to go upstairs. “I’ve seen it,” he said, pulling his fishing hat down over his ears as if assaulted by inner rain.
Upstairs there was no fireball, but the floors were littered with little glittery shards that turned out to be flies’ wings. No flies, mind you, only their wings. Thrifty spiders, I suppose who dine on all but isinglass. Is that how fairy legends started, I wondered. Fairy wings and flies’ wings – hard to tell the difference. I’m on the side of spiders. They can have all the flies they want.
And that’s how I bought The Old Chase Place.
THREE – DELIVER US
I should never have told Arnold the place was haunted, but I couldn’t resist bragging. “It has everything,” I sang.
“Air-conditioning too, so it seems,” he groused. He was always out to ruin my good time.
“That’s just the wind off the river. A natural chill factor. And real oak, too.”
“I’m not complaining.” He couldn’t help but warm to so much wood. In the city everything is “faux”. Alas the rooms were rather small, and in strange juxtaposition. Not a rich man’s house, you wouldn’t say, but perhaps the warren of a worrier.
“This will be my study,” said Arnold. He chose the one room in the house that still had a working fireplace – the others had been fitted with hideous stovepipes. But I didn’t argue, because at last he was smiling.
We were having a picnic lunch when the Sears truck drove up with the appliances. I didn’t see the accident because in my condition, meals are serious events. If I’m going to spend all morning nauseated then I’m going to spend all afternoon eating. (And all evening sleeping it off.) So when Arnold rose to show the hirelings what a forceful homeowner he could be, I pulled the fried chicken bucket closer.
When I heard a crunch and a hoarse cry I did run to the window. The ramp had fallen off the steps, tossing the refrigerator and pinning a delivery man. His mouth was open – I could see blood – and he was gasping for air. He reminded me of the fish my uncle caught on his
many unsporting ventures into the wild. He loved watching creatures die. He once presented me with a still- beating fish heart, saying, “It’s only the stupidest that go on living after they are really dead.” The fish, the headless running chickens — I guess the joke was on them, if they didn’t know they were dead. But the delivery man was not dead; we all affirmed the fact.
There was a flurry of activity while the driver jumped into the truck to call for help – we didn’t have a phone yet and cell phones don’t work out here. The fire and rescue truck arrived after about ten minutes to take over. Arnold had to help the second delivery man move in the appliance. “Get a camera,” he hissed.
He wanted me to take pictures of the ramp and the steps to show, although our porch was in sorry condition, it was the ramp anchoring that was at fault (them) and not the steps (us). That’s because it’s so important in life to figure out whose fault everything is.
“He’ll be all right,” I offered. “He had a lot of meat on him.”
“Jesus, Sharl,” said Arnold, “I heard his bones go crunch.” And that was the end of that picnic.
At least I had a brand new oven, refrigerator, dishwasher and washer/dryer. I went back to applying the coat of dark green paint to make the room picture-perfect. Hunter green for Hunter (boy or girl); a super-infant guaranteed to make all his mother’s dreams come true.
Andrew looked up from the Food section of the Sunday Times. “Did he jump out of his coffin and give everybody the finger?”
“No.” I sat down on a Brazilian leather cube impersonating a chair. “He left me a lot of money.”
That made Arnold sit up straight. Finally I had produced something worthy to compete with three- melon risotto. “How much?”
“A lot.” Two beats. “All of it.”
I hadn’t seen Arnold this excited in a long time. “This is the uncle we never once went to visit, even though he only lived in New Rochelle?”
“He’s the one.”
“And there are a lot of other relatives…” I saw the penny drop. “Is this the same guy who used to feel you up when you were little?”
“He’s the one.”
Arnold whistled. “Wow!” he said, “Break out the champagne! Let’s drink to old fashioned Calvinist guilt!”
But I couldn’t drink. “There’s an unpaid
housekeeper who says she’ll sue.” I tried dismissing that
ugly scene from my mind. But ugly scenes don’t go so easily.
“Screw her,” he laughed, “Doubtless the old man did. To the one who got away!” he snorkled. “With…” drum-roll on the glass coffee table… “all the money!”
