Sunday Archive XIV: Another James Outtake
Here’s another draft starring the recurring James character. Lots of these were more just random episodes that I typed out for use in proper articles. A short one, and I have no idea if it found a way into any of the full articles. But tons of these “dialogues” exist in my notes. Some are based on real conversations with friends (including the one that James is based on) and some are created during my commutes.
From August, 2006:
James finished the rum in one, swift swallow. I gasped as he tossed the jug over the balcony and braced for the crash and scream as if he were pointing a gun at my head. It hit the grass, apparently unnoticed.
“I’ve been getting a series of letters from an ex girlfriend lately.” He said, reaching into his briefcase. He pulled out an armful of paper, envelopes neatly stapled to them. James had a background in reception work and knew how to respect the mail. “Here’s the latest: ‘The Root of the Crisis in the Middle East–’” He looked up over the letter as I rose from my chair. “Problem?”
“More rum,” I jerked my head towards the kitchen.
“I’m reading.”
“Yes, you were.” I sat back down and folded my hands on my lap. He continued.
“—lies in the answers to the following questions: Number one, who gives us the strength to love? Is it God or is it our freedom? Without freedom, do we love? Without God, are we free? Number two, do you love me as I love you? Can you? How can you bear to be apart from me when I cannot stand to be apart from you? I feel you like a part of my body. I can sense when you –‘”
“James,”
“What?”
“We need to read these?”
“As my only friend, I should think you would respect my need for therapy and support in this time of crisis.”
“What crisis?”
“Receiving personal mail. Now, where was I?”
“Is there one that’s less ‘I want your cock’ and more vaginally oriented?”
James blinked at me, then cocked his head. “I have no idea what that means but, yes. Here.” He shuffled through and picked out another letter. “’My dearest James – ‘”
“Snore!”
“’These long years have passed with my heart empty, my mind distracted, and my soul cold.’”
“I like that. Soul cold. There’s sort of a rhyme there, yes? Like, not a rhyme, but it seems like a rhyme. There’s a name for that, isn’t there?”
James pressed the letter to his chest. “Therapy.”
“Right, right. Would you mind if I turn up the stereo while you read – “
“You’re pushing me into the no-zone.”
I got up and went for the new bottle of rum, then returned to the balcony, “The rhyming thing threw me.”
“Slant rhyming.”
“What?”
“Slant.”
I shook my head, “No, I can’t trust you now. You’re mad at me. You could be saying anything. And I’ve never heard of that.”
“Which is why you don’t know what it’s called.”
“I’ve heard of the rhyming style so, therefore, I must have heard what’s it’s called and, since I’ve never heard of slant ramming, that can’t be what it’s called.”
“Did you say ramming?”
“Rhyming.”