Coddiwompling – RM Mentalese

My First In-Person Workshop Was With Mary Gray
I have never written under a strict time limit, never written in a group setting, and I have never before volunteered to be the first to read. I did all of these firsts yesterday, in the back corner of Literati, alongside seven others and Ms. Gray. For two hours, we owned the space where we got to know each other and, perhaps, ourselves a little better.

She had us warm up with writing out two truths and a lie, where I used levity as armor, making light of the too-much tequila still wreaking havoc from the night before. She then walked us through a guided reflection where we wrote a list of details about 1-2 significant moments in our lives that shaped how we see the world.

This workshop was called “Unlocking Your Creative Voice: A Journey Through Poetry With Mary Gray,” and I found the exercise a creative way to approach the idea of finding one’s voice. It could have felt like a confrontation, the existential hobgoblin sitting in the shadows of the mind – waiting for an unguarded moment of reflection. What Ms. Gray did was set us on a safe path, where we could find our voice within the context of a personal paradigm shift. And doing so in list form kept us at a distance when we could have easily gotten lost in the current of those memories.

Of course, my concept of change and reality is full of semantic u-turns and dark alleys, but I didn’t shoo those thoughts away. I just directed them toward newer reflections. Graduation, that event which was both the culmination of years and the prologue for what is yet to come. I have been thinking a lot recently about the root of why I hold myself back from all these things I could want. I hardly dared to imagine, let alone actualize, anything that might have led to a true current where the unfamiliar depths of passion could get the better of me. There have been exceptions when my intuition could not be ignored with its “do or die” kind of flair/re, but mostly I chose to list lazily along the bank.

However, I am beginning to understand that stability can be a crutch, that wanting to live calmly can be an excuse for ignoring opportunity. I have lived the consequences of risk, more than vicariously, and seen how far the little fruit of such labors could be stretched. I don’t want to live that life, but neither do I want to live in the shallows. If what I feel with a pen in my hand is even a fraction of what Mom felt with a mic in hers, I know it can lead to a sense of fulfillment that could make this incarnation one for the books. But to devote myself, to do what she could not-or would not-what might that cost? How do I keep moving toward a more realized version of myself when I have been nearly petrified between a fear of failure and a fear of success?

So, ten minutes of that tangential thinking, then we listened and read two poems: “Ego Tripping” by Nikki Giovanni and “Black Girl Magic” by Mahogany L. Browne. Mary asked for our impressions and guided us to consider how the different devices, such as metaphor, allusion, repetition, hyperbole, and distinctive tones (notable for their power in these pieces) influenced our interpretations, as well as how listening and not just reading helped us create deeper connections with the authors. It certainly made me more thoughtful about how I read. As it turns out, methodically is not always the best choice, especially when chewing over the words causes you to lose their rhythm. Reading in silence can impede the reader’s progress toward understanding the author’s intention. Listening offers the reader insight into how the words are meant to be weighed. The intention of diction, for example. The use of vernacular syntax is best-received aurally, especially for an unfamiliar ear; it may sound abnormal when you are reading to yourself, but natural when the author is reading to you.

She then gave us about 20 minutes to make something out of our reflection with consideration to the devices she noted in the samples. I may have cheated a little by starting with an idea I had written down a couple of days before, but I am calling it a win because I managed to have something applicable grow from that root within the time limit.
```
Have you ever noticed how nostalgia never gets old
It's never out of fashion
always found among friends
among strangers, it's common ground

Graduation was nostalgic
as it happened
novel, yet familiar
the faces of strangers
yours, beaming
from the shore of well-wishers
while we cast off
our caps, 1200 black and bedazzled
memories free-floating
on the brink of "what's next?"
a familiar fear
gilded and embossed
now hangs above my head
```
This will probably become something else, but I’m rather proud of the sprout and just want to enjoy it as it is for now. I am grateful to Mary for being such a kind and empathetic host. People came because they wanted to write – some didn’t know where to start, some didn’t know how to begin again – but everyone wanted to connect and she made that part seem as easy as breathing. I am also grateful to my fellow Literati Co-Op members for their constant encouragement. Optimism is not my natural state, but their buoyancy is catching. ;)
The Last Sweet Bite

INT. BREE & CALE’S HOME — 0300

[The house is dark except for the pendant light over the sink. Our view is a dissected perspective of their small home. A kitchen table serves as a catch-all at the center of the house, positioned directly i front of the kitchen sink. There is a window behind the sink that is never peered out of, and above it is an analog clock.]