“I could split it with her,” I said thoughtfully. “Except that I need it all.” And if I divorced Arnold, I’d have to split it with him.
His eyes narrowed over my unusual decisiveness. “Sounds like you’ve made a plan.”
“I have. I’m pregnant and I’m moving.”
He rose to pursue me to the kitchen. I was the pursued one now.
“Rich? Pregnant? Moving?” He banged his palm against his chest. “It’s a lot to handle for one afternoon. Where are you going, oh helpmeet?”
“Upstate. The country.” There was no champagne. Of course not. There had been nothing to celebrate for so, so long. I poured us each an apple juice. “You could come with.” Two beats. “But you’d have to give up your girlfriend.”
Surprise! I saw him try to toss it off and keep on dancing. “What’s that? Getting jealous are we? Symptomatic of your condition?”
“Gayle.” I leaned forward, giving back the name. “She sent me such a charming letter.” In which she stated her utter non-comprehension of why the moody bitch wouldn’t just step aside and let the poor, kind, considerate man go free. Ugh. Apple juice is disgustingly sweet. I’ve never understood how adults can covet the provinces of children. Poor little sugar addicts, they are ruined before they start. I tried adding powdered tea from a mix. Still bad. The no-liquor lifestyle is a tough sell.
He was sputtering like a damp firecracker. But it was not Arnold’s turn to speak.
“Screwing students is the beginning of the end for a teacher. You’re lucky she notified me and not the superintendent.”
Unfortunately I could always read Arnold’s mind. He really needs to get some more interesting thoughts. I saw him deciding he’d better stop aimless denial until confronted with the evidence against him.
“Why upstate?” he bartered, testing me. “Why not, say, Europe?”
“Because,” I answered, “I like to get something for my money.” That alone made me my uncle’s worthy heir. Glittering silver dollars lit the darkened rooms of memory. I persisted — for I’m nothing if not persistent — “Haven’t you heard of the curse of the lottery winner? They spend it all and then some. I want a property I can buy outright – debt-free.” Wouldn’t it be heaven owing nobody nothing?
He toddled toward the window on his be- jeaned insect legs. He looks much better in big-boy pants. Was he trying to imagine life without me? Or without New York? So I sealed the deal with a siren song. “You could finish your screenplay…”
Amy liked Aunt Petra from the moment she first met her, because Aunt Petra was the only
grown-up who understood about the ghost room.
It was Amy who carried Aunt Petra’s suitcase up the stairs and showed her into the Blue
Room, because Amy’s mother was busy with lunch.
“I wonder why they didn’t put me in the ghost room,” said the guest, not even looking around her cheery boudoir before flinging herself on the bed and wrapping herself like a caterpillar in her paisley
pashmina.
Amy’s heart beat faster. “How did you know?” she gasped. Aunt Petra hadn’t even toured the house. The door to the ghost room was always closed and as directed, Amy had tried to scuttle past without
glancing in its direction.
“It felt cold, for one thing,” said Aunt Petra. “Several degrees colder than the rest of the
house. Brrr.“ She shivered. “I’m still cold.”
“Mom says it’s the furthest from the furnace,” Amy told her, “But when we put in an electric
heater it kept shorting out.”
Aunt Petra laughed. “Never heard yet of a ghost who mastered electricity, but I’m prepared to
believe it’s possible.”
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That’s when Amy decided she liked Aunt Petra so much. She offered, since her aunt didn’t appear to be moving “Would you like me to unpack for
you?”
“That would be wonderful,” said her aunt, so Amy opened the suitcase. Clothes and books and cartons of cigarettes and pill bottles were just thrown in haphazardly, but Amy took things out carefully one by one, folded them the way her mother had taught her. She
gave each category of item its own drawer in the highboy.
“I see you have a scientific mind like your father,” Aunt Petra commented. “Would you please hand over those cigarettes?” As soon as she had them in
hand she lit one and puffed on it fiercely.
“I’m going to be an artist,” objected Amy, although she wasn’t supposed to correct or even “talk back” to adults, which meant never pointing out they were obviously wrong. Then, “Mother says those things
will kill you.”
