The only time I can really recall missing someone was my second day in first grade. My mom dropped me off…I met my friends…I forgot what I did with them…but I remembered I smiled. I smiled a lot. Wide, child-like smiles…smiles that I can not replicate at this age even if I’m truly happy or excited or in the mood to smile. And at that moment, with my friends, that wide, child-like smile existed. But right before class, and I don’t know why right before, I started thinking about my mom. I started thinking about her white hair among her old black hair…how it was so easy to pluck the white strands from their roots. And how every time I plucked a black one, she would squeak, “ouch”. Just “ouch” as if she was mimicking my voice. A baby mouse‘s voice. So…I missed her. And it wasn’t so much she wasn’t there that really bothered me…it was more of a realization that someday everyone I know will go away…and that I couldn’t handle that thought…granted I was in first grade…but I pictured myself as a king back then. A relatively strong king...armed with a sword made from sapphire. And I cried. I cried because I had no control of what would happen to the ones I know. I cried because that realization would come again in some shape or form.
(pause. Angie enters mimicking the previous night)
It was 2:46 in morning when I woke up to Angie searching the dark for something. The only thing I could really see was her white tank-top. She’s darting from corner to corner. RELAX! But I couldn’t say that and she kept moving, trying to walk quietly but only creating more precise sounds of feet to floor. And then she got on her knees.
And I can’t explain this, but she started scratching the floorboards.
Digging with her index finger on a single spot of the wood as if relieving it of an itch. That’s all I heard…all night long…stch, stch, stch, stch, stch. What the hell is that? Tell me. What are you looking for? Is this an act of pain? Is your way burying your sins, your anger? Because I don’t buy it. Would I miss you? Would I die for you? You. This.
(pause. Angie looks up at the boy but remains in her present moment. He directing his voice to her.)
I believe in reincarnation, Angie. Not the reincarnation with any religious undertones. Just…I believe that when you die you have a chance to be something else. Anything. And if I had to choose I wouldn’t choose any physical being. I’d choose an abstract. Something invisible. Something you can feel without really understanding it…something that you have to label in order to grasp a concrete thought. I want to be reincarnated into love. The rawness of love. And I don’t mean material love, or lover’s love, or parental love, or sibling love, or God’s love. Only a pure feeling. No explanation required. I want to understand what we do and why we do it, without a question…k…and without an answer.
(two knocks on the door. Angie slowly creeps away as the boy follows her with his stare)
(two knocks on the door)
Okay! I’m coming.