BREE & CALE: lie in bed, awake and restless.

CALE: checks his phone, it lights his face before he lays it back down with a sigh.

[A few seconds later, the alarm sounds (selection from John Lennon’s “Imagine”), which begins their morning routine.]

***Note: The NARRATOR is BREE’S inner voice***

NARRATOR (V.O.)

In the BEFORE TIMES, you know, pre-COVID, the remote life was just a dream. Now it’s routine, and the insulation itches.

During Narration:

BREE & CALE: sit up in mild unison.

BREE: pops her back and dons a robe before shuffling to the bathroom.

CALE: stretches, scratches, and takes his pills from an organizer that reads “DAMNED IF YOU DO”.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

We made our home safe, a sanctuary. AN ECHO CHAMBER. The world exists just outside, but we censor ourselves through algorithmic feeds and late-night monologues that laugh in time to the ticking of our 89 seconds to midnight. What else are we to do? We’ve sat in, stood for, and signed a thousand petitions. We’ve marched, chanted, and triaged a thousand bleeding feet. We’ve packed bags with school supplies and shelters with food. Still, we must work to afford to live, to afford these walls that protect us from the weathering world.

During Narration:

CALE: checks his phone while waiting on BREE.

BREE & CALE: meet outside the bathroom, hug half asleep, and switch places.

CALE: closes the bathroom door to get ready for work.

BREE: dons old workout clothes under her robe, unwilling to relinquish its warmth just yet. She shuffles through the living room and into the kitchen, where she takes pills from a bottle reading “DAMNED IF YOU DON’T”. She then starts the coffee and puts together CALE’S lunch bag.

BREE: scrolls her phone and sighs. She lays it down resolutely, taps it again to check the time, and stretches haphazardly.

[The dissected view makes the space between walls visible. The cavities are filled with eras of insulation, infestation, and other such makeup of an older home.]

CALE: makes ready to leave. His uniform is a company-branded t-shirt and cargo pants, which have seen much use.

BREE

Monday, again.

CALE (yawning)

Mhmm. I feel like we just had one of those.

BREE

As sure as the Sun.

CALE

Unfortunately. Is it cold outside?

BREE & CALE: both open their phones.

CALE (laughs wryly)

No, definitely not.

BREE

Just bad air and high winds.

BREE & Cale (sarcastically in mild unison)

Yay…

BREE: lays her head on CALE’S shoulder.

BREE (wistfully)

Remember seasons?

CALE: shakes his head while pouring coffee into his tumbler.

CALE

What are seasons?

BREE & CALE: walk toward the door.

BREE

Just don’t breathe.

CALE

I’ll try not to. I’m off. Love you.

BREE & CALE: kiss on the threshold.

BREE

Take it easy. Love you.

BREE: Locks bolt

CALE (O.S.): locks handle and knocks in code.

BREE: knocks back.

[The clock reads 0330. The window is black, only reflecting what lies within. By the door, a coatrack is overburdened with picket signs and umbrellas poking out between coats and hoodies.]

BREE: hangs her robe on the bedroom door, dons tennis shoes, and fills up her water bottle. She enters her room and prepares to jog on her walking pad that reads “RUN FOR YOUR LIFE”.

[Bree’s room is an office/workshop attached to the kitchen. Over the door is a sign reading “HERMIT CAVE”. The walls are cornered with bookcases stuffed with books and cubbies full of hobby materials. Hanging on the remaining wall space is a menagerie of mementos and medieval weapons. The walking pad is stationed at her desk – the back of which faces the audience. There are no screens.]

BREE: pulls up a satirical news show on YouTube and begins walking, but the opening monologue makes her pause it with urgency.

BREE: still walking, she chooses an 80’s hits playlist and increases her speed for dance-jogging.

[Time blinks a half hour.]

BREE: turns off the walking pad and closes the laptop. She checks her step count as she goes to clean up.

