Walking hand in hand down the busy street
Holding hands as carefree as the pigeons fidget strut and peck
Holding hands as natural as the kids beg for a $5 soft-serve swirl cone.
Holding hands as happy as the turtle swims through the cool water and surfaces against the top-muck.
It was too lonely
All those decades
It wears on your shoulders
It hurts your heart
You try to be a good sport
You acknowledge that others have it much worse
You suggest to the God that S/He change you from the inside out so that you become someone who actually helps.
You consider the lilies of the field who neither labor nor spin nor cuddle in love.
But part of you is nonstop:
WHEN WILL I SEE HER (OR HIM, OR WHATEVER) AGAIN!?!?!
It was too lonely.
They didn’t do a good enough job before.
Now they must model themselves on the sunlight against the pavers, on the sunbathers upon the green, on the clowns blowing balloons, on the fiddlers rolling reels, on the jazz quartet bopping Beauty, on the children scrambling the jagged glinting boulders, on the lovers sharing warm sandwiches and snuck-though beer, on the weird guy yelling while he does shirtless pushups near a giant marble block supporting a giant statue of Simon Bolivar.
And so wind they arm and arm, step in step,hand in hand, heart on heart, expanded into a single double-sized consciousness, happy, relaxed, relieved. It was so lonely! But now it is OK; now it is safe; now it is home; now it is OK.
The superhuman couple wander through the sun and the shade, past a string quartet caught between floor and ceiling mosaics, out onto a splendid plaza centered around a fountain and overlooking the pond where rowers maneuver the crappiest, lousiest, most annoyingly unresponsive rowboats. They rest on the low rounding wall and gaze out at elegant swans and clumsy rowboats upon a flat pond of gentle green indifference.
We’ll have to do better this time.
We’ll have to strike a better balance between helping and sustaining.
We’ll need to go gentle.
Yes. Gentle. Err on the side of useless.
Well, I don’t know that we. OK, that might be a way to look at it.
Err on the side of we’re not here.
We can do the nudge.
Mmmm. Yeah. And that’s all.
OK, so that’s the plan.
God help us!
God help us everyone!
Do you want to get a drink at the boathouse?
I want you to focus less on fleeting pleasures and more on the work that lasts, the work that is done in Love and forgets everything else.
Oh, yeah, totally. But let’s take the day off.
We’re already doing that.
I developed an addiction to staring off into space while drinking and smoking. It only works right when you’re young and can’t be hurt; but I’m always like that.
It’s still an addiction and more selfish than Beautiful.
Oh. Well, yeah. I guess. But if we could just; I mean, listen: I want to put my arm around you while I indulge in a bit of folly! Can you understand?
Oh, you! You and your invincibility! You and your wasteful perfection!
We’re too lucky.
If the ship sinks, where will we live? If the world ends, how will we bask in the glow of human bodies and minds wandering through human culture and artistry? I love you, but without them this life becomes unbearably lonely.
True. And there’s moral considerations as well. But I just want a few beers in the sunlight while all around us people, squirrels, and birds reach for life and love.
In the next scene she throws him into the Arctic Circle.
But I think we’re taking this project offline for a while.