“Everything kills you,” sighed her aunt. “Everything, everything. You’ve got to take your pick.” She coughed heavily. “Allow me to serve as a bad
example.” swinging her feet, and reverted to the subject she really
Amy sat on the slipper chair, wanted to discuss. “There’s the smell,” she offered.
Aunt Petra looked at her floral cigarette in surprise so Amy elaborated, “In the ghost room. We washed it down in disinfectant and Mother had the rat man in but there was no getting rid of it. It comes
and goes.”
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”Very interesting,” said Petra in her drawling voice. “This will allow us to identify the ghostly
presence. What exactly does it smell like?” Amy considered. A question she
had never been asked before. “Dirty feet.”
“Ah,” said Petra. “I recognize that one. It’s the stench of neglect. Neglect and consequent
regret. Truthfully, do you go in there often?”
And although Amy had been forbidden to enter the room if she was going to insist on talking about the ghost, she liked Aunt Petra so much she
answered honestly. “Yes.” “So have you seen this ghost?”
Amy nodded gravely. “And you, Aunt Petra? Have you ever seen a ghost?”
“No,” said Aunt Petra, “I never have and I never will. Some people are gifted one way and some another.” She stubbed out her cigarette in the water glass Amy’s mother had thoughtfully provided for quite another purpose. Amy was too surprised by the revelation that you could believe in ghosts without ever seeing one to notice. Aunt Petra was certainly a strange species of grownup. So Amy asked, “But why would you want to
believe in ghosts? I mean if you didn’t have to?”
“When you get older you’ll find it very nice to believe that life doesn’t come to a full stop just because we’re no longer physically around,” her aunt responded. “Anyone over thirty is already a big fan of
84 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn
second chances.” She smoked. ‘And third and fourth. Infinite chances are very attractive.”
“Well Mother doesn’t believe in ghosts. She took me to the doctor.” Amy hated the fat doctor whose fingers smelled of penicillin. He was only good for shots. And sure enough, he gave her a vitamin shot. Vitamin B12 to cure her of ghosts. Amy had been afraid it would work, but of course it didn’t. Thinking about it, she ran her finger thoughtfully around the rim of
the empty suitcase.
“Know what’s especially amazing about it all?” asked Petra. “Your mother was half your age
when she saw her first ghost.”
me!”
Amy squealed incredulously. “Tell
“Well, our high school was right next to the kindergarten and so I always walked your mother home after class. And one day my appendix burst right in the middle of gym – I was rushed to the hospital but in the excitement everyone forgot about your mother completely. She waited until it was dark and then she tried walking home alone. She said this dog – she described him perfectly with his long droopy ears and the spot to the right of his nose – was following her. And he had such a friendly face he gave her courage. She knew he wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to her. Then when
she got home he disappeared.” Amy jumped up and down in her
excitement. “And the dog was a ghost?”
“It was my dog Peanut who died long before your mother was even born. We had no pictures of him and we never talked about him, so how
85 – Awake Till the End – Stories by Alysse Aallyn
could she have known? I wished I could have been the one to see him but I was grateful to him for walking her home. I liked thinking he was there.”
“You should tell her she saw a ghost,” insisted Amy. “She doesn’t even know!”
“Oh, you know your mother,” said Petra comfortably. “She wouldn’t believe either of us. We should give thanks instead for her practical head. Look at this beautiful room. And I know in advance that dinner
will be delicious and healthy.” Amy cared not a fig for house-
keeping. “I wish our ghost was a dog.” “Tell me all about him.” Aunt Petra
fixed her niece with a bright, beady stare.
“He’s an old man in a rocking chair. The rocking chair’s a ghost, too. He sits with a finger in the Bible, looking out the window at the frozen pond. He
never ever looks at me. Not once.”
“Maybe you’re a ghost to him,” said Petra. “What’s he look like?”
“He has white hair brushed straight up. And overalls. And boots with big looping laces that touch the floor. And his face is all wrinkly. His earlobes
dangle almost to his shoulders.”
“I can just see him,” said Petra. “Doesn’t he ever read the Bible? Just looks at the pond? I
wonder if I know what he’s thinking.”
