WORDS
MAY
“May…” was his answer (yes, with the ellipses at the end, said in that drifting off kind of voice). But that really isn’t an answer, if you think about it.
May. May? As in the month before June? Maybe? Or perhaps it was the beginning of a question (such as “may I use the restroom?” like those picky teachers in middle school make you say instead of “can I use the restroom?”). Or maybe “may” wasn’t really “may” at all and it was the beginning of the word “mate,” such as, “Have another pint of beer, mate!” (read in a British accent, of course). It’s also possible that he sensed a catastrophe coming and was giving a warning saying, “Mayday! Mayday!” but then got stopped midway through.
But I guess we shouldn’t really be worrying about analyzing this man’s (Richard’s) answer because you’re just the reader and I’m just the writer and the person who should be worrying about this is Justine, his girlfriend and the person that Richard’s actually talking to. (And if you’re wondering – no, you may not call him Dick, he takes it a little offensively at times, especially when it’s in that harsh tone.) But what if Justine doesn’t do all this analyzing in her head and just decides randomly, arbitrarily, that he means May, as in the month. Just think about what a large volume of miscommunication and confusion that could create. But as it happens, or as it may, Richard does mean May – he’s leaving to go back home in May, but he also only may be leaving in May and only may be leaving at all. And on top of that, he has been wanting to ask Justine, “May I go back home in May?” because he wants to be sure she’s okay with it. So even though Justine was right in guessing that he meant he was leaving in May, she’s really only scratching at the surface. Because maybe they aren’t even speaking English or they have a strange foreign accent and I entirely misspelled, misinterpreted the word “may” (which may be misspelled, just a reminder). But I decide that they are speaking English and I am spelling “may” correctly; I can do this because I’m the author.
CAN
Can. Can of beans. Tin can. Soda can. Kick the can. Can-can. Cantaloupe. Canteen. Cancel. Cannibal. What can I do for you? Can I use the restroom? Can Richard leave in May? Can Richard leave at all? The latter is what Justine’s thinking. Because hasn’t she been paying for the groceries and the rent for the past three months straight? So now the question is can he pay for a plane ticket? Well, probably not. Can he leave her? They have been together for two years (actually maybe three, but I don’t really know for sure, I’m just making this up). But Justine doesn’t even know if Richard leaving in May would include Richard leaving (as in breaking up with) Justine as well. So even though Richard’s been wanting to ask her “May I go back home in May?” she’s not ready to answer that question at all, because she doesn’t know what his words mean. The person Richard should be asking is me, the all-knowing author. And what would my answer be?
YES
On one hand, he probably should leave. It’s been two years (or maybe it’s three) of arguments for Justine and Richard. Justine complains about her work, her aching back, and Richard’s habit of watching TV during important conversations. Richard is restless and he wears his grandfather’s broken watch at all times. He always seems to be in limbo between one crappy job and the next, and cannot stand Justine’s indecisiveness. Going home would be good for Richard, his mother would cook up a big pot of his favorite stew and sit him down at the kitchen table and give him a good talking-to. “You can’t do this forever, Richard,” she would say. “Get your act together.”
NO
No, when I think about it may be better if he didn’t leave. Because, after all, he can’t really leave, because he has no money of his own. Also, despite their arguments, he and Justine are generally happy together and have proved that they can work things out. Like the day after a particularly heated yelling match, Richard came back from his early morning run with some flowers, only to find Justine flipping bacon and waffles in the kitchen. And really it’s those sort of little things that my characters enjoy most.
WAFFLE
Waffle: to hesitate or hold back in uncertainty or unwillingness
(according
to Miriam-Webster). And that’s exactly what Richard and Justine are doing right
now. Waffling because everything is so unclear, because the words I give them
are so ambiguous, and because don’t we all waffle around everyday? Emails, phone
calls, conversations, texts – we try to make them clear, but no matter what,
they come out imprecise, not quite genuine enough, not quite what we actually
wanted to say. So we waffle. Richard and Justine have been waffling for a while
now, because everything they say to each other is so muddy with different
meanings.
SAY
Say. Say no more. Say what? C’est la vie. Seance. Say it ain’t so. Say
you’re sorry. Homo sapien. Besides just the words Justine and Richard choose
(well, that I choose for them), in real life they have to say them out loud too.
