here today

 

goodbye hello again

with the screenwriter, everything was funny.  we fell in love in college couldn't believe we were both from oregon what are you doing in new york.  we couldn't stop laughing making each other laugh and at twenty that was enough. 

when we met at the courthouse to sign the papers that said we made a mistake a year ago we don't want to be married what we were thinking, really.  when we met at the courthouse the screenwriter started the game and I played it not as well as I normally did but I went along with the game that was called isn't this wacky here we are in our twenties getting divorced.  isn't it wacky we're getting divorced we haven't even sent out all the thank you notes from the wedding.  we thought we were perfect for each other we were one of those couples that other couples secretly hated because we were perfect for each other.  Isn't it wacky we're getting divorced today we don't come from broken homes unless you count the fact that the screenwriter's mom just died. 

We were there with her when she took her last breath.  We were there with her and we were laughing and then she was gone and nobody cried they don't do that in his family.  Nobody cried they just worked on their speeches for the funeral.  the screenwriter's speech the soon to be ex-husband's speech was the best.

When we met at the courthouse and signed the papers the screenwriter won the game that we started together.  I cried in the parking lot not laughing no jokes just crying in front of all those L.A. people all of them part of the business or wanting to be part of the business. I left that city because I lost he won and I was lost and he was still writing jokes.  I left that city but i didn't leave the screenwriter.

I didn't leave the screenwriter even when I met Ben.  I didn't leave the screenwriter instead I started writing in his genre even sending him one of my scripts for comments. Writing writing taking the class stacking up the scripts making it to the second round of contests calling producers convincing them to read the scripts written by the girl from Oregon I got nine producers even the producer of Nurse Betty to read something.  Trying to one-up but from a distance.  Safe here in Oregon trying to scramble back into the game trying to show the screenwriter that I can still play I can still win.

I stopped painting my first love my true love.  I stopped painting and taught myself to write in three acts saying all the time I'm better than him I'll show him I'll write comedies even.  Comedies with couples who banter like Kate Hepburn vs. Cary Grant.  I stopped painting put all my paints away turned on the computer and took myself back to the parking lot and rewrote that scene.  Over and over I rewrote that scene.

I say all this.  I write all this down confession-style, blog-style but the other side to it is that I'm good.  I'm good at writing scripts.  I'm good at it and maybe someday I'll pull out my notes my stack of comedies with witty banter and couples who really should be together.  Maybe someday when I'm not trying to rewrite my own story my own life. 

Because I am the girl who cried in the parking lot.  I am the girl who couldn't drive away from the courthouse who sat there across the street in a volvo crying in the parking lot.

I am the girl who found my paints last week pulled them out of the box in the basement.

cadmium red. phallo green. permalba white.  but I couldn't start up again couldn't put brush to canvas until I wrote this and now I have time I have a few minutes before I have to leave for work and I'm jonesing to get down there and look at my brushes maybe stretch a canvas or two.  I am the girl who found my paints. 

Posted by: 120pages at 06:13 | link | comments (13) |