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“I don’t see how you could.” Did ghosts have thoughts? Amy was astonished.
“He’s probably thinking he’s useless and his life is over. Wanting to jump right into that pond
but afraid of what will happen.”
“He must have jumped if he’s a “Maybe he regrets it.” “He ought to go to heaven with the
ghost,” said Amy. rest of the spirits and stop bothering us,” said Amy
heatedly. the doorway. “Let Aunt Petra rest before dinner. She’s had
a long trip.” said Amy, and Aunt Petra backed her up.
“Maybe we should tell him that.” “Amy!” Amy’s mother appeared in
“I wasn’t bothering her, honest,”
“We were having a wonderful talk.”
Downstairs her mother gave Amy a hug. “I know Petra wishes she had a little girl like you.”
“Well, why doesn’t she get one?”
Amy’s mother tapped a wooden spoon uncomfortably against her left cheek. “You know
mothers need a daddy to make a baby.”
“Well, why doesn’t she get one of those?” It was terrible the way grownups acted powerless
all the time when they had all the power in the world.
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“Because she looks like hell warmed over,” said Amy’s father, sitting at the kitchen table with
his newspaper. “Marriage isn’t just about looks!”
“Bob!” barked Amy’s mother. “She acts snarky and superior too,”
said Amy’s dad. “Nobody likes that.”
“But you want me to be superior,” argued Amy. “You put me in the advanced class and made
me skip second grade.” “Just know you are superior without
acting that way,” said her father, confusingly.
Amy didn’t believe him for a minute. Aunt Petra was so easy to talk to she could probably explain to Amy the most puzzling problem of all: the difference between insides and outsides. How come people looked one way and felt another? In the following days she hung around her aunt, who never chased Amy away or acted bored by her company. She was the first to
tell Amy that her name meant “Loved.”
“The one who is loved. Could there be a better name? That says it all. My name means
“stone”.” change it,” said Amy. Aunt Petra was the one always
“If you don’t like it you should saying life was all about choice.
“Some things you’re stuck with,” said Petra. “Some things you can fix. It takes a lot of living
to tell the difference.”
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Of course she wanted Amy to take her to the ghost room. Aunt Petra told her sister that the light was just right for watercolors and so Amy’s mother allowed a special dispensation. At the doorway Aunt Petra halted, spread her arms and chanted,“Cold Huntsman,
depart, take your knife from out my heart.”
Cold Huntsman?”
Amy was impressed. “Who’s the
“The Cold Huntsman is Death,” said Petra. “It was just something we used to say when we were children, going anywhere scary. It’s a big help when passing graveyards by the light of the moon. It must have worked because I’m still here. Let me know when the
ghost comes back.”
Amy considered it a lot more exciting to be a child in the olden days, walking by yourself to school and strolling past graveyards by the light of the moon. No one she knew was allowed to get away with anything like that now. Parents seemed to
assume everything was fatal
Gratefully she offered, “Would you like me to paint a picture of you?”
“I would love that.” “It will be a picture of your insides,”
said Amy, “because I can’t do people’s outsides yet.”
“Better and better,” said Petra. “It’s just my insides that I care about. How can one girl get so
lucky?”
Aunt Petra was the perfect model, because all she wanted was to lie there. So Amy drew her with a face like the sun. Then one day the ghost came back.
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“He’s there,” she told Aunt Petra through chattering teeth. It was colder than it had ever been, and she felt a deep sense of horror, like she had
somehow made things worse.
Petra sat right up and threw off her pashmina. “I’m going to tell him he can go,” she said.
“Leave us.”
Amy waited in Petra’s room in an agony of excitement. When Aunt Petra finally returned her face was gray with exhaustion. She threw herself on the
bed.
“He’s gone,” she said.
“Did you see him?”
“I didn’t need to see him, I could feel him. I went and stood in his place right by the window.
Where he must have been sitting.” “You must have made him so
angry,” whispered Amy. “Was he the Cold Huntsman?”
“No. The Cold Huntsman had come and gone. I told him what he chose was the right thing and everyone else forgave him so we wanted him to forgive
himself.”
