texts
A few days before Thanksgiving he finally calls me. It is
raining hard this morning and I get hit by leaves of maple
trees and soaked with water squirted by cars passing by.
I know I am in a hurry, I don't want to be too late.
It is dark when I enter the place and I almost drop my coffee
all over me when I try to unlock the door. While I am searching
for the light switch I almost fall over an iceberg which is placed behind
the door. What a nightmare, every- thing is slippery.
I didn't know that his knowledge on lowering temperatures through will power has grown so very fast since we met last time.
The constant droning noise of the machines in the back- ground, the way things are placed in order,
the level of dust which covers everything makes me feel that he has already left a long time ago.
Why did he call me today then, why not yesterday and why not
next week?
All of the sudden it occurs to me that I am just a prop myself set
on a railway track to go in circles for weeks now, leaving the
others in order to come back a little while later, leaving again,
letting the others watch me. RJ is among them, smiling, waving.
A loud bang of falling wood makes me come back to the truth.
Truth?
I put the glasses down and I take off the gloves. Do those really
belong to me? Shell 100 % leather, lining 100 % polyester, inter-
lining 65 % olefin, 35 % polyester. RN 94789 CA 32296 Medium,
made in China. When I carefully open the door I find the corridor
deserted. The wind, which is coming into his place is warm and
aromatic, almost sweet. I sneak around the corner. Eventually I
walk down the staircase, open the door and I feel like being
thrown into another world. I am thrown into another world.
My cell phone rings. I try to answer it, but it stops ringing
before I can find it. My bag is filled with things I haven't
seen before. A jackknife: Stainless China. Safety instructions
for its use. A jet fighter, IS 041, grey, F 15 Eagle, made in
CHINA.
A blurred photograph of a dark haired guy falls off onto the
ground. A message on the backside: "If you need
clarification, call 215-439-5554".
Again I look for my cell phone. It is pinned in between all
these directives I don't want to listen to: Do not use electronic
devices. Don't smoke. Fasten seat belt tight and low. If you
are seated at an exit and are unable to understand the
informastion, please contact a flight attendant.
The machines are droning. I am panicked, I don't like flying,
and I especially don't like flying unexpectly to China.
I try to call RJ desperately. Signal faded. Signal lost.
I close my eyes - I don't want to belong to all this anymore.
Break. A deep sigh. I have to erase most of it again. Horizontal
lines, vertical lines. Squares, black and white. I use tape in
order to keep the black ink within the specified areas. I paint
white squares with white paint, afterwards I fill the dark squares
with black ink.
Thanks to
the filmscript writing class and
Prof. Jeffrey Rush.
Special thanks to
Timothy Belknap, Maria
Walker, Elena Stal, Austin Heitzman, Walsh
Hansen, Lauren Carbone, Christopher Bowne,
Asuka Goto, RJ Gallardo,
Prof. Winifred Lutz.
Philadelphia, 2005 / 06
All rights served by Juliane Zelwies
A continuation of the text "RJ, COLORADO",
can be read >here<
My response to RJ's text
will be following in a few weeks.