BREE: heats water for tea in an electric kettle and puts a protein bar in her pocket. She returns to her desk with a mug and begins the first day of class.

BREE: cracks her knuckles and begins typing.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Hello everyone -no- Hello all -no- (in the style of Robin Williams) WELL HELLOOO, I am Bree, as in Gabrielle, as in Xena, coming to you live -no- from the great state of -no- from my little urban cottage. When I’m not -no- I AM not struggling with introductions, I am a half decent poet who uses her husband for fodder -no- inspiration -meh- fodder and detoxes her brain by tormenting her cats with unsolicited attention.

BREE: looks around, still typing.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Who all seem to have abandoned me.

BREE (mumbles prompt aloud to herself)

“Demonstrate what you have learned since your last workshop by close reading and interpreting a poem of your choosing from the module resources.”

BREE: clicks to the resource page, taking a meditative breath.

BREE

“Perhaps the World Ends Here” by Joy Harjo. Hmm…

BREE: swings her chair around to contemplate her books. She takes a quick step to her growing poetry collection, locates Joy Harjo’s “The Woman Who Fell From the Sky”, and scans the contents.

BREE (triumphantly)

Huzzah!

BREE: compares the version in the book to the resource link, then pops her neck before diving into the reading.

[Time passes as a slow blink and reopens to the sound of BREE’S alarm (selection from David Bowie’s “I’m Afraid of Americans”), marking the end of her morning routine. The clock reads 0700. The window reveals wind-whipped trees behind an orange haze.]

BREE: sighs bodily and saves her work. In the kitchen, she pours food and water for herself and the absent cats. She then takes a cursory survey of the house, looking for signs of life, but it remains silent.

[like BREE’S desk, the couch in the living room faces the audience. There are a few pillows, anime plushies, and several fuzzy blankets. The coffee table has cat-keeper paraphernalia and a short stack of books. The top title reads The Dialectics of Absolute Nothingness.]

BREE: falls back onto the couch and stares at the ceiling for a moment, rubbing her chest.

[Against one wall stands a handmade altar of lacquered wood home home to too many small urns, an amethyst cathedral, and incense. Above the altar hang portraits and a collage of a blonde cat.]

BREE: gets up and fluffs the couch, then steps over to the altar and uses her finger to clean off dust along the edges of the metal and cherry-wood urns.

[Against another wall is an entertainment center holding gaming consoles, a record player, and their particular accoutrements. Above the center hangs a shadow box containing a well-loved guitar and a picture of a younger BREE and CALE rocking out with a friend who is holding the guitar.]

BREE: straightens her posture before returning to her room. She powers up a second computer, sitting down with a sigh to get to work.

[The clock reads 0730. we hear a rhythmic ticking as time speeds through the morning.]

BREE: multitasks between her job, schoolwork, prepping dinner in the crockpot, chores, scrolling her phone, and walking.

[When on the phone, we can overhear news clips, weather advisories, fear-mongering ads, and political reaction videos.]

[The clock stops at 1230 when BREE’S phone rings (selection from Static-X’s ”Cold”). The window witnesses a silent car wreck.]

BREE: death-stares at the phone until it stops, then returns to work.

[We hear the Microsoft Teams call tone as the ticking resumes. An abrupt knock stops the clock at 1415.]

BREE: checks the security camera app and waits silently.

BREE: shuffles to the door and is blinded by the Sun when she opens it. She brings a few packages in, puts them on the kitchen table, and returns to work.

[The boxes are labeled “CONSUME”, “RECYCLE”, and “REPEAT”.]

[The clock ticks on, speeding through the afternoon.]

CALE: While BREE is still working, CALE comes home, kisses her on the head, and begins his evening routine: unpacking his bag, cleaning up, then sitting down to play video games in the living room.

[At 1700 the ticking stops. The window is rain-streaked, watching a man push a cart while holding an umbrella over his dog.]

BREE: turns off the computer, resets her desk for the next day and takes off her shoes. She turns off the crock pot and ladles out stew into mismatched bowls.

BREE (placing food on the coffee table)

Have you seen the cats?

CALE

Not today, I don’t think. Did you check the bed?

BREE: shuffles to the bedroom and pokes a suspicious lump. It cat-chirps in annoyance. She then goes back to her office and pokes a similar lump in a quilt-covered chair. It also cat-chirps in annoyance.