“And then?” “And then he went away. I think for
good. I hope so. We’ll see.”
“Let’s tell Mom!”
Amy jumped wildly up and down.
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But Petra made herself very small, under her shawl on the big bed. “When you grow up you will learn there are some things you can never tell
anybody.”
After Aunt Petra left the ghost didn’t come back. The room warmed up and the stink went away. Amy’s mom wouldn’t let Amy move her bed in there, but she was allowed to put her art table in the ghost’s place, under the window. Petra was right; the ghost had sat in the very best light. Amy was working there one day when she had the funniest feeling. She turned around and there was
Aunt Petra, lying under a shawl on the bed, eyes closed. Amy burst through the kitchen door
wailing. “Aunt Petra’s dead!”
Her mother’s face was stained with tears. “I should have told you,” she sobbed, “but I didn’t
know the best way. How on earth did you guess?”
But although Amy was a long way from grown up she had finally learned that there are some
(Ordinary dorm room with desk lights, two twin beds, built ins. JAZZ feels her body as if to reassure herself that it’s still there. CORSO – bare-chested –is sitting on one of the beds, studying a laptop)
CORSO
Lose something?
JAZZ
I lost everything. What are you doing here?
CORSO
Installing fun software. You seem distraught– your mood begs improvement. Come over here into the light and let me look at you.
JAZZ
I’m not distraught, I’m disgusted. Hey, that’s my laptop.
CORSO
Nothing human disgusts. Take it from me, you’re going to love your new social media interface.
JAZZ
The thing that disgusted me wasn’t human. Is your software a game?
CORSO
Everything worth doing devolves into game. As your administrator, I’m in charge of upgrades. We’ll do Mr. Quinn next. Any idea where he’s been hiding?
JAZZ
Stevie Farrell, din’t you mean? How did you get in here?
CORSO
I’m loco parentis, poor, suspicious little Jazz, just checking up. You’ve been keeping such bad company. And Stevie’s not the worst of it – there’s a prowler around campus who seems to have it in for you. Let’s hope it’s not too late to put your feet on a better course.
JAZZ
I’m leaving if you’re not.
CORSO
Poor Jazz, what can we do to mitigate these fears?
JAZZ
(Throws herself impulsively on the other bed)
I’m not afraid of you.
CORSO
I see we have much work ahead.
JAZZ
(She finds his shirt – reacts like it’s infectious and throws it at him)
Why can’t you keep your clothes on?
CORSO
(Catching the shirt effortlessly)
Stevie and I were very informal; I was hoping we could be informal too. I gather he confessed his proclivities to you?
JAZZ
I heard a lot about how you can’t be trusted.
CORSO
Credulous Jazz! We must teach you discernment. Education is challenge, not safety or comfort – I strengthen minds and bodies to appreciate, manipulate and surmount reality. Recreate your own world. If you don’t want those things, then you’re fodder like the rest of them.
(fans himself with the shirt)
These rooms are very hot. Do you know the trick to opening these windows? Aren’t you feeling overdressed?
JAZZ
I saw your game.
CORSO
I borrowed bodies that weren’t being used! And aren’t you the better for it? Restful sleep, interesting dreams, AND a paycheck, now there’s a deal. I’ll throw in little Stevie to be your guide.
JAZZ
How can we converse when you pervert language? You pervert language and ideas. You pervert bodies.
CORSO
Debate’s not your forte, Jazz. I can assist with that. You entered this room requesting an upgrade in your selective amnesia. It’s something we all must have, otherwise none of us could function. I can help you control it.
JAZZ
If it comes from you, I don’t want it.
CORSO
Poor little Jazz! Who could you be channeling – me or him? Or perhaps it’s that desperado asking everyone for scuttlebutt?
JAZZ
I went with the flow till the flow tried to drown me. I’m becoming my own person.
CORSO
All freshmen think that. Is the real Jazz so robotic? You used to be so much more fun. You were quite the adventurer.
(laughs)
Let’s laugh together. Why so serious?
(mimes a ridiculously pulled down clown face)
Life unlocks all its secret pleasures once you master the key.
