Playtime

Character sketches

It’s the end of the week and since the Thanksgiving break, I’ve been trying to get back into my bigger works of writing but I don’t seem to have the attention span. I’ve tried a hundred ways to trick my brain into letting me write and finally I tried what always seems to work. Play. I let myself create little mini-scenes to see if I can get to know a character in a short amount of time. This is work, but it’s also playful. I loosen up, get to know someone new, and play with my language. Then I poke around until I find a tone and content that matches a kernel of a character that I’ve been imagining.

I keep going for as long as I can, to see if I can sustain the voice. I can’t always. Sometimes, it’s so contrived I can only make it through a few paragraphs, which is a strong indicator it should go to the recycle bin. Conversely, when I do get going, and the voice of the character starts to come through, it’s a delight.

Here’s Jera, she’s tired and in a state of introspection, pondering over the imperfections and transient nature of human communication and expression.

Some days, like today, all words seem meaningless. I watch them float like balloons off the page, out of mouths, off of screens. Balloons with letters that spell war, drought, forest fire, flood, you, me, her, him, children, mother, father, sickness, joy, sadness, Christmas, and so on. I watch each balloon float farther away. Words on the wind.

Words. 

Maybe this is how words should be, this game of touch and go. Watch each word alight, then fly away. Each one means what it means in the present, knowing this moment and this word will never collide again. 

How different the words "I love you" sound today than their echo from when we first met. What does it mean to love? What did it mean to love? 

Oh, these three words have changed. They have not always been like this. When I was young, they were granite, concrete. 

Math facts. 1+1 and 2+2.

Colors. Blue and yellow.

Nouns. Dick and Jane.

Verbs. Run and play. 

Then, I did not know how malleable or porous words could be. They’re like low-resolution JPEGs. When I zoom in to try and understand them, they are just blurred pixels generally representing a thing, a sound, an action, a person. Nouns become verbs. I’m not shitting you. Verbs become nouns. I think about this on my morning walk. Adjectives become nouns. Just ask the precocious; they know. I laugh sometimes when the words are distorted, and still, they fly away. 

Words can mean anything.

“I love you,” he said, handing her a crushed fentanyl pill, a lighter, and a square of foil. 

“I love you,” she said as she plunged the dagger into his heart. 

“I love you,” he said, looking into his phone. 

“I love you,” she said, patting his head like a dog. 

“I love you,” he said, scrawling his name across the divorce papers. 

“I love you,” she said as Officer Pinkham took him away in handcuffs. 

She kissed him with an open mouth while he was on the phone. He smiled and pushed her away. “I love you,” he said into the receiver. “I’ll be back in a few hours, and we can take the kids out.” 

What if it’s all true? What if they all mean love? 

And when I say it, what do you hear? 

When you say it, what do I hear? 

Today, it will be one thing; tomorrow, another.

Balloons on the wind.