BREE (shrugging)

Well, I found two out of three.

CALE

I think Denna is behind the couch, I hear snoring.

BREE

Oh, to be a cat sleeping the day away because they live rent-free. I thought this deal was supposed to come with cuddles, though.

CALE

Only on their terms.

BREE (playfully)

I’ll show you terms.

BREE: turns off the light.

CALE

Ah! I can see now.

BREE

You’re welcome.

CALE: turns on an anime.

[Time blinks slowly and reopens to the sound of CALE snoring. The clock reads 1915.]

CALE: snores lightly.

BREE: cleans up the table and puts the crock pot in the fridge before turning off the PlayStation and TV.

BREE (nudging CALE gently)

Come on, let’s go to bed.

CALE (burrows deeper into his blanket)

But I’m so comfy.

BREE

You won’t be later.

CALE

Mehhh…

CALE: follows BREE to the bedroom after checking the locks, burying himself nose-deep under the covers before she can even straighten the blankets.

BREE: changes back into her sleep clothes, sighing in relief when she removes her bra, then crawls into bed.

BREE

Sweet dreams, baby.

CALE

You too.

CALE: quickly resumes snoring.

[The ticking returns, but stops when BREE checks her phone. The clock reads 0110.]

BREE: gets out of bed and puts on her robe as she pulls the door almost closed. She heats water for tea and shuffles to her room.

BREE: takes her notebook and Joy Harjo’s book to the blanketed chair, pokes it, then flattens the seat out when it remains silent. She sits and rereads the last poem.

NARRATOR (v.o.)

“The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live…”

[The voice of the author takes over as BREE continues reading Joy Harjo’s “Perhaps the World Ends Here”.]

BREE (chewing over the words)

“Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table…”

[Time blinks quickly, reopening to CALE’S alarm. the clock reads 0300.]

BREE: puts the book and her notes on the desk, then joins CALE for their morning routine.

[Time passes with its incessant pacing until the window rattles as if from an earthquake. The clock reads 0430.]

BREE: looks toward the kitchen and checks the camera app. She goes to look out the window but sees only her disheveled self. Turning around, she examines the table.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

I’ve never really considered the significance of a kitchen table. My lap works just as well, and it doesn’t take up nearly as much space in the back of a van. Mom and I never had the time to spare on a bed, let alone dining furniture. It seems more like a staging area – a procrastination station. I wonder how she came to see the table as an archivist and vessel of communion…

During Narration:

BREE: clears the table: sorting mail, opening packages, and putting the miscellany away.

BREE: cleans the table and sets it with a functional aesthetic, then snaps her fingers with an idea.

BREE: brings her notebook and fresh tea to the table for a change in perspective, working at leisure.

[Time blinks slowly, reopening to BREE’S alarm. the clock reads 0700. The window stares at the street awash with waterlogged trash.]

BREE: leaves her scribbled revelations to resume her daily routine.

[The ticking resumes, sounding more insistent. It stops when BREE’S phone signals a message. The clock reads 1145. The window considers a multipurpose march passing by.]

BREE: opens the door to retrieve groceries and is met with a cacophony of chants. She moves to grab a picket sign but hears Microsoft Teams calling her back to work.

BREE: quickly grabs some bottled water and protein bars from the kitchen, then runs out the door to hand out to the protesters. (O.S.)

BREE: encourages the march by pumping her fist before closing the door. She leans against it, rubbing her face with her hands before remembering the groceries at her feet.

[Several Microsoft pings come from BREE’S room.]

BREE: drags her fingers through her hair, pulling at the roots.

BREE (exasperated)

Coming!

[Time ticks through the afternoon, during which CALE returns.]

CALE: sneezes upon entering the house. He drops mail on the table without noticing its new look. He opens a kitchen cabinet and rubs his temple.

[Stacked on a shelf are boxes labeled “ALLERGIES & COVID”, “MIGRAINES & COVID”, and “CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT COVID”.]

CALE: selects the first box and pops tablets out of the blister pack, swallowing them dry. He then continues with his routine.

[The ticking stops when the clock reads 1700. The window wonders at an assortment of birds littering the lawn in a feeding frenzy.]