CHASE
(Bursts into the room)
Is the key murder? Soul murder, followed by physical murder to make sure the souls stay dead?
(JAZZ vaults to her feet, they hug, obviously drawing strength from one another)
CHASE
Stand up, you bastard.
CORSO
Oh, can the paranoia, little Steve. Victimology is so limiting. Jazz and I aren’tinvolved, if that’s what’s bothering you. We share a strictly business relationship. There’s room for you, too if you down your tools of self-destruction.
(Rises imposingly. He’s bigger thanCHASE)
CHASE
We have all the proof we need. You can’t get away with it.
JAZZ
The bodies are piling up.
CORSO
But they long to pile, and not feel guilty! Everyone wants to be a porn star!
CHASE
We know what you did.
CORSO
What a shame, then, that you felt the need to mime unconsciousness. When will feel your feelings and live your truth? Isn’t that what youth is all about?
JAZZ
Being drugged isn’t truth!
CORSO
Yet you – both of you – acceded to all of it. Names along the bottom line. The law says you’re adults.
JAZZ
I know what you did is illegal!
CORSO
Fashion to law, little Jazz, and with such startling speed! Too bad the law is amorphous, the law’s in transition, it’s a creature of fashion just as you were. Things that were illegal last year are perfectly legal today. People go to court and bankrupt themselves to “win” – ask your sad friend – but the law doesn’t help them feel they have won. They spend the rest of their lives trying to recapture the glow of surrender.
CHASE
You are vile and despicable – everything about you is saturated with evil.
CORSO
I see that you two have made loserdom your bond. It’s so unhealthy, all this focus on the past. You could enjoy both youth and wealth, but you consciously choose misery. Let’s try ratiocination for a change. Who gives benefits and who gives problems? Haven’t I made all your tiny dreams come true? You can have Mr. Quinn if you want him, Jazz, anyone can. Now let’s concentrate on upgrading these immature fantasies.
CHASE
What if we tell the Dean?
CORSO
Who, Bernie?I’m sure you’ll find Bernie doesn’t expect me to police my students’ very randy sex and dream lives.Bernie and I understand each other perfectly. People loveporn, everyone wants an avatar and to feel like a creator. Let’s consecrate all this blood and shit to transcendental purposes.
JAZZ
You use words you can’t understand.We’re soulmates. We’ve seen worlds of possibility, of universe and time.
CORSO
You’re welcome!
JAZZ
You’ll never know what we can do.
CORSO
Pretty sure I can guess. Everything except freedom?
CHASE
Your freedom is all fake. You’re nothing but an appetite. All youcreate are slaves.
CORSO
Oh. Slaves! In a limitlessuniverse, slaves are no fun at all. It’s such a bore always having to direct.
(fanning himself)
Jazz, how can you tolerate this hideous heat? I know there’s a trick to these windows.
(Successfully opens window)
Stevie, get us a drink. Let’s sit down and talk this over like grownups.
CHASE
Not a chance.
(BEXappears spot-lit on the TOWER LIFT, scanning with his binoculars, holding his shotgun at the ready. He sights his quarry & racks his slide)
JAZZ
Look out the window, Dr. Corso.
(She pulls CHASE away)
Tell me what you see.
CORSO
(Peering)
Who’s out there, Jazz? Bile stained, piss stained revenants skulking home for parietals?
(BEXclimbs awkwardly out on the tower lift, hooking his leg, trying to get a good shot)
CORSO
(Waves out at the world)
Run home, littleoneironauts! Your memory cards expired!
(JAZZ grabsCHASEand pulls him to the floor. Shots ring out.CORSO, looks down at his chest as red stains bloom across his back. Plummets slowly out through the window. Recoil causes BEXto lose his footing – drop his gun – throw his arms up – cry out – fall)
JAZZ
Set a demon to catch a demon!
CHASE
May the aspirations of murderers always overreach.
JAZZ
And those of lovers override.
CHASE
Time to free the others? Whether they like it or not?
JAZZ
Kiss me.
(They kiss.Sacred music, pink glitter.DARKNESS. FINAL CURTAIN)
Alysse Aallyn 