So when Richard says “May…” in addition to all those possibilities like maybe
and mayday and mate, there’s also just the way he said it. And he happened to
say it in a remorseful tone, a little sad, a little sorry, and very unsure. And
you really have to know this guy to understand how much meaning he put into it.
But since you’ll never meet him because Richard is forever trapped inside these
pages, you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Well. Wishing well. Tears welling up. Are you well? Welcome. Health and
wellness. Justine is stuck in the middle of a well. No, not an actual well, not
a creepy dark hole with water at the bottom, but the word “well.” After
Richard’s “May…” that we found so confusing (well, I just made it confusing for
you), Justine responds with “Well –”. And you can imagine how that “well” is
laced with disappointment, as if his answer wasn’t quite what she expected, and
also a fair amount of hesitation because she’s unsure of where to go from here.
Just within that one word is her struggle between what she wants and he wants
and what she thinks would be best for the both of them. She knows Richard’s been
wanting to go home for awhile and she doesn’t want to be the controlling
girlfriend ( I don’t want to give her a bad image, either). But there’s a part
of her that is afraid that once he returns to his family, he’ll remember how
much he loves them and how important they are to him, and she’s just an old
girlfriend across the country, not really worth keeping (her eyes well with
tears when she thinks of this).
GIVE
Give. Give thanks. Giving gifts. Giving in. Giving up. Richard doesn’t
want to give in to Justine. But he doesn’t want to give up on her either. He
needs a little time with his family, to take a breather from the city and the
crowded apartment. But he can’t just leave her, because that wouldn’t make a
good ending, would it? Doesn’t every story need a resolution? But all he’s
asking for is a visit. Maybe it can be a longer visit than most visits are, but
he just needs to get away for a while and get centered, straightened out,
grounded.
GROUND
Ground. Coffee grounds. You’re grounded. The ground. Middle ground. This
is what they need. Middle ground. Richard needs to explain himself a little more
and Justine needs to be okay with the unclearness of it all. They’re on their
way to middle ground right now, as the author I’m pushing them in that
direction, forcing them to ask awkward questions and have uncomfortable
confrontations. It needs to happen, but doesn’t it seem a little out of place
for me to do that? A little rude to be butting in? Maybe I should step back and
let them wander towards that middle ground by themselves, but it’s too late now.
MORE
More could mean more of the same story you’ve been reading. But maybe we
don’t need more of the same thing. Don’t we need to clear things up? Set things
straight, put them in order?
LEAVE
Richard is leaving. Who knows if he’s leaving Justine, taking a leave of
absence, leaving for good, leaving for home. He’s just leaving. It’s a shame
too, because they were really headed towards that middle ground, almost there
when they got stuck in another “well” moment. That hesitation, that waffling,
that muddled unclearness that finally got to both of them that one night. He
left the next morning, leaving behind Justine and his latest birthday present
from her, his grandfather’s repaired watch.
TIME
Time will tell. Just give him time. That’s what Justine’s friend consoled
her with. So Justine gave him time and at the same time gave her part towards
middle ground. No calls, no emails, no nothing. And Richard took his time. He
flew back home, sat down with his mom and she gave him a talking-to (just like I
said she would). “It’s time for you to shape up,” she said to him, over a plate
of noodles. “You can’t go mooching off your girlfriend forever. Get your act
together. Give Justine what she deserves.”
RETURN
Return, as in the button I just pressed to make a new line. And that’s the same
thing that Richard got when he returned. He got a new line, a new start, a fresh
space of white page to fill with words, however confusing they may be. And in
this new context, Justine is okay with the unclearness.
END
The End. End of story. End of the world. Endangered species. Bending the rules.
End of the road. This is the end of the story, as you, the reader, should have
figured out from the title. But is it really the end? When I decide to stop
writing and the page extends smoothly into white blank space, the line of words
will end, but the story won’t. Maybe you’ll still be pondering over what exactly
happened to Richard and Justine or thinking up other words that begin with
“can.” The story will continue off this flat page and into the real, physical
world where these ideas will be played out countless times. Not with the
specifics of waffle flipping and repaired watches, but all the words, phrases
and misunderstandings will continue. So when this story “ends” it doesn’t really
end at all because your story keeps going and mine too, and so does Justine and
Richard’s. The stories will wind their ways slowly down the blank white page,
intersecting, finding similarities, or straying apart. And even though my words
are just as ambiguous as the ones Richard and Justine use, we have to simply let
it go, because words are all we have.