BREE: shuts down her computer and resets the desk. She then looks toward her wall of books and grabs a large, leatherbound edition. She opens the cover, revealing her stash. She pulls out her dugout, clears the bat, and refills it before taking a few much-needed hits.

[The power goes out, casting the house in shadow. Beeping can be heard from several power blocks.]

BREE & CALE: pull out their phones in mild unison from separate rooms.

CALE

Is it windy?

BREE

Not anymore, but loads of people were without power during that storm. Could be OG&E working on that. Or someone hit a pole. Are you reporting it?

CALE

Yeah. OG&E says power will likely be out until 10.

BREE

Figures. I wish they’d have done this earlier in the day. I could have used the excuse.

CALE

For real. I wanted to come home by first break.

CALE: turns off his game and pulls up YouTube on his phone to pass the time.

BREE: walks by the table, seeing the mail. She looks toward CALE and back at the table before placing the mail in its re-designated organizer on the wall nearby.

BREE (leaning on the arm of the couch)

Not feeling well, babe? You should’ve come home.

CALE

I didn’t want to use my PTO. I’m better now, mostly. Just the usual: allergies, chemicals, and redneck politics.

BREE

That’ll do it. Let me change real quick and I’ll make some food. Are you hungry?

BREE: talks as she walks away to quickly change into a fresh set of comfy clothes.

CALE

Starving.

BREE

Feeling anything in particular?

CALE

I dunno, what do we got?

BREE (perusing options in the freezer)

There’s pizza and salmon… Potstickers and chicken…

CALE

What’d you call me?

BREE (deadpan)

A potsticker. There’s also the crust on the fridge that I can feel with my fingers.

CALE

Ewww.

BREE

Pizza it is.

BREE: pulls out the pizza and preheats the gas oven.

BREE (unwrapping pizza)

I hate the smell, but I’m glad we still have options at times like these.

CALE

I’d rather smell it than not.

BREE (rearranging loose toppings)

I suppose so. Not great for a headache, though. You wanna talk about it?

CALE

Eh. It’s just the same shit different day.

BREE

Ugh. Mind-numbing.

CALE

Seriously. Nothing surprises me anymore, but it’s just so… so… GAH! What’s the word I’m looking for?

BREE

Bewildering? Infuriating? Depressing?

CALE

Yes, all of that. How anyone can be so dumb or willfully ignorant is beyond me.

BREE

I think it’s more that we see it so plainly, so why can’t they? They believe who they trust to tell them the truth. They don’t see how that trust is being abused. Or they do and don’t care.

CALE

A bit of both, I think. I’ve given up trying to counter the conspiracies. There’s no point.

BREE

Right? Just wasting your energy talking to a brick wall.

CALE

Exactly. It’s exhausting. And it makes me want to just tune everything out.

BREE

Which is exactly what ”they” want.

BREE: puts the pizza in the oven and sets a timer on her phone. She then gets comfortable next to CALE.

BREE

It’s so overwhelming, everyone yelling at the same time.

CALE

Trying to follow each story to the source, even with Ground News doing the leg work…

BREE

And the wholesale consequences behind all the headlines.

BREE & CALE: sigh in mild unison and lean on each other.

BREE: rubs CALE’S acupoint in his hand for his head (the web between thumb and forefinger).

CALE: massages BREE’S jaw.

BREE

Oh wow, I didn’t even realize it was clenched!

CALE

Mhmm. And I always forget about the pressure points.

BREE

Good thing we have each other. Cheap medicine, and no half-life.

CALE

Me or the acupressure?

BREE (chuckles)

Both?

CALE (smirks)

I’m not so sure about no half-life with all I have going on.

BREE (shakes her head)

I know it feels like a lot. Insult to injury, and all that jazz. But your docs aren’t concerned, and you’re feeling better, right? Family history mostly just means screening earlier.

CALE (rubbing his abdomen)

True. I think I’m hyper-focused on my health lately because it should be something I can fix. But it turns out that I can’t control that either.

BREE

Yeah… We can only manage it and maybe get ahead of it. Screenings and treatments have come a long way. We’re damned either way, though, which feels both liberating AND jading.

CALE

More like pointless. At least it means we probably don’t have to worry about retirement. Not that it will exist by then.

BREE

That’s the spirit! Let’s spend all our money before they take it away and go somewhere that requires a passport.

CALE

And maybe not come back.

BREE

I like how you think.

CALE

Where would you want to go?

BREE

I dunno. Maybe Scotland. New Zealand? Let’s just get the hell out of Dodge. I can work anywhere.

CALE

I’ve been getting listings from Indeed for all over. Most don’t seem like fun places to live, though.

BREE

I think fun is the least of our concerns. We manage to make our own anyway.

CALE

I suppose we could be the connection to help who’s left of our friends and family get out.

BREE

That sounds like the start to a well-laid strategy.

CALE

You’re a well-laid strategy.

BREE (snorts)

Nice.

[BREE’S phone interrupts their banter with an INFURIATING bell tone.]

BREE (lunging to stop the timer)

Pizza’s ready!

BREE: hops up and shuffles to the kitchen. She turns off the oven, pulls the pizza out, and sets it aside. She puts some cut celery and carrots in a dish and adds a side of ranch for them to share.

CALE: gets up and goes to help BREE by cutting the pizza with a mezzaluna. He pours himself a glass of milk and BREE a glass of ginger ale.

BREE & CALE: add slices to paper plates, grab a couple of paper towels, and bring everything to the coffee table.

CALE: looks up a STARTALK podcast for them to watch while they eat.

[Time blinks, reopening as BREE checks her phone. The clock reads 1810.]

BREE

I think I’m gonna go lie down. It’s been a long day.

CALE

Me too…

BREE & CALE: clean up the table and kitchen, then take turns brushing their teeth before collapsing into bed.

[Time flutters. the clock reads midnight as The light over the sink turns on when the power returns. A surprised shadow streaks through the house and squeezes itself under the bed. The clock then reads 0230 as BREE’S phone lights her face.]

BREE: starts her routine early.

CALE: also awake, remains inert until his alarm sounds. He then gets ready as usual.

BREE: scrolls on her phone while waiting for CALE.

BREE (as CALE walks into kitchen)

I think the algorithm heard us last night. I’m suddenly getting all these ads in my feed about how to emigrate to Canada.

CALE (still shaking off sleep)

Not surprising. That’s not far enough, though. How’d you sleep?

BREE

The same. Too much and too little. You?

CALE

The same. Annoyingly mundane dreams.

BREE & CALE: sigh and lean on each other in an armless hug.

CALE: pretends to snore and lose his balance.

BREE: chuckles and holds CALE up for a moment.

CALE

Here I go again.

BREE & CALE: walk toward the door together.

BREE

Don’t work too hard.

CALE

I’ll try not to. Love you.

BREE

Love you.

BREE: shuts the door behind CALE.

CALE (O.S.): locks the bolt and handle, but nothing more.

BREE: waits for the knock, then shrugs and continues her morning routine.

[Time blinks slowly, reopening to BREE’S alarm. The clock reads 0700.]

BREE: stares at her laptop. She closes her eyes and leans her head back for a moment. She then opens her phone and checks her calendar, coming to a decision. She texts her boss, letting her know she’d be taking the day off.

BREE: suddenly lighter, she glides around the kitchen, pulling bananas from the freezer to thaw and taking ingredients down from the shelves. She makes a fresh pot of coffee and takes a cup back to her laptop.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

I had to remove all the clutter just to see that it’s not the table, but the company we keep. And that the table isn’t the only thing stained by memory.

During Narration:

BREE: traces scratches and stains thoughtfully. She looks around and sees the window as if through new eyes.

BREE: gets up to take a closer look, noticing cat-nose-sized smudges on the inside and streaks of past rain, dusty red from Oklahoma clay, on the other.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Some memories are stored in the oddest of places. They only come into view at the right angle, but it seems impossible to focus on one without distorting another. Cleaning the pane isn’t worth losing such a priceless inconvenience, and washing the rain is a pointless endeavor. The world knows what to do.

BREE: moseys around the house, picking up, fluffing, dusting, and generally appreciating their home. She pets a few blanketed lumps that cat-chirp back.

BREE (concerned)

What’s going on with you girls?

BREE: checks the bananas and gets to work making banana bread.

[Time blinks slowly, reopening as BREE sings Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ on) The Dock of The Bay”. The clock reads 1115. The window notices smoke high in the sky from a distant fire.]

BREE: pulls loaves of banana bread out of the oven, placing them on worn-out potholders. She then washes some berries before turning the loaves out to cool.

[BREE’S phone pings a message.]

BREE: checks her phone and leans back on the counter to text with her friend, munching on berries.

[The window rattles at a low-flying plane.]

BREE: looks up, as if at the plane, and pops her jaw. She puts her phone away, makes a cup of tea, and cuts a slice of bread before cat-proofing the rest with a mesh cloche.

BREE: takes the snack to the couch and nestles with a book for the rare pleasure of non-academic reading.

[Time blinks slowly, reopening when CALE comes home. The clock reads 1420.]

CALE (sniffing the air)

Hello, love. It smells amazing in here. What’d you do, play hooky?

BREE (unfurling from her nest of blankets)

Sure did! It’s been so nice.

CALE: leans over to give BREE a kiss.

CALE

I bet. After I get cleaned up, I’ll make a pot of coffee and join you.

BREE

I’ll make it. Take your time.

CALE: goes through the motions of his evening routine.

BREE: finishes a passage in her book, then shuffles over to the coffee pot to set it up. She cuts a couple more slices of bread before wrapping up the rest.

BREE: opens her phone to a Saint Asonia playlist. When CALE is done in the shower, she warms the bread in the microwave and adds margarine.

CALE: pads into the kitchen and makes them each a cup of coffee.

BREE

Let’s take it to the table.

CALE (shrugs)

Okay.

BREE & CALE: sit facing away from the window, munching companionably.

[The clock reads 1515. The window studies more plumes of smoke as people pass by in increasing numbers. Some are carrying SIGNS; others are unloading bricks on the corner.]

BREE

I didn’t have any walnuts, and we only had egg whites, but it still turned out pretty well.

CALE: stuffs a bite in his mouth like a chipmunk.

CALE (satisfied)

Nom.

BREE (laughing into her coffee)

I’ll take it. Oh, Amy hit me up about OSU’s Euphoria show. I knew it was coming up, but there’s so much going on. Would you want to go this year?

CALE

When is it?

BREE

The Saturday between Boo’s prom and my graduation.

CALE (raising his brow)

I don’t know about that. It’s our only free weekend this month.

BREE

Yeah. And the last week of school.

CALE (vicariously excited)

Oh snap!

BREE

Right?! Probably best if I skip this year. She’ll be coming down next week for a show anyway. We’ll catch up then.

CALE (just remembering)

Oh yeah… am I going to that?

BREE

If you still want to.

CALE (reaches down to pet the air)

I’m down. Where are the cats? I’m surprised they’re not all over us right now.

BREE

They’re alive, but I feel like I haven’t seen them in days. It’s like they’re trying to hibernate. I don’t like it.

CALE (pouting)

Me neither.

[The late afternoon sun dims behind the haze, shuttering the window’s view. We hear the thunder-like rumble of a truck passing by.]

CALE (gesturing)

More coffee?

BREE (winking)

I’d have another. Maybe with a little Irish cream? Thank you.

CALE: refills their cups and rejoins BREE at the table.

[Saint Asonia’s “Waste My Time” begins playing.]

CALE (nostalgic)

Aww… Our song.

BREE: smiles at CALE and puts her hand in his. She pops the last bite of banana bread in her mouth and sits back to enjoy the song.

[A silent light blinds the window, breaking their brief reverie. A single tick of the clock is followed by a concussion that rattles and blacks out the entire house.]

[The impact of more explosions ensues as the emergency alert system activates belatedly on BREE’s and CALE’s phones. We see them huddled under the table in flashes of light, but the cacophony deafens any activity within.]

[A final flash expands from the window, utterly consuming the sound and scene.]

BREE & CALE: as the light whites out the scene, they are entwined and clutching each other’s heads. They gaze intensely at each other, eyes dry but widening with dread as they brace for the final impact.

Fade Out.
Meet the Felines

My First In-Person Workshop Was With Mary Gray

The Last Sweet Bite

Meet the Felines